It's March 22 and the coincidence of the date being the number of the most famous and scrutinized basketball player in the country, along with a deluge of "think pieces" and deep dives into how that player got to this level, and the fact that she and her team will begin NCAA tournament play tomorrow... well, that's difficult to resist.
Yes, that #22 belongs to Caitlin Clark. Heck, even brother Tim, out in SoCal, has weighed in (today) on this phenomenon, and brother Mike has shared a longform piece from ESPN with us that provides this young woman's sports history... and the immediate family has a little NCAA Women's pool going through CBS...
It's a bit nutty, and my innate "Iowaness" tugs at my consciousness: How can a young person keep her head on straight when everyone seems to be praising her or questioning her or predicting unimaginable successes for her? When you are an Iowa fan, or maybe it's just part of an Iowa upbringing, a plain truth of life is that we should never brag or even predict success... doing so invites doom.
After all, the crops may look great in June before being ravaged by vagaries of weather. The Democratic caucuses can be taken away from the state, despite years of success and producing some significant upsets. The Field of Dreams can become just another giant corporate ballpark that overshadows the dusty infield that you could visit on a whim with just a dozen other curiosity-seekers only a few years ago.
A true Iowa fan absolutely knows that Ronnie Lester will injure his knee in the national semifinal game in 1980 after hitting all four shots and two free throws in the first 12 minutes of the game. He never returned and Iowa lost. Yes, I know it was almost 44 years ago, but Iowa fans don't get over things like that.
As my dad often said, "Keep your expectations low to avoid deeper disappointment." Good advice in many aspects of life, but those expectations just keep bubbling up, despite our best efforts. He also was a devotee of never allowing your opponent to see your emotions, so I learned to keep a blank face whether a shot went in or not.
I wonder what he would say about Caitlin Clark, who shares every emotion with everyone, at least on the court. Nah, I know he would not approve...
When I saw the potential opponents in the Iowa section of the tournament bracket, I immediately started imagining the worst... Iowa going cold and suffering an early upset. Caitlin being smacked to the floor by some frustrated center and being carried to the locker room. A last-second shot that was an inch too long bouncing harmlessly away as the buzzer sounded... leaving the Hawks just short.
Tomorrow afternoon I will become increasingly tense, bemoaning every missed free throw or careless turnover. I will mention to Kathleen how those miscues may come back to cost us later. She will ignore me and quite properly focus on the next play.
For both of us, the very thought of the Hawks losing, as all but one team in the tournament certainly will, is both unimaginable and inevitable. We are Iowans, in the end.
No one can possibly understand what it's like to be Caitlin Clark, of course, and her bravado leaves Iowans bemused at times. We are wary of anything resembling hubris.
But she is unique and, for once, that word is accurate, so we cut her a break. The tougher the situation, the calmer she seems. Almost everyone has felt overwhelming pressure, if only for a few moments and much more privately, and in various circumstances. That means we can feel some tenuous connection to a star athlete at the height of her powers, with the whole world watching. We so viscerally want her to do well, for the Hawks to triumph.
Here's a personal fleeting moment of pressure:
I was a mediocre high school basketball player on a mediocre team but that didn't mean each game wasn't vital (to us). As a junior I was literally the 15th man on the team, remaining firmly seated as far from the coaches as was possible, silently hoping for a blowout (one way or the other)... the only chance I would see the floor.
We were at Dubuque Wahlert in February of 1967 and, for once, we were handling them nicely. In fact, as the fourth quarter dwindled away, Regina was so far in front that Coach Norton had no choice but to insert the "final five" into the game. After about three minutes of mostly running back and forth as each team's subs fired up errant shots or tossed horrible passes, I found myself with the ball in my hands with the score stuck at 98-73, under ten seconds left on the clock (yes, there was more run-and-gun basketball in those days). A Wahlert player stumbled into me as I attempted a drive to the basket, and a foul was called by the dedicated refs. The crowd was appalled, just wanting the game to end, and that got their dander up, so to speak.
I stepped to the line to shoot two and I swear I had an out-of-body experience as the crowd went nuts, and all the noise joined together as a ringing in my ears. I made the first shot with no conscious thought. Well, I must have made it since the scoreboard added a point. The Wahlert crowd now had one goal: to keep their rivals (with me as the representative) from hitting 100 points... and they got even louder, if that were possible.
Then I made the second foul shot, again with trembling limbs and not even having the wits to mumble a quick prayer before the ball left my hand (though since both teams were from Catholic schools, there is some doubt as to the deity weighing in).
We had hit 100 and just seconds later the final horn sounded. There were pats on the back and smiles and a departing crowd that had at least enjoyed a cathartic experience of momentary but complete hatred for some skinny kid they would never think about again.
I assume they all immediately forgot about it all. Clearly, I did not, despite those two free throws having no effect beyond the fleeting oddity of scoring 100 points.
Caitlin Clark must feel that almost crazy enthusiasm constantly and it is evident that she welcomes the pressure. She claims to never get nervous during a game, though that's hard to believe... but there she is: doing amazing things time and again, no matter the score. There are times when it appears that Caitlin is functioning on some elevated level where we mere mortals can't intrude.
Tomorrow, watching from 800 miles away, I will tense up during each foul shot she takes, silently lending my support and wondering if she ever gets used to crowd noise so loud that only ringing can be heard.
Then she will calmly swish two.
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