Something is off.
You know that feeling you get when you finish taking a huge test? It’s like the weight of the world was taken off your shoulders.
That knot in your stomach? Gone, soon to be filled by an assortment of beverages your parents may or may not approve of.
All that is left is a sense of giddy excitement, like when Will Ferrell and John C. Riley bunked their beds for the first time in “Step Brothers.”
A great example of this feeling is when the men’s basketball team has put its collective foot on an opponent’s throat, taking all doubt out of the final result.
Sometimes this comes with a minute left in the game, sometimes with 10, but when it does it’s always a recipe for a deep exhale, the dissipation of all that pent-up nervous energy and the start of scrub time.
Well that feeling’s gone.
As we were cruising to a 54 point victory over Mount St. Mary’s, I attributed it to the weak opponent and the thorough smack down that was being laid on the court.
There was something not quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
A few days later against Norfolk State — the first time — it was more of the same. A resounding performance on the court and a lopsided victory couldn’t quench my thirst for God knows what.
It wasn’t until the massacre against Ole Miss that it hit me. I finally realized what we were missing: Rob Frozena.
Before you get your panties up in a bunch about this, hear me out.
For those of you who are new to the program this year, Frozena was a walk-on guard on the basketball team the past four years, playing garbage minutes only in landslides. He wasn’t very quick, couldn’t shoot, play defense or jump very high and he didn’t really bring much to the table skill-wise.
What he did always provide was heart.
When he got on the court it didn’t matter if Marquette was up 40 or down 35, he played as if the title was on the line. I loved his hustle and sheer will to give it his all every single second he played.
If you can label my feelings toward him as “love,” then as a collective group, the student section adored him. He was and is the only player I have ever heard fans chant for during games.
As soon as the game was in the bag, and even before then at times, “ROB-FRO-ZE-NA clap clap clapclap clap,” rung throughout the Bradley Center.
When coach Buzz Williams finally relented and unleashed ‘Frozone’ from his permanent spot on the bench, the crowd cheered as if Marquette just won the Big East Championship tournament.
He was the human victory cigar the student section couldn’t wait to smoke.
This is the point where some will pull out the race card and say Frozena was cheered like mad simply for being white. That was my impression my freshman year, but that’s not even close to the truth.
Frozena represented the students like no player ever could. He wasn’t an athlete who happened to be a student, but rather a student who happened to be an athlete.
He loved Marquette for what it was and not because it was a chance to get to the NBA, and he proved it day-in and day-out by going through the rigorous practices with the knowledge he wasn’t going to play.
He was the ultimate fan, cheering from the best seat in the house.
He’s gone, though, and there is no one to replace him. There is no one to stick in during garbage time just to let the clock wind down, and no one for the students to revere.
This is shaping up to be a very promising season for the Golden Eagles, but no matter how it ends a little piece of satisfaction will be absent.
Here’s to you Rob Frozena. You are and will continue to be missed.
