What began as a half-witted idea to get me to my fifth away game of the men’s basketball season ended up with me shaking hands with Hall of Fame coach Bobby Knight.

Allow me to play raconteur for a bit.

My roommates and I had just gotten back from the DePaul game, which was my fourth road game this season out of sheer coincidence. While looking at the remaining schedule, I said, “Wouldn’t it be hysterical if we went to Cincinnati?”

I knew Max wouldn’t consider it, but T.J. would at least entertain the idea.

After T.J. decided we should go I was already in, and Max mysteriously converted.

Keep in mind I knew I wouldn’t be having any classes that day. I’m a respectable student. My roommates are the ones who skipped class.

Once we were in Cincy, we walked to pick up our tickets and then some guy stopped us just down the road. He was a retired sports reporter named Jim, and he apparently used to cover the Celtics during the Larry Bird era. He quite possibly had not showered since then.

So Jim makes conversation about Marquette basketball, and he goes on and on about how he thinks Buzz Williams is classy. After hearing a story about Jim writing a letter to Buzz and getting a signed book in return, we finally cut him off because we needed fresher air.

As it turned out, this man’s distraction about Marquette’s classy coach was major foreshadowing. As we turned the street corner, the team bus was driving by us. Buzz saw our yellow garb, flung himself out the door and yelled “Hurry up,” waving us onto the bus.

Talk about happenstance.

So we ride the bus to the locker room entrance, and assistants direct us inside. After watching the ESPN pre-game interview, we stuck around courtside before the game.

This is the part when being a columnist has its perks. This is also the part where a columnist realizes what his next column will be.

I had put in a request for press credentials to the game since I knew the Tribune wouldn’t be sending many people to Cincinnati. That pass gave me access to the guarded areas like the media room.

Once inside, I took the liberty of inspecting the free food for poison. I mean, sometimes you have to be like Bruce Willis in Armageddon and save the world.  I performed this feat twice.

Afterward I went to see Buzz by the sideline press table. We chatted briefly, and I thanked him on behalf of my roommates for his nice gesture.

Looking back, I realize my boys and I hadn’t even used our tickets to get into the arena. Imagine if the bus found us before we picked up the tickets. We wouldn’t have had seats, and I’m guessing we’d place the blame
on Buzz.

I guess he can blame me for the game though, now that the team has lost three of the five away games I attended.

Regardless, I’m more upset that I forgot to ask Buzz the most pressing and relevant journalistic question: “With the addition of lacrosse to Marquette athletics, how do you think you would look with a mullet?” I blew it.

But after Buzz whisked away, I turned to see The General himself, coach Bobby Knight sitting right in front of me. Like most sports fans, I had to say “hi,” even if it meant startling the Hall of Famer to the point where he aspirated Snapple.

We exchanged empty and meaningless pleasantries, shook hands, and then he gave me a look that said, “You don’t have to tell me you’re a nobody.” It was awesome.

This story wasn’t the coolest thing in the world, but my point is you never know what you could be getting into one day. Even still, there’s always the next day after that.

Also, it wouldn’t have meant as much if Max and T.J. weren’t there. Good stories come and go, but they’re ten times better to reminisce about with others who shared them.