You Can’t Go Home Again, But You Can Visit

I struggled at the football games—imagine thousands of binge-drunk college kids packed into bleachers blacking out through a 3-5 conference record—but I found a kind of home in the basketball arena. You could get a spot just behind the benches, as long as you showed up early enough. The football-school culture meant that the attendees were generally more sober and less willing to let disappointment ruin their entire week. And I liked that the basketball players were instantly recognizable, without helmets or pads. For two years, I lived just a few steps from the ones in the Class of 2017, and even though that didn't make us friends or even acquaintances, you get a little boost rooting for people you see every day. The Michigan State game was the one you circled months in advance, pitting the standard-bearers of the region against a program that'd recently proven it could hang at that level. For a national audience, this was No. 20 vs. No. 13, so it probably didn't feel like the game of the year. But for me it was Game 7 of the Finals. There were rules against camping out overnight, but no rules against camping out nearby. My roommate and I (who had the most conveniently located dorm) hosted a slumber party in our 200-ish-square-foot room. We fit two people in each bed, one on the futon, and two on the floor, including me. (I was feeling generous.) We woke at the crack of dawn and walked down to join the line already forming outside the closed doors of Crisler Center.