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The bond between a fan and an athlete (or really any entertainer) is both unique and unfulfilling. You don't know them beyond their talent, and they don't know you, period. When they die, maybe you share a clip of your favorite highlights, because...what else can you do?
And the answer, now two years later, stays the same: nothing. There's nothing we can do for Stanley, and frankly, there's probably not a hell of a lot we can do for his three daughters, or the rest of his family, either. They knew him as far more than a basketball player, and they're the ones who will continue to fill that void with the strength he showed for so many years here.
But his death still does trouble me, and I'm guessing I'm not alone in my search for some sort of closure. I felt some connection to the man, whether I knew him or not, for the simple reason that our lives intersected in some small way. I'd have felt that way regardless of when he died, or how.
That he seems to have died trapped in the same nightmare so many Americans continue to live, though, makes it all the more imperative that we not only remember, but celebrate his life. We might not consider the age of 32 to be an ideal time to do that (and it's not), but I can tell you that it's a lot better than 27, or 22...or 17. Not all years are created equal, as I'm sure anyone who's walked a mile in his shoes could tell you. He had to fight for everything he got in life.
It also, in some strange way, brings my own journey with the program full circle, re-acquainting me with the things I loved about it. It makes any number of big picture issues to grip the fanbase in recent years - from conference realignment, to APR and compliance issues, to the messy split with Kevin Ollie - seem irrelevant in the context of this specific tragedy, yet keenly instructive of the social tensions that tend to rip people apart. (Bear with me for a moment if you think I'm speaking gibberish)
See, I'm sort of the ultimate outsider when it comes to UConn basketball (you can use the term bandwagoner if you prefer). I didn't go UConn, didn't live in Connecticut, and didn't know anyone who did. I was a young, unabashed child who rooted for UConn solely because of guys like Stanley Robinson. It was the coolest program going, bar none, from the time I started watching in 2003 to my first live game in 2009. They seemed to have all the best shot-blockers, all the best dunkers, and all the coldest closers. They had the longest shorts, baggiest shirts, and most puffed-out chests. Even as a dumb, muffin-topped white kid with no conception of race whatsoever, I could tell. This coach was different. He didn't just tolerate Black guys; he embraced them.
No one personified the program's overwhelming athletic and physical advantages in that era like Stanley - not Emeka, not Rudy, not Jeff, not Hasheem. He attacked the glass with a force I've just never seen before - at least not in a UConn jersey. It got to the point, particularly during that '09 run, that I think the spectacle of Sticks actually began to distract people from how good a player he was. I mean, we're talking about a guy who averaged 17 points, 10 rebounds, and 2 blocks per game on 60% shooting in March that season. He does that at a lesser program and they're building him a statue.
(Whether we liked the result or not, some people consider 3/12/09 to be the most iconic game this program's ever been apart of - Sticks went for 28 and 14 that night)
It's been somewhat bittersweet - and more than a bit ironic - to watch an outsider slowly re-build Calhoun's program in that same genre: rebounding, shot blocking, physicality. Few teams have owned the paint the past two seasons like Hurley's Huskies, and two mystifying tournament upsets notwithstanding, few coaches would appear more primed to parlay the spoils of a revitalized national power into the corresponding on-court results as we enter the meat of the 20's. A return to the Big East, meanwhile, has re-aligned the school with its northeast roots and reignited a recruiting engine that may have even scared Jay Wright away (scoff if you want, but the writing was on the wall for him to retire).
In any event, I just hope that at some point things can be made right between the recent trilogy of UConn head coaches. If Stanley's journey exemplified one thing, it's that life's too short to hold grudges. That rings especially true for Calhoun, who to my knowledge remains in good health but certainly won't live forever. I want him to be able to see everyone associated with the empire he built on good terms. He deserves that much, especially in light of the sucker punch two years ago that must've damn near killed him.
As for Stanley, I just want to say thank you. You were one of a kind, and you brought a lot of people joy. I regret that you might not have had the chance to hear that from more of us while you were still here, but perhaps your story will pave the way to a more open tomorrow.
To anyone else who's ever played here: Life is hard for everyone. The winters here, especially, can be dark and lonely. Don't ever underestimate the value in what you do to bring people together. Those packed houses, the vibrant atmospheres, the living and dying with every possession...that's like oxygen to people. That gets people through tough times. It keeps them going, gives them hope.
That's why this conference realignment stuff matters so much to people. That's why playing in the AAC was so draining, so demoralizing and ultimately, so divisive. Day by day it sucked the life out of the fanbase - and the resources out of the athletic department - until it eventually broke us apart. Even during the gloomiest Big East years - like Stanley's Senior season - we were treated to at least a few exhilarating moments each season, like the upset of #1 Texas (which he highlighted by completing an awe-defying alley-oop from half-court) or late-season wins over Villanova and West Virginia. We didn't get that in the AAC.
We need rivalries. We need every excuse we can get to make plans, travel, meet up with old friends, etc. We need things that make us feel connected, make us feel alive. Otherwise, we search elsewhere for that jolt.
The jolt Stanley could provide on a basketball court were largely a product of sheer God-given talent, yes. But the battles he fought off the court - so that he could provide us those moments on it - yielded memories that I'll cherish forever.
Never again will I subscribe to the notion that a dunk is only worth two points. They were worth a lot more to me.
And the answer, now two years later, stays the same: nothing. There's nothing we can do for Stanley, and frankly, there's probably not a hell of a lot we can do for his three daughters, or the rest of his family, either. They knew him as far more than a basketball player, and they're the ones who will continue to fill that void with the strength he showed for so many years here.
But his death still does trouble me, and I'm guessing I'm not alone in my search for some sort of closure. I felt some connection to the man, whether I knew him or not, for the simple reason that our lives intersected in some small way. I'd have felt that way regardless of when he died, or how.
That he seems to have died trapped in the same nightmare so many Americans continue to live, though, makes it all the more imperative that we not only remember, but celebrate his life. We might not consider the age of 32 to be an ideal time to do that (and it's not), but I can tell you that it's a lot better than 27, or 22...or 17. Not all years are created equal, as I'm sure anyone who's walked a mile in his shoes could tell you. He had to fight for everything he got in life.
It also, in some strange way, brings my own journey with the program full circle, re-acquainting me with the things I loved about it. It makes any number of big picture issues to grip the fanbase in recent years - from conference realignment, to APR and compliance issues, to the messy split with Kevin Ollie - seem irrelevant in the context of this specific tragedy, yet keenly instructive of the social tensions that tend to rip people apart. (Bear with me for a moment if you think I'm speaking gibberish)
See, I'm sort of the ultimate outsider when it comes to UConn basketball (you can use the term bandwagoner if you prefer). I didn't go UConn, didn't live in Connecticut, and didn't know anyone who did. I was a young, unabashed child who rooted for UConn solely because of guys like Stanley Robinson. It was the coolest program going, bar none, from the time I started watching in 2003 to my first live game in 2009. They seemed to have all the best shot-blockers, all the best dunkers, and all the coldest closers. They had the longest shorts, baggiest shirts, and most puffed-out chests. Even as a dumb, muffin-topped white kid with no conception of race whatsoever, I could tell. This coach was different. He didn't just tolerate Black guys; he embraced them.
No one personified the program's overwhelming athletic and physical advantages in that era like Stanley - not Emeka, not Rudy, not Jeff, not Hasheem. He attacked the glass with a force I've just never seen before - at least not in a UConn jersey. It got to the point, particularly during that '09 run, that I think the spectacle of Sticks actually began to distract people from how good a player he was. I mean, we're talking about a guy who averaged 17 points, 10 rebounds, and 2 blocks per game on 60% shooting in March that season. He does that at a lesser program and they're building him a statue.
(Whether we liked the result or not, some people consider 3/12/09 to be the most iconic game this program's ever been apart of - Sticks went for 28 and 14 that night)
It's been somewhat bittersweet - and more than a bit ironic - to watch an outsider slowly re-build Calhoun's program in that same genre: rebounding, shot blocking, physicality. Few teams have owned the paint the past two seasons like Hurley's Huskies, and two mystifying tournament upsets notwithstanding, few coaches would appear more primed to parlay the spoils of a revitalized national power into the corresponding on-court results as we enter the meat of the 20's. A return to the Big East, meanwhile, has re-aligned the school with its northeast roots and reignited a recruiting engine that may have even scared Jay Wright away (scoff if you want, but the writing was on the wall for him to retire).
In any event, I just hope that at some point things can be made right between the recent trilogy of UConn head coaches. If Stanley's journey exemplified one thing, it's that life's too short to hold grudges. That rings especially true for Calhoun, who to my knowledge remains in good health but certainly won't live forever. I want him to be able to see everyone associated with the empire he built on good terms. He deserves that much, especially in light of the sucker punch two years ago that must've damn near killed him.
As for Stanley, I just want to say thank you. You were one of a kind, and you brought a lot of people joy. I regret that you might not have had the chance to hear that from more of us while you were still here, but perhaps your story will pave the way to a more open tomorrow.
To anyone else who's ever played here: Life is hard for everyone. The winters here, especially, can be dark and lonely. Don't ever underestimate the value in what you do to bring people together. Those packed houses, the vibrant atmospheres, the living and dying with every possession...that's like oxygen to people. That gets people through tough times. It keeps them going, gives them hope.
That's why this conference realignment stuff matters so much to people. That's why playing in the AAC was so draining, so demoralizing and ultimately, so divisive. Day by day it sucked the life out of the fanbase - and the resources out of the athletic department - until it eventually broke us apart. Even during the gloomiest Big East years - like Stanley's Senior season - we were treated to at least a few exhilarating moments each season, like the upset of #1 Texas (which he highlighted by completing an awe-defying alley-oop from half-court) or late-season wins over Villanova and West Virginia. We didn't get that in the AAC.
We need rivalries. We need every excuse we can get to make plans, travel, meet up with old friends, etc. We need things that make us feel connected, make us feel alive. Otherwise, we search elsewhere for that jolt.
The jolt Stanley could provide on a basketball court were largely a product of sheer God-given talent, yes. But the battles he fought off the court - so that he could provide us those moments on it - yielded memories that I'll cherish forever.
Never again will I subscribe to the notion that a dunk is only worth two points. They were worth a lot more to me.
