With time waning in the matchup between Drexel and Saint Joseph's, the Dragons were holding on to an ever-diminishing lead.
After a Drexel basket, the Hawks got ready to inbound the ball. But just before play restarted, a referee blew his whistle and pointed to Dragons guard Bashir Mason.
He was playing without one of his shoes, which had fallen off on the previous play.
But Mason wasn't concerned about protecting his foot, he was concerned with protecting his lead.
Such is the tenacity players show when Philadelphia's Division I basketball teams square off at the Palestra. And no day provides more anecdotes and lore in a 24-hour period than the Big 5 Classic.
Started four years ago, this event matches up the city's squads in a one-day triple-header. It is, in essence, the Woodstock of college basketball, where all of Philadelphia's top performers play in the same show on the same stage.
It is a day worthy of storming the court after a win, as Temple fans did, in an early season game devoid of national attention.
It is a day when a simple wave by a coach to his student section, as St. Joseph's Phil Martelli did, elicited a cacophony of applause the likes of which was not heard for the rest of the game.
It is a day when this city's legends rise and, as was the case with the Hawks on Saturday, when legends fall.
"We owned this city for two years and we just let somebody walk in and take what is ours," Martelli said after his team's 57-49 defeat at the hands of Drexel.
But what makes this tradition unique to Philadelphia? Why is it not copied by cities around the country, like New York, Washington or Boston, with a concentration of college basketball traditions?
Martelli can give you 50 reasons, as in the 50 years of Big 5 basketball that are being celebrated this season.
In an era of rapid change in college sports, when teams frequently switch conferences and when rules are changed for the economic well-being of certain squads, there is something to be said about a group of five schools that have been doing pretty much the same thing for half a century.
This tradition is what allows a child to watch a Big 5 game at the Palestra and then watch almost the same game a generation later with a child of his own.
And the real secret behind this tradition is the hallowed arena set back from 33rd Street. Like the Big 5 itself, it has gone largely unchanged since its inception. The banners that adorn its rafters, from the Ivy League to Big 5 schools, will stand the test of time. They are firmly affixed above the court and no changes will ever have to be made.
As other universities construct gyms that rival the ritziest casinos in Las Vegas, this city's schools take pleasure in playing in a building that sweats history.
"When you come here, you know that you're at the Palestra because if you find yourself going to the toiler, you find yourself with a fan standing next to you while you're standing there urinating, and he's asking you about the game," Temple coach John Chaney said.
Those lucky few participants in this special entity have a unique relationship. On one hand they are all competitors, but at the same time, as Martelli says, they are all "keepers of the keys." The Big 5 is bigger than any one person, so all must work together in order to preserve it.
This is why Penn coach Fran Dunphy tells his student section to "show some class" as they are chiding La Salle -- chanting "No means no," in reference to this past summer's rape scandal. It is also the reason why Drexel students were the first to applaud their opponents after a moment of silence honoring a St. Joseph's student who suddenly died over Thanksgiving break. And it's why the announcement of Palestra janitor Dan Harrell's birthday led to a standing ovation from the entire arena.
Philadelphia will always have the Liberty Bell. It will always have Independence Hall. And, thank God, it will always have the same, good old Big 5.
David Burrick is a junior urban studies and philosophy, politics and economics major from Short Hills, N.J. His e-mail address is dburrick@sas.upenn.edu.
