During my freshman year at Penn, I took what would become the first of many trips to see one of the Quakers’ basketball teams face off with an Ivy League rival. After Penn women’s basketball soundly defeated Yale University to clinch an Ancient Eight tournament berth, I wrote up my recap, closed my computer, and walked toward the exit.
But Matt Frank and Brandon Pride, two former sports editors who had also made the trip to New Haven, Conn., had other plans. With the “work” complete and the court at John J. Lee Amphitheater empty, they found the nearest basketball and began a game with no goal in particular — part PIG, part pickup, part half-court shootout.
Frank eventually drained one of the long-range heaves, subsequently declaring that before the end of his career at The Daily Pennsylvanian, he would hit the same look on all eight of the Ivies’ basketball courts. To my knowledge, he never got there. But that wasn’t the point.
In four years at the DP, I’ve grown familiar with the primacy of outcomes. Which team won or lost, how many views a story generated, how quickly breaking news was published compared to the closest competitor. And while sports, journalism, and life are predicated on those objective benchmarks, the best part of all three is the sweetness in between.
Since that late-night scramble at Yale, playing pickup on the road has become a cherished tradition. I’ve done it with my closest friends after 30-point losses and by myself after last-second wins. Each iteration is rife with the same sensations — the awe of playing on a Division I court, with the fear of a security guard around the corner. But above all, there is a sense of fun unfettered by shots made or missed.
It’s those kinds of moments I’ve done my best to seek out during my time at the DP. A long print production night made worthwhile by the animal cracker-fueled hangout that followed. A picturesque walk back from Franklin Field on a cool fall afternoon. A stack of late-night pancakes at an opposing school’s dining hall. A night of Madden on the eve of the Ivy League championship. When I look back on my time as a college journalist, those will be the times I keep closest to my heart.
Emphasizing the importance of those perfect little supernovas is far from a novel perspective. Indeed, it is the refrain of many a graduate, retiree, or eliminated student-athlete. But the power of the sentiment lies in its portability — in recognizing the fleeting value of my time at the paper, I’ve earned an appreciation that will last far beyond the ink on this page.
In March, I covered my final Penn basketball game at March Madness in Greenville, S.C. The stage itself felt like a dream. Each phase of the experience, from tipoff to press conference, brought a greater sense of wonder and a growing sense of pressure — to meet the moment, to rise to the occasion, to produce a journalistic outcome worthy of sports’ most famous tournament.
But afterward, when all the other spectators and reporters had cleared out, the DP’s contingent still found its way onto the court. The arena was larger, but beneath the March Madness logo at half-court, it all felt quite the same. In that instant, I knew the game would stay with me forever.
I never heard the buzzer.
WALKER CARNATHAN is a College senior studying cinema and media studies and English from Harrisburg, Pa. He served as sports editor on the 140th Board of The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. Previously, he served as a deputy sports editor. His email is walkcar@sas.upenn.edu.
