Emptying out some memories

I have a confession to make: I snuck into the Palestra yesterday. Okay, so I had some help doing it, and I was there for a decent reason, to pick up something I left there by accident a few days ago. But when my business was done, I decided to linger for a few minutes and think about all the time I've spent there over the last four years.

I hope every Penn fan gets the chance at some point to be in the Palestra when it's empty. Sure, it's special when there's a full house and the fans are going crazy, but the meaning of the place really comes through when there aren't any other people around.

Because, as longtime custodian Dan Harrell will tell anyone who asks him, the building is never truly unoccupied. I used to not really believe in ghosts, and for the most part I still don't. When it comes to the Palestra, though, I agree with Harrell that there's something in the rafters watching over the players and fans below.

As I stood there yesterday looking up, I couldn't help but remember some of the big plays and big games I've seen over the two seasons in which I've had the privilege of covering the Big 5 for the DP. Three moments stand out above all the rest, occasions which symbolize the special nature of games in "college basketball's most historic gym."

The first came at the end of the 2004 Big 5 classic game between Temple and Villanova. The game was a stereotypical City Series clash, with rugged defense and poor shooting for both sides, exemplified by Villanova's 3-of-17 first half from beyond the arc. With 1:10 to go in the second half, the score was tied at 50-50.

As Temple's Mardy Collins drove to the basket, Villanova's defense collapsed on him. But that left Dustin Salisbery wide open on the left side of the arc, and Collins dished to Salisbery for a wide-open three. When the ball went through the net, the Temple fans roared as if they were at an Italian soccer game, where the scarcity of goals makes reactions even more frenzied. It seemed so strange for the Owls to be on the verge of beating the far more talented Wildcats, and yet it was also somehow entirely predictable.

The second moment came just over two months later when Villanova squared off against Saint Joseph's in the annual Holy War grudge match. While the aforementioned Temple-Villanova game was rightly hawked as the top Big 5 game that season, 'Nova-St. Joe's simply blows all the other City Series rivalries out of the water. It has all the elements: Atlantic 10 vs. Big East, mostly local student body vs. more geographically diverse student body, city vs. suburbs (even though a significant part of the St. Joe's campus is on the other side of City Avenue), and lots of people who know people at the other school.

Yet when the two teams get together at the Palestra, it seems as much like a family reunion as a sibling rivalry. That was never more on display than at the beginning of the second half, when the full house was using college basketball as a distraction from the Eagles' loss in the Super Bowl a day earlier. Amid the din, public address announcer John McAdams announced that a set of car keys had been turned in to the scorers table, and would the owner please come pick them up.

A game on national television between two teams which at that point had reasonable dreams of the NCAA Tournament, and here was an announcement about a lost set of car keys?

It was a perfect Palestra moment. It wouldn't happen at one of the NBA-style palaces that many big-time teams play in across the country, much less the actual NBA arena that Villanova calls its second home. But it made complete sense.

The third moment came at this past season's Holy War. The house was split right down the middle, as if a can of red paint had been thrown on one end and a can of blue paint had been thrown on the other end. And it was once again absolutely deafening -- even the normally wine-and-cheese Villanova fans were really into it. There were points at which the "Let's go St. Joe's" and "Let's go Nova" chants were in such a perfect rhythm that everyone was chanting "Let's go" at the exact same time, and the rest was just an unintelligible mass of sound.

But even with all the shouting, there was one question that nobody had an answer to. With McAdams' passing last summer and Rich Kahn only announcing Penn games and the Big 5 classic, who would be behind the public address? For most of the pregame warmups, there weren't any announcements. Then the answer came a few minutes before tipoff, when the unmistakable voice of former Big 5 Executive Secretary and current Phillies PA man Dan Baker boomed out over the speakers.

"The Philadelphia Big 5 is selling merchandise on the concourse of the Palestra," he said.

I've never heard the Palestra as quiet as it was at that moment. Of course, it got louder real fast.

"Tonight's contest, ladies and gentlemen, marks just the fourth time in Philadelphia Big 5 history that two undefeated teams will meet one another to determine the Big 5 champion," he said, as the crescendo grew. "The winner of tonight's game will be crowned not only the winner of the 2005-2006 Big 5 title, but will be able to say they won the Big 5 championship for its 50th anniversary season."

Even the objective among us had goosebumps.

I will close with one more anecdote, which was the first time I realized just what the Palestra is about. It was way back during my freshman year, at the first Penn-Princeton game I ever attended. The first points of the game were scored on a slam dunk by Ugonna Onyekwe. Even now, after those Holy Wars and all the other big games I've teen to, I swear that I have never heard the Palestra louder than it was at that moment.

And I thought of all this when the place was empty.