We got the pleasure of attending a Duke Basketball
game at Cameron Indoor Stadium. Something I am quickly realizing does not
happen everyday. An institution rooted in basketball excellence, Duke Basketball has a rabid following and facilities that house less than 10,000
spectators at a time. It takes a certain family history, a chunk of change or
sheer luck to claim a seat in Cameron Indoor Stadium.
Two steps through the door, I turned to Liz and said
something to the effect that “it smells like a gym in here”. Yes, considering
we were walking into a gym, I was stating the obvious. To me though, it
extended beyond simply being perceptive. My nostrils flaired. Synapses fired.
Memories from years ago rushed to the surface. It wasn’t a bad smell,
but familiar. It smelled like a gym.
Both of my parents coached. Soon after I was born, I
was in the bleachers of gyms. Since I could walk, I was running around in gyms. Behind bleachers. Across wrestling rooms. Under volleyball nets. Through
field houses. Into locker rooms. And if I was lucky enough to find the door
unlocked, launching myself off of a trampoline into the gymnastics foam pit.
When I say that it smells like a gym, I say that with a sincere fondness and
appreciation. It is the smell developed after many hours, days and years. It is
the smell of hard work, sweat and blood. It is a smell you can’t create with
any air freshener or candle. Nor is it a smell you can ever get rid of with any
air freshener or candle. It is a smell that is hardwired into my mind and my
memories.
The game was great. The Carmon Crazies were in full
force. And I sat there, in a sea of blue, with a childish grin on my face the
entire time.
