Why Big Blue?

It was 1975.  The University of Kentucky Wildcats were in the NCAA finals against the UCLA Bruins.  Arguably, the two most prominent NCAA basketball programs were pitted against each other for the national championship of college basketball.

Just before the game, legendary UCLA coach John Wooden, announced to his players that the 1975 championship game would be his last to coach.  My family's apartment in the boys' dorm at Mount Carmel Christian School near Jackson, Kentucky was crowded with 50 or so dorm boys.  We had radios blaring as Cawood Ledford called the game in his inimitable style.  I could see Kevin Grevey cross the time-line with the ball.  I could imagine Bob Guyette posting up.  I could see Robey, Phillips, Lee, and Givens--fabulous freshmen--in the game of their lives.

The Bruins were playing out of their minds.  Sky high emotions propelled them to win a final championship for Coach Wooden.  Wooden's storied career would come to an end that night against Coach Joe B. Hall's UK Wildcats.  My love affair with Kentucky basketball was just beginning.

Dad loved to listen to Kentucky basketball games on the radio.  Television was unavailable in the remote mountain community we called home.  So, Cawood Ledford, the Voice of the Wildcats, visited our living room, our car, and even the tiny transistor radios tuned to FM 101.1, WSGS, Hazard, Kentucky.

Kentucky has always suffered from geographical isolation.  Appalachia has historically been the brunt of jokes and ridicule.  Media caricatures abound of barefoot, toothless hillbillies, derided for their ignorance and backwardness.  In an age of cultural sensitivity, mountain people from Appalachia continue to be "safe" targets of ridicule and exploitation.  Political correctness has not yet extended its protective care to my people.

Over the past 150 years, timber barons came to the mountains.  They stripped the hills of their rich population of chestnuts and oak, leaving scars in the naked landscape, and a bit of quickly spent cash in the pockets of my people. The timber barons were followed by the coal barons.  Mountain folks made some money, built homes, and clothed and schooled their children with coal money.  But now, it's gone too.  The landscape is scarred, and the people are in poverty.

My home county of Breathitt is surrounded by some of the poorest counties in the United States of America--Lee, Owsley, and Wolfe.  University of Kentucky Wildcat basketball gave my people hope, joy, and a cultural bond that exists today.  When the Cats won, we too were winners.  When they lost, we hoped for the next game and the next season.  Resilience echoes in the character of Kentuckians. "We'll get 'em next year!"

My neighbor, Karl, was from Ohio, but he lived in the mountains as a missionary all of his adult life. Karl was a serious, scholarly, holy man.  His daughter recalls "memories of my Dad sitting on a footstool by the big radio/LP stereo listening to Cawood Ledford calling the game, not wanting to miss a single play or word! The UK players who played for four years were like friends. We felt like we knew them. Wonderful memories!"  Karl connected with his people and his adopted homeland through his love for Wildcat basketball.

Ran was from Harlan County.  He grew up with Cawood Ledford, also from Harlan.  Ran was my Bible College professor and choir director.  His supreme passion was for God, but Ran also enjoyed his Cats.  He never missed a game.  

Robert was from Breathitt County.  He was my high school history teacher.  I loved to hear Robert preach.  I admired him.  But Robert could hardly stand to listen to the game on the radio, or later view it on the TV.  It made him too nervous.  In and out, back and forth, off and on... that's how Robert listened to the Cats.  The suspense nearly killed him.  When the game was no longer in doubt, he could enjoy the last two minutes.  Mary was the same way.  Excitement glistened in her eyes as this transplant from West Virginia described the Wildcats most recent game!  Every close game she had to leave the room, because the excitement was overwhelming.

A visit to my home town of Jackson, Kentucky always reminds me of how deeply the University of Kentucky Wildcat basketball program defines our mountain culture.  The streets of Jackson empty during a game.  The most prominent color of clothing at any event during any season of the year just may be Kentucky Wildcat blue.  Big Blue clothing is on the first rack inside the front door at the tiny Jackson Wal-Mart on every day of the year.  "How 'bout them Cats?" is a common greeting at church, school, or waiting in the doctor's office.  Kentucky basketball binds and defines my home culture.  

Daddy is eighty and he never misses a game.  If he is home, he watches.  If he is on the road, he listens.  When I call home, we talk basketball.  I have fond memories of Dad buying tickets to the UK Invitational Tournament when I was growing up.  That was often a special part of our Christmas.  

I attended the University of Kentucky from 1986 to 1992.  I received two degrees, a master's and a doctorate, from the university.  I was there during Kentucky's shame.  Recruiting violations led to a complete rebuilding of the basketball program, the athletic department, and restored Board of Trustee governance to sports. All of these were needed changes which I applauded.  I cheered our Kentucky boys--the Unforgettables--who stayed at UK to rebuild the program.  I was seated on the very top row at Rupp Arena the night they beat a young Shaquille O'Neal's Louisiana State University's Tigers.  I even taught basketball players like Reggie Hanson and Nehemiah Brady, Jr. public speaking and interpersonal communication. 

I was living up Indian Hollow in Jackson, Kentucky during March Madness 1992.  The Cats were playing Duke in Philadelphia.  I'll never forget dropping from my recliner to the floor when Sean Woods hit the miracle lay-up.  Victory shouts turned to agony when the Duke player whom Cats' fans still love to hate hit the miracle shot heard round the world.  We relive the pain year after year through replays, promos, and commercials.  Each time I yell at Coach Pitino to guard the inbound pass. Each time I yell at Jon Pelfrey to get in front of the receiver.  Each time I remember.

Today, I live in the deep South.  Football rules in the South.  I follow it.  I enjoy it.  But my mind is always geared for those months from October fifteenth's Big Blue Madness to the Big Dance of March Madness--the NCAA tournament. 

I no longer grieve a loss for days.  I don't let UK basketball define my entire existence.  It's not my religion.  I don't approve of the profanity, drunkenness, gambling, wasteful spending, and cheating that is often associated with intercollegiate athletics.  If my Cats are cheating in recruiting, I certainly don't approve, but neither do I believe that they are!  On game day and many others in-between, you will see me clad in Wildcat Blue.  You will hear me say with gusto, "Go Cats!"

So, throughout the basketball season, I try to find the games on television.  Sometimes, I am driving, traveling for work, or staying in a hotel that does not have the channel.  That's when I resort to the "Tune-In" app on my smartphone.  I select WSGS from Hazard, and listen to Tom Leach's familiar tones describe my Cats.  It's in those moments that the Bluegrass, the hills of Appalachia, my East Kentucky mountain home, and my daddy sitting in his recliner watching his beloved Cats, come whispering the sounds of home to my soul.

Poverty and economic diaspora have scattered Kentuckians around the nation.  With our dispersion, the Big Blue Nation has spread.  Neither the University of Kentucky nor state or national boundaries can contain it.  And when the Cats are playing, we all hear the same sound.  It's that whispering sound of home, identity, our roots.  It's the sound of a bouncing basketball on Cawood's Court in Rupp Arena.

You see, it's more than basketball.  It's home, and it's ever with me.  That's why.