Every spring for the past half decade I've returned to Milwaukee—with its bars, brewery, bowling alleys and Harley-Davidson plant—and now see it again for the Eden it has always been. The same goes for Marquette, which this year received a record number of applications.
Last Christmas I was given a Marquette sweatshirt in a yellow so violent that it camouflages, almost perfectly, the nacho cheese I dribble onto my chest while watching the resurgent Warriors' increasingly frequent appearances on national television.
I was wearing it last Saturday when the Warriors—indulge me—won a trip to the Final Four by dominating Kentucky. Guard Dwyane Wade made the nets sway, as the late McGuire might have put it, like a girl's skirt in a light breeze. Coach Tom Crean, a worthy heir to McGuire, has not merely invoked Al's spirit, he's had AL stitched to the team's uniforms.
Those are also the first two letters in alma mater, a phrase that I know now—at age 36—is perfectly apt. For it translates, from the Latin, as "nourishing mother."