Mike Anthony: Geno Auriemma, coaching in front of cardboard cutouts, can’t yet wrap his mind around the absurdity of 2020 college basketball settings
Geno #Geno
Geno Auriemma was court level behind the scenes at Gampel Pavilion, media members were in the arena’s upper bowl and there was a momentary pause late in his virtual press conference Saturday after UConn opened a season that is taking place on another planet.
“This is the weirdest thing ever, man,” Auriemma said.
The entire gameday experience — outside of a 56-point Huskies’ victory — was nearly unrecognizable. It’s the new norm for college basketball, squeezed into a pandemic and playing out in essentially empty buildings.
Cardboard cutouts featuring photographs of several species — people, pets — stood in as “fans.” The team bench setups were three rows deep, occupying the space of a campus lecture hall. Coaches were in masks (most of the time, anyway). Smatterings of applause replaced the traditional overlap of 10,000 fans cheering as the pep band played. The pregame hype video montage asked fans to GET LOUD, and about 125 people tried.
Gampel is a vacuum of traditional basketball energy these days, a strange mix of something to celebrate and something to bemoan until we’re freed from the grip of a virus that has changed the complexion of … everything.
“We [had] more dog posters at our game than we had human beings,” Auriemma said. “When’s the last time that happened? There were more canines at Gampel Pavilion than there were human beings. And it wasn’t even a dog show. I just can’t get used to this, man. I looked over one time and I saw my wife. I wasn’t sure whether it was her or the cardboard version of her. This is the weirdest thing. Seriously, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Let me preface the following by stating that I don’t believe any fan cares about the media’s experience, especially with every fan shut out of the building. And they shouldn’t, not one iota. But as we work further into this Everyone Is Trying Their Best season, it’s worth acknowledging that the traditional flow of observation and information has been largely disrupted.
The UConn women won a game Tuesday at Seton Hall, believed to be the Huskies’ first on the road since the late 1980s or early 1990s without a member of the Connecticut media on hand. Bob Joyce and Deb Fiske of ESPN 97.9 called the game from studios on Columbus Boulevard, watching on TV. The Courant’s beat writer, Alexa Philippou, watched from her couch in Hartford. I watched from my couch in Windsor.
Any other year, we would have been courtside in South Orange, N.J., for the 6:30 p.m. tipoff and face-to-face with Auriemma and players afterward. There would be a real press conference, and follow-up conversations. Auriemma in a hallway one on one or in a small group is among the most valuable experiences for media members trying to dissect a program in a way that honors a fan base’s curiosity.
That’s gone, for now. I don’t have a single complaint, though. We’re Zoom-ing through 2020 and coverage of Connecticut’s favorite teams, and it’s a trip. Some reporters sound as if they’re calling from a pay phone on Mars. Internet and phone connections come and go. It’s all so impersonal, no matter how comfortable and insightful Auriemma and Dan Hurley have been in recent months, one state-of-the-program address after another. It’s weird, though. It’s 2020.
“You know how they have those posters in the end zone, where we have more dogs than people?” Auriemma said. “My mother was watching, and her [cardboard image] is over there and she thinks it’s the most bizarre thing she’s ever seen and she’s 89 and has seen everything since World War II. … I think in the postgame press conference, we ought to have cutouts of [media members]. I want to see a cutout so I can look over, throw a little spit ball at you, hit you on the side of the head or something, so we can at least inject some humor into this nonsense.”
During the game, the sideline and bench aren’t really the sideline and bench anymore. A volleyball game could be held in the space, usually occupied by bleachers now collapsed. The “bench” is three rows of 10 chairs, 30 total, and situated on the side of the court opposite from the scorer’s table to promote distance from other game staff members.
Coaches and players must wear masks when not on the court, though just about every coach I’ve seen pulls it down on occasion. Players and staff members have assigned seats, and each player seat has a “caddy” that includes hand sanitizer, a water bottle, a sports drink, a towel, tissues, mouthpiece holder and masks.
There is a hand sanitizer station in each bench area, and managers sanitize chairs before the game and at halftime. Stools used during timeouts are sanitized each time play resumes. When the games end, coaches and players wave or salute opponents instead of shake hands.
Those cardboard cutouts — there are about 1,000 — are part of an initiative raising money for the UConn Foundation. For $50, fans can have their image, or that of their cat or dog, in a seat close to the court.
The building doesn’t sound drastically different during play than it does afterward, the game devoid of emotional peaks and valleys, the ebb and flow of momentum. Auriemma called the flat atmosphere “kind of numbing.”
“This is goofy” he said. “It doesn’t even feel like basketball. I feel bad for our freshmen. When they signed their letter of intent, they’re watching on TV, ‘I want to run out of the tunnel, 10,000 people at Gampel, it’s going to be unbelievable, the energy, the crowd is going to go crazy.’ And they walk out [to a smattering of applause]. It looks like they’re at a bad stand-up comic night. … When the fans do come back our kids are going to know how special that is. So if they ever took that for granted, I promise you they won’t anymore.”
None of us will take much for granted anymore.
“They’re getting a chance to play and that is something to be grateful for,” Auriemma said. “I think they’re grateful for it, and I know the coaching staff is, and the people watching from home probably are.”