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3/20/2001 - Men's Basketball
To be continued…

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By Bob Socci

Surrounded by an eerie silence, you're left to stare straight ahead, as the wipers sway back and forth to create a small clearing on an otherwise fogged-up windshield.

In your sights is the steady snowfall of a harsh New England Friday, lengthening an already difficult trek along Route 146 - headed toward Providence and away from what might have been.

Seasons aren't supposed to end like this.

Not with a lonely bus ride - however crowded - into the cold reality of dreams denied.

Especially when for so many it is the last trip they make together with their basketball "brothers." Logging the final miles of their college careers.

An hour or so earlier, they were seemingly on their way to a special place visited by only 65 of the more than 300 teams who compete in Division I college basketball. Ahead by 11, less than 16 minutes from the NCAA Tournament.

But with circumstances stacked against them, competing with the Patriot League's regular-season champion at Holy Cross, the Navy Midshipmen were extended into overtime. And, ultimately, turned away from a goal they had spent heart and soul to attain for the last 12 months.

Five extra minutes produced a four-point difference, 68-64. A meager margin for sure. Yet, at the same time, a broad span that separated a title for a lifetime from a lifetime of what-ifs.

There were six seniors on that bus, eventually bound for a flight that would carry them back to Maryland and into their post-basketball lives.

As the wheels kept churning and the snow kept falling, your thoughts kept drifting back.

To their earliest days in the program, when a select few were fortunate enough to clash Navy Blue with that Carolina shade in the NCAA Tournament.

To the ensuing three seasons, when they formed the core of a team that averaged nearly 21 victories.

And, eventually, to individual snapshots.

Of Robert Reeder, the team captain whose demeanor was likened by his head coach to that of John Wayne. Indeed, a quiet man off the floor, but made of the true grit to continually play through injury with the simple aid of stitches or tape.

Neither a broken nose nor dislocated finger, inflamed achilles nor lacerated chin could sway him from stepping in for a charge. Or taking charge, in a different sense, when an outcome was in doubt.

Of Michael Cunningham, who joined Reeder as an academic honoree, just as his big shoes were stepping out of the long shadows cast by previous centers like Josh Williams and Sitapha Savane.

It was no mere coincidence that when last seen in uniform, Cunningham walking off the court upon receiving his All-Tournament award at the Patriot League Championship.

Of Josh Hill, whose progress was constantly impeded by injury. Much of the last year was spent on a stationary bike, pedaling his way into shape in the hope of returning by season's end.

In the conference semifinals, on the 4th of March - bad foot and all - Hill came through with a three-point play forever on record.

Of Reggie Skipworth, the guard first introduced to the Navy basketball public late in his freshman campaign. Elevated to the varsity, he was part of the Mids' drive to a Patriot title.

Then, after being cast in the role of backup following 65 consecutive starts, he helped his successor develop to give Navy another shot at the conference crown.

Of John Williams, who seemed to operate solely in high gear, spun into perpetual motion. Especially on defense.

At his best, he was a shadow to Army's Chris Spatola, frustrating the Cadets' top scorer throughout the Patriot quarterfinals as he and his classmates completed a career sweep of their arch rivals.

And of Chris Williams, whose blend of athleticism and competitiveness propelled him among Navy's all-time leaders in so many categories.

Career totals left him sixth in scoring and second in steals. In the end, it was he who was robbed, denied by Patriot League coaches the Player-of-the-Year award he so richly deserved.

Beyond such memories, though, is an understanding of what those six seniors withstood.

They tested themselves against the likes of Longhorns and Demon Deacons - future pros who'll never know what it's like to rise by dawn for morning formation.

Together they stood fast through plebe summer, squared corners and experienced life at sea. Often while conference counterparts were honing their jump shots.

Notwithstanding, they achieved so much and came so close to still more.

And that's why, however bleak the road may seem - even on a blustery night in early March - you come to a realization.

There are brighter days ahead.