A Sweet Sixteen inspired look at four glorious years

Tomorrow night we’ll be all decked out in our blue and gold to celebrate Marquette University’s third straight trip to the NCAA Sweet Sixteen.
Our allegiance to the Golden Eagles Warriors began more than 30 years ago when we wandered onto that sweet little urban campus utterly naïve to its eternal hold.
I thank Marquette every day for the Jesuit education it gave me:
For classes I occasionally slept through like History 101 — the Growth of Western Civilization and the professors who made me learn anyway.
For that season I spent on an intramural water polo team with a calm expression plastered on my face while, with every other muscle in my body, I fought to stay afloat.
For practical life lessons including how to drink from a large glass boot and how to digest late night chili.
For the love note Chris Farley once wrote me on a paper napkin in the Mashuda Hall cafeteria
For the late nights I spent in Johnston Hall among some of the most inspiring journalists I know.
For the roommates with whom I lived, laughed, and learned and for the seven-bedroom apartment from which we chased pigeons, mice, rabbits, bats, and boys.
For the basketball teams around which we rallied and the excitement they injected into long winter nights.
For the 2,000-year old chapel and the 2,000-year old prayers we offered for our very specific but probably 2,000-year old concerns.
For Father Raynor, Marquette’s longest tenured president, who knew the faces behind the names on the diplomas he signed and who once walked me all the way across campus because we got caught up in a chat.
For the beautiful friendships I’ve maintained for three decades.
For the husband I met in a college newsroom.
Ring out Ahoya!