Great Expectations

Five minutes before his last collegiate game, Jon Scheyer concluded his pregame warm-up and walked over to head coach Mike Krzyzewski. It was time for the national anthem, so Krzyzewski and his senior point guard lined up on the baseline in preparation for the ceremony. The song struck its first chord, and Krzyzewski listened as he always does, his posture ramrod straight, his gaze intense and unwavering. For an old military man, you would expect nothing less.

Beside him, though, stood a young man appreciating Francis Scott Key’s words in a different manner. Scheyer, from the song’s beginning, bowed his head and closed his eyes as tight as an infant in mid-tantrum, never reopening them for the duration of the song. He occasionally mouthed the words, but otherwise never moved, never looked up, never interrupted his near-meditative state. It was a different form of intensity from Krzyzewski’s, but a spellbinding one, nevertheless.

When the song was over, the senior didn’t speak to anyone, not until it was time for the tip. Perhaps Scheyer, standing there in prayerful pose, realized something, understood that his embattled class—criticized and critiqued for four years for embodying the misdirection of Duke Basketball—stood on that baseline with Duke immortality 40 scant minutes away. They stood in a position they were never meant to be in, a position no one might have expected.

Is their improbable path already etched in our collective memory? Is it permanently ingrained there despite the transitory, blink-and-you-missed-it celebration? Or do we need to remind ourselves?

Let’s go back to the beginning—the alarmingly unathletic days—when Duke was a “finesse” team, soft, a squad that would never win when the threes weren’t falling.

January 20: The Blue Devils go into Raleigh and face N.C. State, who would go on to win five games in ACC play. The Wolfpack crush Duke by 14. Fans rush the court.

January 30: In front of the leader of the free world, Duke watches Georgetown shoot 71.7 percent, lead by as much as 23 and win 89-77. Fans rush the court.

March 3: Maryland beats Duke 79-72. Scheyer goes 7-for-21 from the field and Greivis Vasquez locks up ACC Player of the Year honors in the process. Fans rush the court. (And then they’re tear-gassed and arrested in subsequent post-game celebrations on Route 1.)

    While everyone’s lost, the battle is won

    With all these things that I’ve done.

Singler is decked by a screen. Hayward shoots. Seventy thousand, nine-hundred thirty-eight people people gasp. The ball hits three inches wide.

Chris Spatola, the director of basketball operations, sprints onto the court, his first step quicker than anyone else’s. Always one of the most intense guys on the bench—an Army man himself, actually—Spatola is introduced to the national media with a colorful addendum to other coaches’ advice in Duke’s semifinal win over West Virginia.

“Four minutes till we play in the national championship!” associate head coach Steve Wojciechowski yells.

“Four motherfucking minutes!” Spatola adds.

Almost as quick on the court is Krzyzewski. Fifteen years ago he took a year off—back surgery. Twice in those 15 years, he’s been sidelined with hip replacement surgery. No matter. He runs onto the court. Like he did after his first taste of this success in ’91.

Kevin White, Duke’s athletic director, is the first to find him for a hug. White’s excitement and admiration for Krzyzewski is not remotely close to dissipating minutes later, while he stands on the 3-point line waiting for the nets to be cut down. “He’s won four of these!” he yells. “Best coach at any level at any sport. He’s an amazing coach. A great leader.” In July, while in California, Krzyzewski told him this was possible. His words, White believes, were prophetic.

On the platform with CBS’s Jim Nantz and the NCAA’s Jim Isch, Nolan Smith stands with his arm draped around Scheyer. “Best backcourt in the nation!” he says. “You can’t say we’re not the best backcourt in the nation!” They never move from that spot when “One Shining Moment” comes on, only now Krzyzewski stands between them, smiling as Smith bursts out laughing at the sight of Taylor King in a Villanova jersey.

In what seems like an eternity later, the team walks off the court. Andre Dawkins, the freshman who skipped his senior year of high school, holds the trophy. “This is my baby,” he says. “Don’t let me let go of my baby.”

On Tuesday afternoon, hundreds of hung-over students skipped their afternoon classes. Thousands of fans and alumni crowd the understaffed bookstore in a horde so thick that, according to an employee, a woman suffering from an asthma attack fell on the floor, lying there for several minutes, unable to be found by EMS in the maze of humanity and merchandise.

The heroes coming home are given a worthy welcome in Cameron Indoor Stadium. The seniors spoke first. They didn’t say much, just reminders to enjoy the experience, coupled with praise to their teammates for their performances in the tournament. But before he left, Lance Thomas, the senior power forward, left the crowd with words no one will forget anytime soon. “This,” he said, “is the best team I’ll ever play for in my life.”