For all the great things I did in Phoenix – covered the Sweet 16 and Elite Eight, enjoyed heavenly weather in March and did it all for free – one night made the trip most worthwhile.

After pumping out stories after Syracuse lost to Alabama, I met up with two of my writer friends, both a couple years older and very successful. We saw an older writer sitting at the bar who’d been enjoying the libations for some time. One of my buddies knew him, so we walked up and listened to him.

For an hour, the older writer – let’s leave names out, but just know he’s talented and works at a major paper – spun stories and waxed philosophic on all issues.

He outlasted the guys he came to the bar with, so we walked him back to our hotel. He stepped in the elevator, and before he disappeared behind the door, he looked at my one of my buddies and said, ‘You work for a great paper.’ Then, he pointed at me. ‘But you’re only a sophomore!’

Got me to thinking. I’ve been in college for just two years, and, all thanks to working at The Daily Orange, I’ve squeezed in some unreal experiences. Some of them may sound like bragging, some of them may seem silly. But they’re all a part of my tenure as sports editor at The D.O., a year in my life that I never want to forget (not that I could if I wanted to.)

So, just to help me remember …

I’ve seen Jim Boeheim teach the 2-3 zone and watched Walter Reyes’ feet pitter-patter like hard rain.

At one point this fall, I walked by a Heisman Trophy on a daily basis and received a new shipment of goosebumps every time.

I watched Larry Fitzgerald turn cornerbacks into traffic cones and marveled at Josh Pace’s improvisation.

I’ve sipped gratis Guinness with Gerry McNamara’s high school coach and been hung-up on by Michael Vick’s.

I’ve seen Marianna Freeman cry because she knew she wasn’t good enough to stay at SU and Carmelo Anthony cry because he knew he was too good to.

Speaking of Anthony, I was lucky to see him play and, for a year, call him a classmate. I was even luckier to be the second person to find out that Carmelo Anthony guaranteed a trip to the Final Four and luckier still to cover the last time he played as a collegian in the Carrier Dome.

I played H-O-R-S-E against Julie McBride – and took her all the way to the letter ‘S’. Thanks for taking it easy on me, Julie. I also felt fortunate to cover McBride, because no one I’ve covered at SU hated to lose more, but she always showed poise and charisma postgame.

I’ve talked dunking with Hakim Warrick and lacrosse with Michael Powell.

I experienced the serenity of walking by Touchdown Jesus at 4 a.m. and the cacophony of walking by a packed row of Blacksburg, Va., watering holes at 11 p.m.

I watched the hijinks of Mike Hopkins at men’s basketball practice, who played big brother to Demetris Nichols and Louie McCroskey while Gerry McNamara hoisted in half-court shots like they were free throws.

I saw Kelvin Smith’s game-winning tackle at North Carolina and felt bad programmers didn’t show it on TV, robbing the campus of the most emotional moment from a painfully nondescript season.

I churned out five stories on deadline when Syracuse lost in the Sweet 16, working so feverishly I almost didn’t notice Michael Wilbon sitting to my direct right.

More than anything, I hope, I became a sportswriter – and not just eating too much free food before complaining about it. I stopped living by SportsCenter and started devouring any writing I could find. I started caring less and less about results and stats and more and more about the people who create them.

For all of this, I had to make sacrifices. Last year, while the rest of campus celebrated on Marshall Street after Syracuse won the national title, I stewed in Ostrom, giving the first edit to one hell of a game story. I spent too many Thursday nights in this dingy office (but probably too many Friday nights in bars). Too many times, I went to sleep while the rest of the world woke up.

I made my fair share of mistakes, too. As a freshman, I told Nick Romeo I played center in high school, to which he responded – appropriately – with a decidedly unenthusiastic, ‘Uh, OK.’ I jumped the gun and called Syracuse unfit for the NCAA Tournament. I gave the green light for a story predicting – no, declaring – that Paul Pasqualoni would not be on the sidelines this fall. Like Mark Twain, rumors of his demise were greatly exaggerated.

Oh, almost forgot one – I witnessed firsthand Connecticut majestically entering greatness and Syracuse valiantly exit it.

Those last two happened in Phoenix, which brings us back to the elevator and the writer. Before he gasped at my college standing, we were talking back in the bar about what it takes to succeed in sportswriting.

‘You need two things,’ he told me and my friends, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. ‘You have to be confident. But you have to stay humble.’

Confidence, that one I’m working on. And I think it’ll come just fine. As for the second half of the secret, that I know I’ve got in the bag.

With all I’ve been through, how could I possibly not be humbled?

Adam Kilgore was the sports editor at The Daily Orange, where his columns appeared regularly. E-mail him at adkilgor@syr.edu.

Published on April 26, 2004 at 12:00 pm