THE WARMUP
I’m a basketball fan, but Midnight Madness at Covenant College, Ga., a four-year Christian school secluded on Lookout Mountain, is a first for me. I don’t know what to expect. Hopefully, it will mirror what’s happening at Chapel Hill, where fans eagerly await the Roy Williams shuffle, whatever that is. My brother, son and nephew were collegiate hoop stars. I could never shoot. My claim to basketball fame: I once hung out with Duke players in their locker room following a game. That was festive!
I’m nervous about the blogging, though. This won’t be UNC or Duke. The school seems to be in the middle of nowhere. I’ve driven by it. Only about 1,000 students are enrolled here. What if nothing happens? What if players race out onto the court, shoot a few layups before a few inaudible words from the coach, and then retire abruptly to the locker room? How zany can Midnight Madness be at a school affiliated with the Presbyterian Church Association where, presumably, there will be no Dennis Rodman-type characters in the house? No boisterous fans, clowns or dancing girls? I’ll try to relax. Kinks in these late-hour, season-opening madness events have probably all been worked out. After all, they are almost 40 years old, according to Wikipedia.
8 P.M.–VOILA!
After a few wrong turns, I found Covenant College, then the basketball gymnasium. Not easily. Lots of forks in winding roads atop the Georgia side of Lookout Mountain where the campus is sprawled out over a half mile or more of sparsely populated land. The nearest restaurant was three miles away. It’s beautiful up here. Lush, forested country, impressive architecture. Wow, how does such a small college have such great facilities? There are two gymnasiums, and students direct me to the facility on the second level, one floor above the other. Nice, clean buildings, spacious well-equipped fitness centers. I’m early. On entering the gym, I see only four or five guys in street clothes shooting near the entrance, and a couple of guys at the scorers’ table.

Luke Herbert
Approaching the table, I’m greeted by assistant coach, Luke Herbert. “Are you Ken,” he asks. We’d talked on the phone earlier. I’d told him I wanted to blog the event for a college course. He’s big. A good looking, good-natured fellow, far better-looking than his mug on the website, I tell him. He nods, says he’s new. He has a bright smile, winning personality. He tells me he’s here to join head coach Kyle Taylor, who is in his rookie year running the college’s varsity basketball team, the Covenant Scots. I tell him he looks like an athlete, ask if he ever feels like jumping into games to help the little guys. He laughs, shares an experience last year when, at 24, he was mistaken for a player, in Billings, Mont.
Luke points me to the best spot to plug in my lap top. The highest seat at the top of the collapsible bleachers, above the scorers table. A thin shelf designed for computers and stat sheets has been fabricated to accommodate writers and statisticians seated on the bench. I see electricity. I introduce my wife, who has agreed to be a liaison between Luke and me. Earlier, I printed a roster, albeit one without jersey numbers.
8:10—MAYDAY!

Wireless communication fails
Hooked up, but I’m unable to access WordPress. My wife, the tech expert in our family, can’t help. Will have to dead-blog into Word.
8:15—WHO SELECTS THIS MUSIC?
Hip hop, and rap are blasting on the PA system. My least favorite music, it drives me crazy. It’s too loud. I’d expect Christian Rock here, like Casting Crowns or Matt Redmund. If I were out there, I’d shoot better with this stuff turned off. Maybe Green Day or Dixie Chicks live would work for me!

The Dixie Chicks
Anything else! If this were a paying job, I’d ask for a bonus. The place is filling up with people. About 17, 18 players including 2 or 3 women are shooting beneath one basket. About eight on each end. Maybe 20 persons in the audience, on bleachers across the court. Five or six in bleachers on my side. There are no bleachers at the ends. This gym is new, it needs wall hangings, more flags, or something. Empty hospital-white walls above blue rubber matting behind the baskets to cushion flying players. A small flag is displayed on one end, next to a Coca Cola sign, next to the scoreboard. Just a Coke sign and a scoreboard on the far end. Some ‘Go Scots’ signs are needed, or better, championship pennants. Practice baskets at the sides of the court have been raised from the floor and tucked into the ceiling—practices can involve six baskets in all.
8:25—WHERE DO THESE PEOPLE LIVE?
The court is filling up. Great. About 20 to 30 men, college age–are they even players?—are shooting at one end of the court. They look like they belong to the Scots, sort of, but all aren’t wearing uniforms. Four or five women are shooting at the far end, two in white uniforms with blue trim, two in blue uniforms with white trim. An older, happy-go-lucky guy mingles with the girls, talking but not shooting. Maybe a father? This is small-town USA. So far, there is no craziness, no remarkable characters on the floor or in the bleachers. Not much noise, either, except for the hip hop blaring over the sound system.
8:28—HERE SHE COMES!

Brenda Frese
The women’s coach just walked out on the floor to mingle with her players. I recognize her from Covenant’s web site. Oops, there she goes, back out the door, gone. She doesn’t look like a women’s coach. She’s heavy. Looks angry, like Brenda Frese when the Terrapins get a bad call. She is dressed too casual for a coming out party, doesn’t come off as fit, fashionable and in control, like Brenda!
8:30—FANS
The bleachers are filling up, more than 100 persons now.
8:33—SOMETHING’S UP!
A quick huddle, about 25-30 guys gather around the key on one end of the gym, before they suddenly disappear into the locker room. The hip hop is turned down.
8:34—SILENCE
The buzzer sounds, the floor is clear. The hip hop and rap stops. This is good. But nothing at all seems remarkable. Someone is going to speak.
8:35—WELCOME
Coach Taylor–wow, he’s really young–right beneath me faces the crowd assembling on the far bleachers, “I just want to welcome y’all,” he says. He introduces Luke and another assistant, offers their credentials. Turns the mike over to . . . who? To a middle-aged guy with shaggy gray hair who my wife says is the “Philosopher,” for introductions. A few people are still coming in. Since there are so very few houses in the areas near the campus, this is remarkable. The size of the crowd is starting to become impressive, probably 150-175 people are now in the gym.
The Philosopher is introducing the roster, just like it’s a real game, and everyone gets nice applause. Not loud, just polite. He

Balloons, madness at Wal-Mart
introduces four guys from the men’s varsity, then a player from the women’s team, who trots down to the far end of the court and stands alone. The crowd applauds but its quiet applause. Midnight Madness? For an event that has M-A-D in its name, it’s dull. I scan the crowd again. No one is laughing, necking, drinking, leading a cheering section, shouting encouragement. I’ve seen more animation at Wal-Mart. My prediction at this point: no clowns, balloons or dancing girls tonight.
8:45—INTRODUCTIONS COMPLETED
We’ve met 30 men and 10 women. Still no music on the PA. This is good, but nothing is really happening here. No one is eating or drinking . . . someone must be nipping from a paper sack, but I see no food or beverages. I see a dwarf. A small man, to be politically correct. One of the men milling around on the floor in uniform is very small, maybe 5 foot tall. He appears to be little more than half the size of the bigger players, and wears number 21. My assistant is copping out. The roster I printed earlier doesn’t include numbers assigned to the team. She doesn’t want walk down the bleachers to ask Luke for names to go with numbers. My sense is a matching sheet doesn’t exist. We’re too high up, and she’s wearing high heels, the only person for miles around wearing high heels! Small town hoops. Now, something’s up. It’s very quiet in the gym. No blogging right now. We’re going to pray.
8:47—WINNERS?
There’s a raffle, Luke has given my wife, who is turning out to be a poor assistant, a couple of tickets with numbers. She’s giving me dirty looks—she’s a

Luke Herbert, left, with the author
gamer who wants to see if Luke’s tickets might win her a door prize. The Philosopher is shouting numbers over the PA. I’m typing, shouting at her, asking if my laptop does automatic saves.
8:50—THREE REFEREES?
Three refs in striped shirts form a line while the Philosopher introduces them. The scoreboard clock is set for 8 minutes. Four girls in blue walk–in the ACC, they run–from one side of the gym to center court, while four women in blue walk to center court from the other

The national anthem, performed at a bigger venue
side. This is not all that is wrong here. Does anyone else notice? There’s only four players on each team! One sub will remain on the bench! A jump ball, and we’ve got a scrimmage in progress. The crowd seems to be appreciative. That was quick, but didn’t we forget the Pledge and National Anthem? Folks are coming alive now, as if this is what everyone came for, cheering every pass, but not loudly. You just know none of these people did any serious tailgating tonight. White controls the ball, misses its first shot, and now blue is on offense.
Lots of oohs and ahs, as one turnover follows another. I can understand how the turnovers occur. The hip hop is blaring again, though not quite as loud as it was. A small, athletic black player wearing white hits a three for the first points, with 2:40 lapsed. There is screaming, loud applause. The Philosopher announces the player’s name, but it’s not clear over the commotion. Total attendance is about 200 now, the place is about 40 percent filled.
8:55–THE FAVORITE
White is pulling ahead, as two adept ballhandlers seem to be taking charge. They score back-to-back buckets. The three refs aren’t using their whistles. There is little if any floor discipline, but the coaches don’t seem bothered by this.
8:59–THE WINNER
Time expires, white wins 17-6. Unimpressive basketball, but the girls nevertheless look more proud, athletic, and healthier than their male counterparts. They meander over to the sidelines, without conversation and without sitting down, gather their towels and sweats and head to the locker room. Guys on the men’s team are coming on to the court from the audience and side rooms. They are milling around, waiting for something.
9:05—CROWD PLEASER
The Philosopher is shouting into his mike. A skinny Scots player is the first contestant in a dunking contest. He’s already made one and muffed one. This is exciting, sort of, because it breaks up the nothingness that is happening here. Five judges have just placed

Michael Jordan preparing to dunk
folding chairs in a semi circle directly in front of me and are now seated, facing the opposite bleachers and holding up score cards. After four or five attempts and only one successful dunk, I think, the skinny player gets a “5″. The crowd loves this! There is a lot of cheering. Number 97 is up next. With a hot dog maneuver, he flings the ball against the backboard, then dunks his rebound. The crowd is wild! This is really amazing! Everything has changed, the place is alive! Judges hold up 9s. Now, this could border on madness!
This dunking competition must be bigger than basketball itself around here. A player in a tee shirt is next. It’s not clear whether he is even a player, and he blows each attempt. Still, there is a lot of cheering from the crowd and judges give him a “5″, too. The fourth contestant has a partner. Is this fair? Doesn’t matter, he can’t put the ball through the hoop either. He’s a crowd favorite, though. The noise is really something for a small audience, especially when so many of the dunk attempts are bouncing off the rim in every direction. It’s hilarious! These guys can’t shoot any better than me!

Scoring cards like those used during the Midnight Madness dunking contest
9:15—GOING NOWHERE
The noise is still here but this dunking contest is deteriorating. Still, lots of oohs and ahhhs without a legitimate dunk in three or four minutes.
9:20 –THE OLD GUY
An old guy, maybe 50, dribbles in from a side door and conversation stops. Yay! Who is the Dribbler? He’s wearing glasses, looks like he might have played 30 years ago. He pounds the ball against the court. Is this the Principal? The crowd is into this, too. People seem to know the Dribbler. A mini-trampoline has been placed in the key, between the free throw line and the basket. The dribbler strips off his street clothes at center court. Underneath, he wears a white uniform with No. 22. He dribbles hard in place, then darts from the top of the key, leaps with the ball in hand onto the trampoline and, in one huge, impressive bounce, he’s up at rim level and . . . easily dunks the ball. The crowd goes wild! This is worth the drive up here! It’s really cool, incredible! I wanted to see clowns, this is madness! The Dribbler had to be pretty good in his day! The crowd is standing, applauding! What is it, again, that Roy Williams is doing tonight? A shuffle? Okay, just like that, the noise dies down, the dunking is over, and ball racks are being wheeled from the court.

Roy Williams
9:25–DOWN TO BUSINESS
The guys on the varsity have divided into two groups, and refs are quickly preparing for another scrimmage. The clock is set for fifteen minutes. Looks like blue on one end, black on the other. I can’t tell if this is will be serious. The small man is among the ten starters. It can’t be too serious unless this guy is lightning fast and can hit from well beyond the three-point line! His team controls the tip off. Right away, he is fouled by a big man. Yes, the crowd, less noisy now, sees the foul and calls it. This is hilarious. The three refs blow their whistles after the crowd screams for justice, just like they would if we were all here with Alice in Wonderland. The small man gets to shoot . . . three shots. He makes the second two. Black leads 2-o and the he is the hero at the moment, and the crowd is screaming his praise.
9:30—ABSENCE OF STRATEGY
This game is turning out like any parks and rec game. Worse, actually. Up the court, down the court. Three refs and no whistles. Oops there’s one, finally, probably the third after about four minutes. My assistant is tired, she is nodding off between buzzers.

My assistant
9:32—SUBSTITUTIONS
The small man is out. Platoon substitutions mean we’ve got two entirely different teams competing. There’s more talent on the floor, but the caliber of play seems awful. Chaotic, with no whistles, no time outs, seemingly no input from the coaches. Defense is man-to-man all around as both sides hack away. No discernible offense, no one running the post or setting up. Can’t see any semblance of a 2-1-2, or 3-2, or a 1-2-2.
9:35 –LET THE MUSIC PLAY
The crowd is not into this game. The same hip hop—the same crowd murmur during warm-ups, plus two consecutive air balls, on each end of the court! Wait, just when you thought it couldn’t happen, finally a good pass! With 10 minutes expired. Another air ball. There may be great players here, but these guys wouldn’t scare anyone tonight. Luke is managing, or at least standing with the the black team. The other assistant is standing alongside the blue team. I think I know what they’re thinking. They’ll just let everyone hack away and determine who they want to keep on the roster after they figure out who the most ruinous liabilities are. I see three players who I would keep: Calum Sears looks like he might be able to play with anybody. Sam Bowman, too. And another guy who has handled the ball well outside.
9:40–AN END TO THE MADNESS!
The final buzzer, and black wins 18-16. The Scots may be able to put a decent six- or seven-man offense together, but finding two or three shooters who can take care of the ball outside will be a challenge. I’m not sure they’ll find even one shooter.
9:45–NOW WHAT?
The guys divide into two units, one at each end, for a shooting contest. Each takes turns, quickly grabbing balls from a ball cart and shooting repeatedly. This is really anti-climatic. People are leaving. Bring back the Principal and his trampoline. One of the girls is competing with five guys at one end of the court. On the other end, another old guy is competing with five players.
9:50—POOR ATTENTION SPANS
The crowd is dwindling fast. The shooting contests at both ends are dull, and it’s hard to discern what’s happening, who’s winning. The hip hop is still maddening. Wait! The fans who left are missing out! One of the girls, No. 35, at the far end is beating the men. What great shooting! A couple of the men are hanging with her. She sinks her final shot from outside the three! And this makes her the winner! What’s left of the crowd loves it! Lots of noise from the house, maybe 40 or 50 who are still here! The girl and the male players walk over to the sidelines without conversation, as if nothing has happened. Strange, the lack of emotion.
10:00—CURFEW?
A few onlookers applaud the girl, the hip hop is turned up. Everyone is leaving. It’s over. Just like that. The crowd seems regimented in the way they are walking out, without emotion. Like Stepford Wives. No horseplay, laughing or animated conversation. The stern- looking women’s coach is showing three other ladies at the door how to twirl a ball on one finger, but she’s not very good at it. This is funny. She keeps dropping the ball. One of the ladies, probably in her nineties, seems impressed. Luke comes over and reaches up from a chair on the floor to hand me a card worth a free loaf of bread. I thank him, and tell him I’ll give him a call.
10:05 –CLEANUP
About 30 persons, mostly players and about five girls hanging out on the floor are chatting while floors are swept and the collapsible bleachers are being folded into the walls. Lots of clean up going on. Now they’re folding the bleachers back on my side, which means I’m out of here!
A RETROSPECTIVE ON LIVEBLOGGING
Without regard for the quality of my work, or lack thereof, I found my liveblogging exercise to be a valuable and intensely practical experience, with benefits far exceeding anything I might have gleaned from a textbook or lecture. Looking back, I feel my concerns, challenges and ultimate experiences were the same as if I had been able to access WordPress, as the event was about to begin. I keyed in my thoughts and observations, just as I would have typed notes while covering a live sporting event. I type fast. I was psyched up for liveblogging. At frequent junctures, I would read back over my past two or three sentences, attempting to correct misspelled words like “ndlryns;;” and convert them into intelligible words like “basketball.” The number of typos I failed to detect or correct was nevertheless surprising; my takeaway lesson here is to slow down when liveblogging, and to pay more attention to corrections in order to make live updating cleaner.
My style of writing seemed to go where it hadn’t gone before. I was one of the boys, enjoying and commenting on a spectacle in our sports arena, communicating over the noise with short, incomplete sentences and slang.
Though unfamiliar with Madness activities, from newspapers and television news, I assumed all Midnight Madness events were festive rallies, and coming out parties. In bigger, D-1 markets, coaches know arenas filled with fans impress everyone, especially high school prospects in attendance. Compelling programs generate ticket sales and other revenues-producing opportunities. I didn’t do enough research. I went into this expecting cheerleaders, bands, and local rock stars would provide good copy.
The event at Covenant College fell short of my expectations, but all the folks with whom I came into contact, on and around the campus, struck me as very good people. What and who were available to work with were probably managed quite well. I admit the Dribbler was more compelling than dancing bears or a light show. Nevertheless, I tried to liven up my posts with images of what I would try to feature, if it were up to me, during Midnight Madness at my school, for my teams: live music from groups like the Dixie Chicks, animated coaching from intense mentors like Brenda Frese, a dunking exhibiton by someone like Michael Jordan, and a bit more excitement, like folks sometimes really do experience at Wal-Mart.
–Ken Berry