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THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 2013
THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
FOREVER IN THE FIELDHOUSE
KANSAN FILE PHOTO
Then senior Darnell Jackson, then junior Mario Chalmers, then senior Russell Robinson and then sophomore Brady Morningstar celebrate after Kansas defeated Texas to win the Big 12 Championship March 16, 2008.
RETIRING NO.15
Former point guard Mario Chalmer's jersey joins other legends in Allen Fieldhouse
BLAKE SCHUSTER
bschuster@kansan.com
Kansas' policy is to wait five years after a player has left the program before deciding whether or not to retire their jersey. For Mario Chalmers there didn't have to be a discussion, there was never a doubt his day would come.
That's just one of the benefits of being a National Championship hero —knocking down a gametying 3-pointer with 3.6 seconds remaining. The shot may have only evened the score, but anyone who watched it live knew Kansas had just taken an insurmountable lead.
The other benefits include never paying for another meal in Lawrence, instant celebrity status and, of course, a big shiny ring. But only having his Jersey retired will allow a player to consider himself among the likes of Wilt Chamberlain, Paul Pierce, Jo Jo White, Clyde Lovelle and, well you get the idea.
It was only a matter of counting
down 1,825 days starting around midnight on April 7th, 2008.
"We set that policy where we should wait five years," Kansas coach Bill Self said. "I think it's a great policy because now kids will definitely respect it more coming back than they would if it would've just happened right after they finished playing."
"One of my goals when I first went to KU was to make a name. And make sure my name lasts forever in Kansas history."
MARIO CHALMERS Kansas point guard 2005-2008
It might not be possible to respect Chalmers more now than five years ago. There won't be another parade down Mass Street, even though some fans might argue for one, but there will be a group of students who for the
last half decade relived Mario's Miracle every home game before tipoff, cheering like it's happening live before their eyes.
His legacy remains untouched, but his legend has only grown.
"One of my goals when I first went to KU was to make a name," Chalmers said. "And make sure my name lasts forever in Kansas history."
"He was as clutch of a player
In 2006, Chalmers set the Kansas record for steals by a freshman with 86, recorded 420 assists over his three-year career (14th all-time by a jayhawk) and scored 1,341 points. Perhaps it's a questionable resume for a jersey retirement, but there's no statistic for how good a player performs in the final moments of a game. If there were, Chalmers would own the Kansas record for that too.
Even though one shot defines his career, there's no denying the impact he had with the Jayhawks back when Allen Fieldhouse only held four championship banners.
as we've ever had here," Self said. "He was a guy that seemed like the bigger the stage, the brighter he shined. He had an orneriness and toughness that a lot people didn't see because they saw the smile. He was an assassin on the court."
The smile Self refers to has been immortalized in Allen Fieldhouse for quite some time now in the form of a mural outside of the lajhwaks' locker room.
It's just another reminder of what Chalmers' career has meant to a university that largely defines itself by the game it helped perfect.
Every future jayhawk running through that tunnel will know Mario's Miracle, and once they enter the gym and look to the rafters they'll understand the importance of the man behind it.
"He was just a treat to coach," Self said. "He actually got out of Kansas exactly what he set out to get out of Kansas."
Edited by Brian Sisk
KANSAN FILE PHOTO
Then junior Mario Chalmers lines up a three-point shot with just a few seconds left in the game and Kansas down 63-60. Chalmers' three-pointer tied the game and sent the game into overtime.
COMMENTARY
Finding individual meaning in those 10.8 seconds
What can 10.8 seconds mean?
That was my
assignment — to find out what Mario Chalmers' miracle heave means to Belf Self five years later
And I tried to do just that. I really did. But what kept pounding through my head was the fact that Chalmers' shot, his career, means so much to so many people, and Bill Self is just (a very important) one of them.
For starters, it means that Chalmers' jersey will be suspended over the bleachers in Allen Fieldhouse, hanging next to jerseys with the last names "Chamberlin," "Manning" and "Pierce."
It means that the iconic image of Chalmers' shot — the one where Chalmers rises over Chris Douglass-Roberts with "3.7" on
the shot clock looming over him — will always be on the mural in Allen Fieldhouse next to the Javahaws' locker room.
It means that when fathers, even grandfathers, take their children to Allen Fieldhouse in 50 years, they'll point to the mural and ask their kids, "Do you know who that is?" Some kids will dutifully respond with "Mario Chalmers" or "Super Mario," and others will listen to
a tale.
This is not just any tale. It is a tale of how one shot pulled the underappreciated Kansas program back on the stage of national relevancy. Kansas had the wins, the history, the tradition, but it didn't had a championship in 20 years.
That parental tour guide doesn't need to look in his book. He'll gladly tell the child about the day that Mario Chalmers made him dance in the streets like a fool. The day when Chalmers became a legend. Those grandchildren will go on to tell their children, too.
This is a tale of how one shot changed everything.
basketball. It means reminiscing about where you were, what you did, how you celebrated the events that followed. It means you're stuck watching Kansas basketball videos for the next 30 minutes.
It means going onto Youtube for a quick minute with your roommates to re-watch the great shot in the history of Kansas
If you're a student now, it means you're jealous of the students in 2008. If you were a student then, it means you got to celebrate on Massachusetts Street with thousands of your classmates. It means you had the greatest party, possibly the greatest night of the greatest four years of your life.
And back to my assignment—I guess I'll get to that one person who may have had a few million more reasons to care about the shot than everyone else, even though they'll argue that they had a million, too. Their million
just isn't quite as literal — and doesn't have a dollar sign in front it.
More important than the money, Bill Self became a legend when Chalmers' shot gave Kansas five more minutes to beat an emotionally distraught Memphis team. When the shot fell, there was little doubt that Self would be the fourth coach in Kansas history to reach the pinnacle of the sport synonymous with KU.
Keep in mind, it was just two games before that Self fell to his knees and pounded the court as the Jayahwks survived destiny's Davidson team. He was so relieved, so thrilled to break the Elite Eight barrier and make it to the Final Four. It meant he was no longer just a really good coach. It meant he was elite.
But this is just one writer, one
college student's interpretation of what those 10.8 seconds mean, when Sherron Collins almost lost the handle, Chalmers rose for the tie and Kansas suddenly had life in a lifeless game.
Really, there's no other way to say it: those 10.8 seconds mean something to us all.
So while you're sitting in Allen Fieldhouse watching the jersey ceremony accompanied with the emotional highlight montage and the tear-filled speech, please think way back to April 7, 2008 and try remember exactly what you were doing, who you were with, how you celebrated that miracle shot.
And while you're at it, ask yourself the question: What do those 10.8 seconds mean to you?
— Edited by Nikki Wentling
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