singing the (tiger) blues

To borrow a phrase from a friend, today in Memphis was the day the music died.

We are the birthplace of the blues. We bleed blue. And today, we sang the blues over the loss of our beloved basketball coach of nine years, John Calipari. Standing on the precipice of what most predicted would be our hands-down year to snag that coveted national championship, he walked. Not only did he walk, he walked to the winningest men's NCAA basketball team in history. And walking with him will likely be the bulk of his No. 1 recruiting class and a handful of seasoned Memphis players.

For those who don't follow college basketball, a few days after the Tigers' unfortunately early eviction from this year's NCAA tournament the buzz started that Calipari would be offered the coaching position at the University of Kentucky, replacing the freshly fired Billy Gillespie. We were not at all surprised, because the buzz is a familiar one. We've heard the post-tournament talk for several years now, speculations of job offers from a laundry list of schools who would love to have Calipari work his magic on their programs. But the buzz was still growing Sunday night, and by Monday morning much of the local media seemed ready to call it in favor of Kentucky.

But nothing was official yet. We waited, hoping for a long-shot, half-court miracle, until early this evening when the news became final. Calipari is no longer our coach.

Plenty of sports columnists and commentators have said in the past 24 hours that we shouldn't be surprised. It's just a job, they said. Like your job, or my job. Sometimes a better offer comes along. And maybe that would be true. Maybe that would be an easy pill to swallow were it not for this town. And this team. And the fact that John Calipari seemed to get us, in a way few outsiders can. After last year's NCAA tournament, when we were seconds away from being national champions, as Memphians welcomed the team back at the airport, he said: "It's different in Memphis." And we all knew exactly what he meant.

He had given us a reason to lift our chins. A reason to be proud of our hometown. A reason to smile at each other in the grocery store on a Saturday while we were loading up on beer and chips. A reason to come together in a city riddled with violent crime, poverty, hate.

Now, I can't help but feel like I've been lied to. Betrayed. Like I was in a relationship with someone for nine years and it turns out they were in it for totally different reasons. Turns out, there is no loyalty. Only ego.

Some feel inclined to wish Calipari good luck, to thank him for "a good run." But I'm not prepared to do that. I feel angry and hurt. I hope he lives to regret his decision, and if he lasts long enough at UK, I hope we get strong enough, soon enough to beat him at his own game. With or without him, we'll get there again.

I only hope that Memphians don't lose the spirit, the way Calipari's leadership made them feel about our Tigers, and about our city. He said this morning that Memphis will be okay without him. And he's right about that -- it may not be next year, or even two years from now. But we will turn this around. We'll take our title. And when we do, I have a feeling it's going to taste that much sweeter.

cheers,
elizabeth