My contribution, covering Askia's Miracle, is re-posted below.
If safeties-free, all-balls performances like 17 points as a freshman in the NCAA Tournament, or a sizzling domination of a non-conference run in Charleston as a sophomore didn’t let you in on the secret, let me clue you in: Askia Booker was born to get buckets. Important buckets. Season-defining buckets.
So, when Kansas, dominator of all things Colorado Basketball for generations, makes the mistake of getting into a see-saw affair in the snake-pit-that-Tad-built, who else could CU turn to with the game on the line? Not Josh Scott. He’s too smooth, too nice. Not Spencer Dinwiddie. He’s too conventional, too ‘efficient.’
No, you need insanity. You need a player with no conscience, no understanding of the stage upon which he steps. You need, to be brash, a player who does not give a fuck.
Askia Booker does not give a fuck. Askia Booker gets buckets.
And so, 80-feet from the basket, with three seconds left on the clock against that team, the under-recruited dynamo from South LA - off-center goatee, and all - was the player in silver getting the ball.
One dribble, two. Still too far from the hoop. Better euro-step to cover some ground. Square up, leap, let fly.
Watch the gif. Count the fucks given by Booker. There are none to be found. After release, he just stands there, as if waiting for the oncoming train of noise. Waiting for us, the fans, to realize what he has just pulled off. He was born to hit that shot. He was born to euro-step into that shot.
Almost four years ago, Colorado was in a similar situation against the hated Jayhawk. Clock ticking down, tie game, ball in hand, CU had a shot to stun the #1 team in the land in the time-before-Tad. In that moment, it was Cory Higgins who was called upon. Higgins, the program’s co-leader in scoring, wasn’t up to the moment, and air-balled his dance with history. Looking back, it all makes since
Booker is everything that Higgins is not. Higgins was calm, cool, collected. Indeed, sophisticated. James Bond in shorts. Booker is the junkyard dog, barking at everything in sight. John McClane in Black and Gold. Higgins may have been more talented, but Booker has the want, the need to hoop. The balls to steal headlines from future NBA bonus babies. The grit to walk across broken glass when needed.
I could twist myself in knots talking about how the game, the win, the shot meant something for Colorado, for Booker. In the end, there’s nothing but the inbounds, the euro-step, and the pure, un-adulterated brashness of Ski and his moment.