It’s just a game.



That sentiment might be hard to grasp during a week like we’re currently experiencing in this world, but it really is just a game.



I wouldn’t have been able to write that sentence five years ago, but now I can.



The fact that there’s not going to be an NCAA Tournament in 2020 is not a crisis nor is it a tragedy.



What is?



The people who are affected by Coronavirus and their respective friends and relatives that have to endure the heartache, pain, and anxiety that goes along with one of your loved ones dealing with a health issue.



How do I know this?



I’d like to think that I’ve gotten older and wiser, but that’s not entirely the story.



My first date with my fiancee Alana was on October 7th, 2017.



She’s the strongest person I know because she’s had to endure what nobody should ever have to endure.



Our first conversations that day were instantly flowing and always in sync, but I vividly remember the first time that I was out of words.



That’s when she told me about her mom and dad, who had passed away a few months earlier.



And her mom?



She’s still alive, but she’s been battling dementia for the last 13 years, is in a completely non-verbal state, and now doesn’t even recognize her own daughter when she’s in the same room with her. She currently lives in a nursing home in Massachusetts.



There’s no calls to check in.



There’s no emails or texts to add to the celebration of what is supposed to be the most exciting year of her life.



We all are going to lose our parents in life, but Alana simply lost touch with them too soon.



The first time that I heard her story it made me realize that all of the things I was chasing professionally in life were important, but they weren’t going to make me more complete as a person.



A few months prior to meeting her, I had my own battle. I still have it every now and again.



My life changed on January 8, 2017.



That was the date of the accident. That was the day when for eight seconds I thought my number was up.



On that Sunday, I was driving to UConn to do a sidelines assignment for CBS when my car hit black ice on the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut. I went from the right lane to the left guardrail within a split second, then pulled the emergency brake, and did a 180 in the middle of the highway. I wound up around the other guardrail, with my car in a million pieces on the side of the road.



If another car was coming, I’m not writing this column.



I’m not going to different campuses to see college basketball practices during the preseason either. Or planning podcasts. Or doing TV shows. Or doing anything.



I wouldn’t be here.



A long battle with post traumatic stress and a couple of fractured ribs followed, but that’s mostly gone now.



That day changed my life forever, but this isn’t about me.



It’s about trying to get people to understand that the only thing that matters now is limiting the amount of people who are affected in life like my fiancee has been affected.



There are people out there dying. Those people have families and those people have friends.



That’s why the 2020 NCAA Tournament being cancelled is not a tragedy.



I have sympathy for the players and coaches who worked for years to be in position to have magical runs in March and won’t get the opportunity to chase those dreams.



There will be no special postseason journey for Obi Toppin and Dayton like many envisioned.



There will be no opportunity for Myles Powell to lead Seton Hall to a Final Four for the first time since 1989.



And there will be no opportunity for a mid-major to beat a team from a power conference in the first round and play Cinderella.



All of these things are unfortunate.



They are not tragedies and none of them should ever be considered as such.



Late on Thursday afternoon, I chatted with two high-major head coaches whose teams were both playing tremendous basketball over the last month of the season.



“It’s a shame,” one told me. “We were on a roll.”



“This has turned into a nightmare,” the other added. “I feel for my players.”



I simply responded to both by telling them that if this is the worst thing that happens in these kids’ lives that they’ve lived a heck of a life.



I wouldn’t have had that perspective five years ago, but now I do.



Pray for the people who are affected by Coronavirus. Pray for their friends and family.



Pray that we find a cure.



There’s nothing worse than seeing someone grieve when they can’t have contact with someone they love.



I know because I see it every day.



Remember, it is only just a game.

