Column: So long, Assembly Hall

I flung open the Assembly Hall doors and ran inside.

A stocked trophy case and wall of illustrated IU Athletics Hall of Fame inductees lay before me, but at that moment, they were secondary to what I heard going on inside.

The sound of bouncing basketballs, whistles and barking head coaches grew louder as I approached a pair of closed, big, black doors.

It was my first time in Bloomington, when I was on my campus visit during the winter of 2007.

I had seen IU games on television, read about the mystique within this historic building, and now I was here, and right behind those doors was an actual Indiana basketball practice.

I pulled on the doors. Locked.

Determined, I ran up that crimson rubber ramp and was again denied, a lock and chains on the door mocking me.

Again, the sounds of basketball history teased me, telling me that I’d need to enroll at IU in the fall to get into this Hallowed Hall of college hoops.

There was a game being played in that arena Sunday — an 85-74 IU victory against Purdue — that seemed to be over all too quickly.

For myself, five IU basketball players and the seniors in the stands, it was our last game as students in Assembly Hall.

I tried to watch every play in slow motion, a desperate and fruitless attempt to make the game last longer. Every Matt Roth 3-pointer, Cody Zeller dunk and Jordan Hulls assist.

I didn’t want it to end.

But it did.

The final buzzer sounded, and just like that, four years of Indiana basketball in Assembly Hall were gone, and I could never get them back.

Sure, I hope to one day return to this magical place as an alumnus and watch basketball in its purest form from the “old people” sections of Assembly Hall.

But who will stand with me? Who else will belt out the chorus of “Sweet Caroline” or shout “LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT!” as an opponent makes his way to a seat on the bench?

“SIT DOWNNNN!”

When I find my seat, Gumby won’t be to the left of me and Buzz Lightyear to the right.

Not being able to be in the student section is one thing, but the reality that I won’t be at every home game next season is another.

No more Martha the Mop Lady, no more Chuck Crabb letting me know, “It’s Indiana basketball time.” When U2’s “Where the Streets have No Name” comes on the radio or my iPod, it just won’t be the same. No more “William Tell Overture” played by the pure sound of the Big Red Basketball Band — something no set of speakers can replace.

For many years, I’ll probably be watching the Hoosiers play while in my candy stripe pants from a couch at home.

But it won’t be the same. You can’t just watch Indiana basketball. You have to experience it.

I’ve been to other Big Ten venues, and there is something about Assembly Hall.

After I’m done writing this column, I’m going to make the short walk from the Assembly Hall pressroom to Branch McCracken Court.

I’ll probably walk up to one of the seats I once occupied as a student in the past three years and sit, look out onto the floor and replay all the memories I saw take place, like when Tijan Jobe was carried onto the court on a surfboard by his teammates freshman year at Hoosier Hysteria or when Maurice Creek’s teammates stared in horror as the freshman guard went down, grabbing his knee against Bryant my sophomore year.

I’ll want to stay in that seat forever.

But at some point, the lights in Assembly Hall will turn off, and I’ll have to make my way home.

When the door closes behind me, it won’t be a lock and chains keeping me out this time. It’ll be the clock.

­— azaleon@indiana.edu