The game starts, and Syracuse inevitably looks like they’ve been woken up from a nap. The first five minutes? A disaster. Forwards are passing the ball to the ref, guards are stepping out of bounds, and you’re yelling at your TV like it’s personally offended your ancestors.
But then, right when you’re about to throw your remote, something clicks. Maybe it’s a steal by the freshman point guard. Maybe it’s a three-pointer that hits nothing but net from the corner. Suddenly, the Orange are on a 12-0 run, and the Dome is deafening.
The score at halftime? It’s usually close—like 38-36—because Syracuse loves to keep us on the edge of our seats. It’s not a real game unless you’ve stress-eaten an entire bag of popcorn by the buzzer.
The Second Half: Cardiac ‘Cuse Strikes Again
You think you know what’s going to happen? You don’t. The second half is where the magic (and the mild heart attacks) happen. The Orange either come out swinging like a boxer or they forget how to dribble entirely. There is no in-between.
Watch for the zone defense to tighten up like a drum. Opponents will start launching desperate 35-footers, and you’ll see Coach Boeheim (or now Coach Autry, bless his soul) pacing like a caged tiger. “Get the ball inside!” you’ll scream. “Rebound!” Your neighbors will think you’re possessed. You are. It’s fine.
Syracuse pick up first conference win against Georgia Tech: Final score
And then, with about three minutes left, the score will be tied at 68-all. The clock becomes the main character. Every possession feels like a lifetime. You’re gripping the arm of your chair, muttering prayers to the basketball gods.
“Please don’t foul a three-point shooter,” you whisper. Syracuse always fouls a three-point shooter in these moments. It’s tradition. Like the Salt Potatoes at the State Fair—inevitable and strangely comforting.
