I didn’t get to watch the Louisville game this past weekend. Instead it was spent at a Boy Scout weekend “Klondike.” As I stood there early that Saturday morning. In 10 degree weather, contemplating the snow that was falling and just how cold I was. There was that realization that just a few degrees can be the difference between the quiet, picturesque beauty of a light snowfall in the forest; and really fucking miserable, cold, bone-soaking drizzle.
It’s not the neatest metaphor for where Pitt basketball is at the moment, but I’m still waiting to get feeling back in my toes.
