According to the natural laws of time and space, this season is a fixture of the past – a permanent addition to the ether
Marquis Eaton
By the end of the game, Ervin Johnson awoke from a horrible dream knowing in his heart that “Magic” was now the intellectual property of Norchad Omier.
The turnovers arrived in a multitude of varieties – ill-advised bounce passes into the crowded paint, cross-court bounce passes that ended up in the seats, dribbles off the foot, offensive fouls, balls that inexplicably rattled out of what were once steady hands.
Pack the uni and clean underwear in a duffle, and move on.
As usual, the urgency for which to win these games remain high for the Red Wolves, who find themselves entwined inside a Sun Belt race that has yet to select a favorite.
Omier played with the burning intensity of a lightning bolt, hip-checking and elbowing Warhawks into oblivion while obtaining the spherical prize he knew to be his and his alone. It was a task that rivaled any of Hercules’ mythical twelve, and it still wasn’t enough.
In Boone, Omier was bottled up and frustrated. In Conway, Norchad was the reckoning.
As the Mountaineers cheerful announcers reminded us often, the Red Wolves had plenty of opportunities to get back into the game.
Are we ready to believe yet?
He was everywhere, drilling threes, pounding layups, robbing boards – where was this guy when Han Gruber was assembling his Nakatomi Tower Heist?
Howlraiser 