Sophomore year of high school, we all had to do a job shadow. I kind of wanted to be a sportswriter, but that didn’t sound like a very fun day off school. So since my dad a) worked at the University of Washington and b) had a friend in the basketball office and c) is not shy about such things, he asked said friend if his fifteen-year-old son could follow Lorenzo Romar around for a day. For some strange reason, Romar said yes.
And so it came to be that I spent one late-winter afternoon in 2008—I wanna say it was four or five hours—hanging around Hec Edmundson Pavilion with no particular purpose.