There's a common misconception about sportswriters. Most people believe that because we cover sports for a living, we're not sports fans. True, most of us have a general detachment from the local teams, because it helps your coverage remain objective if you're not painting your face and donning the team jersey in the press box.

But to say we're not sports fans is inaccurate. None of us would be here if we weren't sports fans. That's how we all got our start. And we still love the game -- all of us.

Of course, you'd never know it by the way some writers turn from skeptical to cynical to downright caustic at the drop of a pass. Sometimes I even find myself sliding down that slippery slope. After a week of giant national egos, murder stories and 21 punts at the Super Bowl, I knew that I needed to have a little heart-to-heart with my inner child. Or at least my inner adolescent.

So while the rest of the country was slobbering all over itself to get a look at the XFL, I cleared my Saturday night schedule and headed to a little place called Dinkytown, the heart of the University of Minnesota.

You're a sports fan -- you must be, or you wouldn't be reading this. And you've probably got your share of allegiances to a variety of professional teams, from football to baseball to soccer. However, in the back of your mind sits the knowledge that your favorite squad is just a sale away from moving to Charlotte or Las Vegas or wherever the best lease and luxury suite and PSL deal awaits.

And if they do stay in town, can you even keep track of who's who from year to year? Face it, whoever said it first said it best -- you are basically cheering for laundry. The uniforms stay the same, but thanks to free agency the hired guns now blow through town quicker than a rock band on tour.

But the alma mater -- that's always going to have a special grip on your heart. There's just something about revisiting those simpler times, when your biggest worry was a psych test or scraping up tuition money or trying to score a date with that babe from your chem lab.

So when you get a chance to walk through campus, you do it with a smile. A knowing smile. A smile that says to any student you encounter, "Been there. Done that. You've got no clue what's in store for you. It's a wild ride, filled with ups and downs, but for now, just live it up. Stay young and clueless. You'll get here soon enough."

If you are a recent college graduate and have no idea what I'm talking about, wait until you crack the magic 30 barrier and then see if a wave of nostalgia doesn't play you like a fiddle every time you see a sprig of ivy on a brick wall.

The term "alma mater" is a Latin phrase that translates to fostering mother. It's where many of us first make our mark on the world away from the security of our homes, away from the watchful guidance of our parents. It's where we spread our wings, developed an identity and launched our careers -- or at least our first careers.

And on your particular campus, there's probably a building that you can identify as the epicenter of this emergence. It's the place where you did your best work, where you laughed loudest or learned the most important of life's lessons.

Today, the memories hit you thick like cobwebs on your face when you walk through the doors. Could be a classroom, could be a dorm, could be a bar, a frat house or a library. For me, it's Williams Arena, home of the basketball Golden Gophers.

"The Barn," as it's known locally, is a 73-year-old fieldhouse-style arena that gives the Gophers an amazing home-court advantage. Its raised playing surface -- about four feet above the floor -- is the scourge of Big Ten opponents, although nobody can really remember any serious injuries from a player falling off the court.

When I was a student there in the late 80's and early 90's, the Barn was my second home and the first place where I felt like I truly "fit in" on campus. Coming from a town about one-fourth the size of the entire university, I had a bit of an adjustment to make when I left home. I was never at a loss for friends as a kid, but I'm more inclined toward introversion around strangers. So I needed an "in" if I was going to make friends.

I was always a jock, so I figured Gopher sports might be a good place to start. As a freshman I had season football tickets, but the Gopher gridders play off campus in the stale, sour atmosphere of the Metrodome. A Gopher football game (especially in those days) is about as communal as a night in a sensory deprivation tank, and almost as quiet.

So the next year I tried Gopher basketball and that won me over in a heartbeat. Sure, it helped that the squad knocked off three top 10 teams in a month at the Barn and made a surprise run to the Sweet 16. But it wasn't just the team that captivated me.

It was the Barn. It was the chaos that engulfs the arena when the Gophers go on a run, the plank seating that forces you to sit shoulder-to-shoulder and not just for the warmth, our halftime ice cream runs that became ritual, the PA announcer consecrating each game with a hearty welcome: "This is Golden … Gopher … basketball!"

That's the Barn. That's the pull of the alma mater. That's home.

When I went back inside the Barn on Saturday, I could feel my pent-up cynicism slowly drain. Suddenly the Ray Lewises and Mark Chmuras of the world didn't seem all that important, not with those bright gold uniforms and the band and the smell of popcorn in the air.

There have been a few changes since my college days. Four banners represent the team's retired numbers -- 14 Lou Hudson, 52 Jim Brewer, 43 Mychal Thompson and 44 Kevin McHale. Suites or "barn lofts" were added a few years back, as well as theater seating for most of the sideline seats. It even got a fresh coat of paint.

But you can't fool me. This is still my Barn. This is still the Barn where we snuck in for late-night pickup games, thanks to our friend who was a team manager. It's still the barn where we chanted "I-35! I-35!" at Iowa fans after a shocking upset. It's still the barn where we donned our coneheads for a nationally-televised game vs. Indiana, and strapped carpet scraps to our head to welcome the oddly coiffed Lou Henson and his Fighting Illini.

OK, so we had nothing on the Cameron Crazies, but it's still the barn where I screamed until my tonsils bled and my ears rang for three days after every game.

This year's team isn't quite a contender for the Big Ten title. In fact, second-year coach Dan Monson has his hands full just trying to rebuild the program in the wake of the embarrassing academic scandal under former coach Clem Haskins.

Monson's boys have been scrappy this year. But they lost their most talented player, a redshirt freshman sharpshooter named Michael Bauer, to a broken arm last week, and his absence was notable on Saturday night.

Ohio State raced out to an 8-0 lead and led by 17 at halftime. Their center, Ken Johnson, was a man among toddlers, finishing with 28 points, seven rebounds and six blocked shots. Goldie's Gang fought back and actually had the ball, down by five, with about 20 seconds to play, but that was as close as they'd come, losing 73-66.

But the result didn't really matter. It was the journey, not the arrival, that counted for me that night. I wasn't really watching Ryan Wildenborg, Kerwin Fleming and Kevin Burleson anyway. I was watching the ghosts of Willie Burton, Richard Coffey, Kevin Lynch and the rest of those wonderful teams of my college days.

For one night, I was a fan again. I could cheer for the baton twirler, jeer a bad call, sing the Minnesota Rouser and remember. Just remember.

And that truly is priceless.

What were your college rituals? Does anything bring you back to your alma mater on a regular basis? What was the "epicenter" of your college experience? I'd love to hear how your views compare to mine, so fire away.

5. Rich Gannon -- Free trip to Hawaii, MVP trophy should take some of the sting out of crushing AFC championship loss.
4. Stacy Dragila -- Women's pole vault fast becoming the next women's tennis.
3. Flip Saunders -- Lose your GM, lose your owner, lose three of your top nine players, then win 10 straight games and the NBA's coach of the month award. Not a bad run for the Timberwolves' coach.
2. Matt Doherty -- Ghosts? What ghosts?
1. Oklahoma State University -- The nation grieves with you, Cowboys.

Previous Donnelly Columns:
The Super Bowl Diaries
NCAA Needs 'Holiday Hysteria'
Agent Of Change
Staring Down A Saints-Steelers Super Bowl?
Old Friends Renew Acquaintances
Only One Debate Really Matters ...
I Confess: I'm The Man Behind The Curtain!
Knight: Alpha Male, Phi Beta Kappa Jerk
Devil Rays Give Baseball A Black Eye
Too Much Tiger?
Ranting On Dennis Miller

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