Alma mater maestro

There aren't many things in life that I am good at.

I'm a decent athlete, but nothing special. I'm a decent student, but I skip class too much to be considered "smart." I am lost when it comes to technology and handy-work around the house. If you read my weekly column in The Daily Campus this year, you know I'm a crappy writer. And if you look at the mugshot above, it's pretty clear that God didn't bless me with good looks, either.

He did, however, bless me with one special gift: the ability to memorize where NBA players went to college. I only need to see a player's college once before it's engraved into my mind forever. It's the one area of life where I feel useful to humanity.

My friends know how good I am. Whenever they desperately need to know where Tony Battie went to school, I'm always there to tell them "Texas Tech."

Enter my sister, Megan Duffy, a 4th-semester business major at UConn. She caught wind of a "legend" at this game through a group of friends. According to several different people, Joel Altiery, an 8th-semester sociology major, is impossible to beat. Rumor has it that he knows every player. His friends throw around words like "incredible" and "amazing" to describe Altiery's knowledge.

Megan wasn't having it. She has spent the past 20 years listening to me reel off high schools - not just colleges - of professional basketball players. So she challenged them. The stakes - which didn't involve money - were high. Megan, her friends and my friends bet on me. Naturally, Altiery's buddies bet on him.

The format was simple: a committee, comprising representatives from both the Duffy and Altiery camps, came up with a list of 40 current NBA players. Each player was called one-by-one, and we had approximately 20 seconds to write down our answers before the next player was announced. One point was awarded for collegiate and international players, and players drafted straight out of high school were worth two points.

On Sunday night at 10:00, I found myself in a strange study room in the basement of Belden Hall in Alumni. I sat at a table by myself on the left side of the room. Altiery was isolated at a table on the right side. We each had a pencil and a single piece of paper that we numbered 1-to-40. Altiery's rooting section - and the moderator - sat in chairs in front of him. My fans - including my sister, who made a sign for the event that read "Go KDuff, Go Fight Win!" - were in front of me.

In that moment - maybe somewhere between Calvin Booth (Penn State) and Devin Brown (Texas-San Antonio) - I had never felt so at home. This is what I was born to do. It didn't matter that I sucked at basketball and was the weak link on an otherwise spectacular high school team. It didn't matter that I was that kid who stood in the corner nervously at every party I'd been to. It didn't even matter that I am in danger of not graduating in May. All that mattered was where Marquis Daniels went to college (Auburn). And I could see it in Altiery's eyes eyeshe knew he was in trouble.

"To be honest, I was a bit intimidated," Altiery said. "Especially seeing the entourage and knowing that [Duffy] was the sports editor."

I was cruising, a perfect 9-for-9 when the moderator called out "Goran Dragic."

Who?

Altiery hesitantly scribbled down something and I wrote "??????," which turned out to be wrong. The next player was Willie Green, who I did not know until the night before, when Altiery actually gave me the answer over the phone in a drunken one-minute call his friends set up. I wrote down "Detroit-Murphy," which is what I thought I heard over the phone. (I later learned that Green went to Detroit-Mercy. My answer was not marked wrong, however, because my handwriting is so bad that the judges couldn't distinguish "Murphy" from "Mercy.")

After that small bump in the road, I got back on track quickly. Trenton Hassell, Chuck Hayes, Josh Howard, Othello Hunter, Steven Hunter, Jarred Jeffries, James Jones, Tyronn Lue - it was all-too-easy. I leaned back in my chair and put my hands on the back of my head. Altiery still sat hunched over with his face buried in his paper, like he was still stuck on James Jones.

Then came Lindsey Hunter. Altiery scribbled away. I drew a big blank. Then, after a brief stretch of Darius Miles (East St. Louis high school), Ronald Murray (Shaw), Von Wafer (Florida State) and Shawne Williams (Memphis), the moderator shouted out "Sean Marks."

Another blank. And somehow, five players later, the unthinkable happened: Kyrylo Fesenko. Then Roko Ukic.

It was over. For the last handful of players, which included gimmes like LeBron James and Kobe Bryant, I was simply going through the motions. I felt tired and defeated.

As the final votes were being tallied, my sister put her sign on the floor. I wanted to tear it up. I wanted to escape that room, escape my life. In the end, I missed six players. Altiery knew 39-of-40, with Sean Marks as the lone exception (For the record, he put "Australia," which was a pathetic guess).

His fan section taunted mine. They all congratulated him. Some of my friends left the room too annoyed to say something as simple as "good effort." I let them down. I let my family down. And most importantly, I let myself down.

I shook Altiery's hand and retreated to my side of the room, wondering what I was doing with my life. A few close friends offered sympathetic hugs. Jaclyn Brilhart, a 4th-semester communications major, clutched me tightly. She knew how much this hurt.

"You know, if you think about it, Kev," she started. "The winner is actually the biggest loser."

As the room cleared, I finally composed myself and kept my head held high. I left Belden that day disappointed, but at the same time, with a sense of accomplishment.

I learned a lot about myself that day. Above all, I learned that I was a cooler person than Joel Altiery. And it felt pretty damn good.