Love for My Housemates

In a country enamored with using superlatives (I hope to coin the words “superlatize” and superlatization) in an attempt to contextualize the feats of modern athletes among those of legends, we excessively and prematurely dole out greatest of all time (GOAT) labels. Think of the overabundance of Kobe and Jordan comparisons. Thanks to this climate, I have always fantasized of one day being a GOAT.

My freshman year, upon hearing that LSU’s JaMarcus Russell threw a football 85 yards while standing, 65 yards kneeling, and 45 yards lying down, I organized what I believe was Vassar College’s first ever Pro Day to showcase the NFL-readiness of myself and some friends. Unfortunately, no scouts attended, but I learned that I can throw from my knees just as far as JaMarcus Russell can lying down.

Since I realized that I would never be a GOAT, uncovering the next “diamond in the rough” and sharing this endowed athlete with the world seemed like a more reasonable endeavor. To carry a fantasy like this in my pocket, I overstate my ability to scout and evaluate talent. To those who question my scouting ability, I offer an eloquently paraphrased, self-serving quotation I once saw in my coach’s office: “the eye for talent is rarer than the talent itself.” That line segues into boasting about my biggest scouting accomplishment ever, winning an autographed JaMarcus Russell helmet because I predicted more 1st round picks than anyone at the 2007 NFL Draft, including my idol, Mel Kiper Jr. Put it this way: when I people-watch at the Retreat, I don’t judge appearances, I grade draft prospects.

I once again hit the jackpot with my overstated talent evaluation skills because I nabbed what I consider two of the greatest athletes in the history of Vassar College for housemates.

Honestly, this realization just snuck up on me today, so let me give some unexpected and overdue props to two of my four housemates (sorry Katie and Kristina, you’re cool too), Michael Mattelson and Emily Haeuser, tennis king and basketball queen.

After crunching numbers all morning, I conclude that Mike will go down in the Vassar men’s tennis annals as the GOAT and Emily will most likely finish her career as Vassar women’s basketball’s most prolific rebounder and a top 3 scorer.

I remember seeing Mike for the first time in Coach Kroll’s office with all the other freshmen trying out, and thinking that he didn’t look old enough to be in college. The first time I saw Mike play was a practice match outdoors against this stud recruit from Bolletieri’s IMG Academy whose tennis background intimidated everyone. In the only point I watched, the Bolletieri guy cracked a first serve and Mike shanked it over the fence so I figured that little Mikey was getting trounced. Turns out he won. I realized that this nondescript, little kid could play when he ripped a crosscourt forehand winner off a ball up around his head from then captain Erik Skartvedt’s heavy topspin forehand. Coach and I exchanged looks of bewilderment and mouthed in unison, “Whoa.”

I still haven’t fully realized the extent of Mike’s tennis mastery. I practice with him everyday but it wasn’t until recently when I played IM doubles with him that something about his game struck me. He was closing on volleys the way Ray Lewis comes through the gap and lights up a running back. I was playing with a linebacker who took control of the net and made a play on just about every ball. It wasn’t just his quickness that elicited the cross-sport comparisons with Ray Lewis, it was his ball-striking. When Ray Lewis hits somebody, there’s a characteristic violence, a frightening extra bit of pop that I also notice in Mike’s volleys.

I remember the first time I played basketball with Emily, the tall girl on my hall, and at some point between her unblockable southpaw shot, baby hooks and vicious elbows to my gut, I commented, “Dude, you’re more physical than the guys I play with.” She didn’t appreciate that comparison but it worked in my favor because she adjusted her game, and instead of mauling me under the hoop, she drained contact-free jumpers right in my face. Remarkably, it seemed like I never had to box her out for a rebound because there really were not many anytime she shot the ball.

Because this is a lot to digest, let me put it in perspective. If someone came to me my freshman year, when I knew nothing about VC Athletics, and told me I had the opportunity to see two of the greatest athletes in school history in the final season of their collegiate careers, I would go see each of them play at least once. No joke.

At last year’s VC Athletics Banquet, the awards for Male and Female athlete of the year went to the super-couple of Scott Leserman and Emily Love. This Spring, imagine the stroll home from the Athletics Banquet, Emily on the left, Mike on right, each athlete of the year linked to an arm of the extraneous and unlikely node, me.