It’s late. Quiet. He’d prefer it that way.
Dim the bulbs, those 1,000-watt spotlights that extend past the boundaries of any basketball court. Mute the horns, the hollering, the whole cacophony of cheers raining down from the rafters.
Twenty-one thousand empty seats, all of them staring back at you. The emptiness? The silence? The only thing that echoes in the Smith Center on nights like these is the bum-bum of a basketball on the hardwood.
That, of course, and the man’s thoughts.
Here, in front of an audience of none, is where Nate Britt does his best thinking.