I can still picture it. I was a 12-year-old boy living in a suburb just outside of Philly. Classic, I know. Like most in my age group, I was obsessed with sports. I specifically loved basketball and the Philadelphia 76ers. The only issue, however, was that they sucked.

When I say sucked, I mean bad. I can not belabor this point enough. I would take advantage of the cheap ticket prices to watch my favorite team constantly lose. 

In 2016, the Sixers went 10-72 — the worst record of any team in the league, adopting the placement as the third-worst set of 15 in the history of the NBA. 

In search of winning basketball, I turned to a place I had absolutely no connection to — Villanova men’s basketball. I had no ties to the school, no one in my family had ever attended, I did not live close to the campus and I didn’t even know what a “Villanova” was. 

Despite this, I, along with many others living near or within Philadelphia, began repping the Wildcats. They were cool, different and, most importantly, they won. 

As the months went by and the seasons of constant winning stacked on top of each other, the Nova hype train started chugging faster and louder. Each year, the Wildcats were the best. There was no constant disappointment like the Sixers had conditioned me to expect. 

Now, should a bunch of college kids in matching outfits throwing a ball around dictate my mood? No. But as a 12-year-old, they did. From the months of November through April, I basked in happiness as the Cats shot through the win column and onto “The Big Dance.”

I idolized the guys who wore the navy and white, and they quickly became my favorite players. I’m not sure how long it took for the smile to fade from my face in 2016 when the Wildcats won the NCAA Championship. The game was truly cinematic — back and forth until the last minute, concluding with a buzzer-beating shot that etched Nova into history.

I can still remember the exact spot in my house where I watched Kris Jenkins find nothing but net on a deep three-pointer as time expired. The sound of the horn, the sight of confetti and the screaming and hugging from my dad and I was something I will truly never forget. 

The following days were madness — pun intended. Villanova was the only thing anyone was talking about, and Jenkins was practically the mayor of the City of Brotherly Love. The players on that team had now subscribed themselves to a lifetime of fandom from yours truly, and since that moment, I have wanted nothing more than for each one of them to succeed. 

That was, until this year. 

Let’s rewind a bit. The years between then and now have been quite contrary to what one might expect with the trajectory of the Sixers and the Wildcats. As “The Process” forged on, the Sixers began to win more and more. The Sixers began to compete and make the playoffs, although still shy of any real accomplishment. Nova was still solid but began a gradual decline, which subsequently led their legendary head coach Jay Wright to retire. This pushed them into an abyss of mediocrity and lackluster seasons without tournament appearances. 

During this era, the Nova players that I grew up watching moved onto the NBA where they would find much success. As fate would have it, three of these players would even end up on the same team. Building off the chemistry fostered in their university days, the “Nova Knicks” were born. This year, New York was the second-best team in the Eastern Conference, set to match up against Philadelphia in the first round of the playoffs. 

With Jalen Brunson, Josh Hart and Donte DiVincenzo, the Knicks were playing great. I was torn. These were my heroes growing up. I wanted nothing more than to see those three win, but I couldn’t betray my Sixers. The series started, and everything went downhill. The Wildcat trio killed the Sixers in the entirety of the six games, draining shot after shot. I watched on as the hope voided my body. 

It was awful. I left my friend’s house disappointed after another season without a deep run into the playoffs. This time, though, it was different. 

I thought back to how I loved those guys so dearly, just to watch them tear my team to shreds, sending them packing in the same arena that they had once called home. My summer was ruined, and so was my love for the ‘Nova Knicks.’ Maybe my happiness does rely too heavily on a silly game. It truly was heartbreaking to watch my favorite players beat my favorite team. 

This loss for the Sixers had major implications on the team’s contingency. Was “The Process” over? Was it time to rebuild once again? I couldn’t even think about having to wait through another lengthy period of inferiority — the same reason I became a Villanova fan in the first place. Everything about the situation wreaked vile irony.