My obsession began on a day before YouTube, Instagram, or any of the endless streams of highlights we take for granted today. Back then, if a team wasn’t within your region / league, they might as well have been in Senegal. Growing up in Westchester, those Connecticut teams felt like they were a whole different continent, even though they were just across the border.
In our little kingdom, Yorktown ruled the lacrosse world. If you talked college rankings, it was Syracuse or bust. So, stepping into the Sports Barn in Yorktown wasn’t just about buying gloves; it was like stepping onto sacred ground. I wasn’t just purchasing gear. I was entering a hallowed space where lacrosse was religion, and I was the pilgrim.
Saturday nights at the Mount Kisco indoor tennis center were legendary. Teams from all over came to play, and when those kids from Connecticut showed up, I stared at them like I’d just spotted a lost tribe. I was fascinated. Who were these kids? How did they play? It was a mystery, like discovering a secret lacrosse society no one had told me about.