Moments that carry forward

👋Hello, my friend, I’m in your inbox a day early this week with a quick story. I hope you and your family have a great Easter weekend.

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Last weekend, I had one of those moments that I know I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

I was sitting in our sunroom with my 14-year-old son, watching UCONN play Duke. We’re huge UCONN fans — a function of me growing up in Connecticut.

Anyhow, it didn’t look pretty for most of the game. UCONN was utterly dominated in the first half, and at one point, down by 19 points, things felt pretty hopeless. Like 1.3% chance of winning hopeless!

My son and I, somewhat recognizing the inevitable, discussed how it was a good season, and they probably outperformed getting to this point anyhow.

But we weren’t quite ready to give up yet. We agreed: if they could just get the deficit to roughly match the number of minutes left, they might have a shot.

And then… they started to do exactly that.

Down 17 with about 17 minutes left… still alive.
Down 15 with 15… still hanging around.

And somehow, throughout the second half, it kept roughly tracking that way.

So we started to let ourselves believe a little bit.

But then, late in the game, things started to slip away. A few missed foul shots. Some bounces that went the wrong way. And then… the loss seemed just about inevitable.

10 seconds left. Duke just needed to inbound the ball. Probably make a foul shot or two. And that’s it. Game over.

Until… everything changed in an instant.

A steal.
A scramble.
A shot from almost half court.

We both just froze watching it in the air.

And then it dropped.

There was this split second of disbelief… and then we completely lost it. Jumping up and down, yelling, hugging each other—just pure, unfiltered joy.

As incredible as The Shot was—and it really was one of those moments you don’t forget—that’s not what stayed with me most.

It was the fact that I was sitting there watching it with him.

Because I’ve been in that spot before.

Back in 1990, when I was almost 12 years old, I remember watching a UCONN March Madness game with my dad. A full-court pass, a turnaround shot, a win that felt just as improbable. I’ve seen that replay countless times, but what I really remember is being next to him when it happened.

My dad passed away in 2015. And when I think about him, a lot of the memories that come back are moments like that—watching games together, riding the highs and the lows, sharing those reactions in real time.

Sitting there with my son, it hit me in a different way.

These things carry forward.

Sports can feel trivial on the surface. Just a game. Something easy to dismiss.

But there’s something deeper going on.

It creates a shared connection that’s hard to replicate anywhere else. A reason to sit down together and experience the same emotion at the same time.

And it’s not just about the wins.

I grew up a fan of the Boston Red Sox, and before 2004, that was basically synonymous with heartbreak. But even that—maybe especially that—was part of what made it meaningful. It was something we went through together.

What’s been interesting to me lately is seeing this play out now with my son.

It can be hard to find common ground with a middle schooler. That’s just part of the deal.

But sports seem to cut through that.

They give us something that’s ours. Something we both care about. Something we can come back to, again and again.

And it extends beyond just us.

It’s texting my brother after a big moment.
It’s group chats with friends I’ve known for 30 years lighting up during a game.
It’s that feeling that, no matter where everyone is in life, we’re connected in that moment.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve also started to appreciate the other side more.

Even in a game like this one — and I have no love lost for Duke — it’s hard not to feel for the players on the losing end. You see the disappointment, the realization that something they’ve worked toward for years is suddenly gone. It’s sad.

The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat.

If there’s anything I’d take from all of this, it’s just a recognition of how real and powerful these shared moments can be.

They’re not just about the game.

They’re about connection.

Across days, across years… and across generations.

We’ll see what happens next with UConn.

But honestly, it almost doesn’t matter.

I’m not sure 20 years from now we’re actually going to remember the results of this year’s Final Four.

I think we’ll remember watching The Shot—embracing, screaming, jumping, and going absolutely nuts. Together.

As always, I’d love to hear from you.

Let me know if this resonates and if any big moments stick out for you.

And one last thing before you go… if you missed my interview with Andy Rafal last week, be sure to check it out below. I’d love to hear what you think.

Enjoy your weekend.

—Greg