The rain was falling in steady sheets outside my dorm window, the kind of dreary February afternoon that makes even the most dedicated student question their life choices. I was scrolling through old Georgetown basketball highlights—the kind my dad always talks about with that faraway look in his eyes—when a notification popped up. Patrick Ewing had just given another press conference, and someone had clipped his response to a question about rebuilding the program. "He doesn't mind the pressure," the caption read. "He doesn't mind the doubters." And right then, staring at the gray campus outside, it hit me: this is exactly what we've been missing.
I remember my first game at Capital One Arena as a freshman. The energy was electric, the sea of gray and blue roaring with every possession. That was 2018, and we still had some fight left—but even then, you could feel something shifting. The glory days of the 80s, with John Thompson Jr. pacing the sidelines and giants like Alonzo Mourning and Dikembe Mutombo dominating the paint, felt like ancient history. Fast forward to last season, and let's be honest—it was rough. We finished 7-25, one of the worst records in program history. Attendance dropped to an average of just 6,800 per game, a far cry from the packed houses of 2007, when we regularly drew over 15,000 fans. The buzz was gone, replaced by a quiet resignation in the student section.
But here's the thing about rock bottom—it gives you a clear view of what needs to change. And I think it starts with embracing that pressure Ewing mentioned. He doesn't mind it, and frankly, neither should we. Look, I'm not a basketball expert, but I've been around this program for four years now, and I've seen the little things that add up. The lack of consistent three-point shooting (we ranked 312th nationally last year, hitting just 30.2% from beyond the arc), the defensive lapses in crucial moments—these aren't unfixable problems. They're coaching issues, recruitment issues, culture issues. And culture, my friends, is something Georgetown used to own.
I was talking to my uncle recently, a guy who witnessed the 1984 championship run firsthand. He told me stories about the fearlessness of those teams, how they played with a chip on their shoulder because they knew they represented something bigger than themselves. That identity has faded, and I blame some of the recruiting misses. We've had talented players, sure, but where's the next Allen Iverson? The next Jeff Green? In the past five years, we've landed only two five-star recruits, while schools like Villanova and Duke continue to stack their rosters with NBA-ready talent. It's frustrating to watch, especially when local prospects slip through our fingers.
But let's not pretend it's all doom and gloom. I see glimpses of hope, like the emergence of sophomore guard Dante Harris, who averaged 12.3 points per game last season and plays with a fire that reminds me of the old days. Or the commitment from that four-star forward from Maryland—a kid who turned down UNC because he wanted to be part of the rebuild. That's the kind of pride we need to restore. And it's not just about the players; it's about the community. Remember when Hoya Blue would pack the student section an hour before tip-off? We need that energy back. We need to make the arena a fortress again, not a library with bleachers.
So, how can Georgetown basketball return to its former glory days? It's a question I've lost sleep over, and I know I'm not alone. It starts with embracing our history without living in it. Ewing gets that—he doesn't mind the comparisons to the past because he knows they're a benchmark, not a burden. We need to recruit players who understand what it means to wear the gray and blue, who thrive under pressure rather than shrink from it. We need to modernize our offense without abandoning the defensive principles that made us great. And yeah, we might need a little luck along the way—a buzzer-beater in the Big East tournament, a surprise commit from a top-10 prospect. But mostly, it's about patience and persistence. I believe we'll get there. Maybe not next season, maybe not in three, but someday soon, I'll be sitting in those stands with my kids, telling them about the rainy day I realized how Georgetown basketball could return to its former glory days—and they'll look at me the same way I look at my dad, with that same spark of belief in their eyes.