Column: An open letter to coach Craig Smith

Coach Smith,

We’re ready for you.

I’m writing on behalf of many Aggie fans who, like me, feel you can initiate a much-needed shift in how Utah State basketball operates. Perhaps this is a presumptuous leap for me to make, speaking for fans who aren’t exactly shy about voicing opinions themselves, but hey — here we are.

I’m writing this because I miss the Spectrum. We all do. We miss crossing the threshold of that building and feeling every sensory detail of the place fill us with elation rather than apprehension, or dread, or worst of all boredom. We miss going a whole season without seeing a single mustard yellow seat from opening tip to final whistle, due to fans dressed in head-to-toe Aggie blue flooding the arena.

We miss our team.

I won’t rattle off the tired homecourt statistics of the now-legendary WAC championship squads. We know them, we know you know them, and in this context our history does little good to guide our future. Those days, the Tai Wesley Gary Wilkinson Pooh Williams Jaycee Carroll days, are behind us. Whether or not the era of Spectrum Magic is gone with them is a directive now thrust into your capable snake-punching hands.

Aggie hoops fans are a group I’d be so bold to describe as cautiously pessimistic. In many ways, understanding the current state of USU fandom is like entering a locker room after an especially tough loss. Some silently sulk in the corner with a Gatorade towel draped over their faces while others slam lockers shut in frustration. Nobody wants to talk, and when someone does eventually speak up the rest aren’t interested in listening.

The 2017-18 Aggies had some of the program’s highest highs in years. We haven’t forgotten toppling UNLV on the road, or downing Fresno in a classic (twice), or the brilliant tournament win against a Boise State team we love to hate.

But the lows were equally crushing. More, actually. They’ve been crushing every season since joining the Mountain West. San Diego State in 2013. San Jose and Air Force in the same week. Nevada multiple times. BYU every time. The games at which we pack the stands attempting to re-light the fire that used to sweep this valley on game nights tend to always be the games we just can’t get it done on the court.

This isn’t meant as a slam on our guys — in a sense we fans own those moments as much as the dudes in that locker room.

But enough of that. That’s why you’re here. We aren’t blind to the immense weight that’s been heaved on your shoulders. Your role here, as it would be anywhere, will probably be some combination of recruiting, winning some games and seeing your guys graduate. But more than that, it seems you’ve been charged with re-energizing a fanbase growing increasingly weary of 8th-place finishes and player transfers at the conclusion of each season (and even one time at the beginning of one, but don’t sweat that guy, he was an ass).

We want the magic back. We want visiting players exchanging concerned glances on the bench while a crowd 10,000-strong welcomes them to hell. We want a team that cares about winning here enough to go several months out of the year without hair on their kneecaps or elbows. We want to push teams so hard and run teams so ragged that they crawl out of the east end of the building close to midnight, preferring the silent cemetery next door to the vicious confines of the Spectrum.

It’s a lot to ask, revitalizing a program once famously termed “the Duke of the mid-majors.” It’s probably not even a fair expectation. But if there’s one thing that’s never left the Utah State faithful it’s the belief that someday, with the right coach and the right players, the spark that makes Cache Valley an unexpected haven for top-flight college basketball would return. You can count on us to remind you of that fact seconds before tip-off in every game you will ever coach here. We have your back, and we believe in what you can do with this program.

Bring us back the hustle and the sweat, coach. Do that, and we’ll provide the magic.