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Here’s the story. It’s a simple story. It’s a college story.

You are standing in a cemetery in East Lawrence. You started on campus near the Campanile. You ran through campus, and you ran past The Wheel on 14th Street, you ran past old houses and people gardening. And now you are here.

You are standing a cemetery in East Lawrence and the name on the memorial says “James Naismith”.

You are 22 years old and you will graduate from college in 13 days. So you’ve run through campus, run past Allen Fieldhouse, run past Strong Hall, run past everything. And then you realize why you’re here, looking at the memorial of a man who has been dead for nearly 70 years.

You love the University of Kansas and you’re trying to find out why.

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You love this place because you love basketball. The sport was your first love. How can you explain the feeling of running a two-on-one fast break or taking a charge or hitting a three from the corner?

And you love this place because the University of Kansas is basketball. The words on the Naismith memorial are pretty clear.

“Dr. James Naismith invented the game as a winter sport for the YMCA at Springfield, Massachusetts in 1891. In 1898 he accepted a position at the University of Kansas. His goal was to develop the University’s Physical Education Department. He also agreed to accept the coaching position of KU’s first basketball team.”

And of course, we know the rest of the story. Naismith would coach a young man named Forrest C. Allen. You know him better as Phog. And Allen would turn Kansas into the most historic college basketball program in the country.

And you’re pretty certain that without Naismith and Allen, you wouldn’t be standing here.

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You love this place because of the tradition.

Here’s a quick story. I was nursing a beer last Sunday at a bar filled with nostalgic seniors. You know, there’s probably not a whole lot of productive value in spending a Sunday night at the bar, but when you are a senior and your college days are numbered, it just makes sense.

So my friend Brad and I concluded that there is not better KU tradition than the Friday night bar band.

“Seriously,” Brad said. “Next year, I’m coming back just to hear the bar band.”

I’m not sure why we gain so much pleasure from listening to a college pep band blast out “Hey Jude” in a small bar packed with ridiculous college kids, but some things are better left a mystery. I mentioned the bar band in a Thanksgiving column I wrote last December. Here’s a part of it. It’s still my favorite story that I’ve written for The Kansan.

I’m thankful for my last four years in Lawrence. I’m thankful for 14th and Ohio, long winding runs through campus, wings and mac ’n’ cheese at Phi Psi and Friday lunches at the Wheel (followed by a game of darts). I’m thankful for the Friday night bar band and football game days with good weather and good company. I’m thankful for professors with energy and the faces in The Kansan newsroom.

I’m thankful for sushi at Yokohama and the beer at Free State. I’m thankful for Rock Chalk Lattes in the morning and Wheel pizza at night.

I’m thankful I have one semester of college left.

I’m thankful for dollar night and ’80s music at the Wheel. I’m thankful for Tuesday nights with nothing to do and Sunday Fundays. I’m thankful for the KAK and Shipwrecked.

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You love this place because you were born to go to school here. You were raised on Kansas basketball. Your grandfather went to school here during the great depression and that same grandfather took your father to the first game ever played at Allen Fieldhouse in 1955.

You love this place because you believe that Lawrence is the perfect college town. The perfect mix of old academic charm and hippies and hipsters and greeks and music and bars and parties and — well, here’s a quick example.

The other night I stayed out at the bar until last call and then sat out on a friend’s porch until 4 a.m. discussing who was America’s greatest ever singer-songwriter, and of course, this seemed like a totally reasonable thing to do.

You love this place because you love college.

You love this place because of the people. And you wish you could list every person that inspired you during the last four years.

Here’s another story from a Sunday spent sipping on cold beer and enjoying good company. It’s from that same bar with nostalgic college seniors. We sat and talked and reflected.

“Hey,” my friend Brian said. “Don’t be sad because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

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You love this place because of The Shot. You sat right down by the floor at the Alamodome on April 8, 2008. And when Sherron Collins somehow flipped the ball to Mario Chalmers, and Chalmers moved to his left and released that beautiful arcing shot, you turned to a friend and calmly said, “That’s good.” You love this place because you were right.

Here’s a quick story about 04-07-08. I covered that game for The Kansan, and we had a tight deadline. In this situation, you kind of have to predict what “the story” is going to be, so you can start writing your story before the game is over. First, I anticipated that Brandon Rush may be named MOP of the Final Four, so it looked like he might be the story. Then Darrell Arthur quietly had a huge game, and it looked like he may be the story. But in the second half, it became quite clear that Memphis’ Derrick Rose was in fact the story. So I began writing that story — a story on how Kansas had come so close once again and been foiled by the brilliant play of another superstar freshman. It was nearly complete. All I had to do was fill in quotes from players and coaches after the game. Then Mario made The Shot and we would never be the same. But in that moment, inside the Alamodome, I looked at my computer screen. I looked at the words on the Rose story and pressed delete. I had to start over. You know, journalists are supposed to be objective and professional and all that. But I have to admit, I’ve never been happier to delete a story.

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You love this place because you’re at home here. And I think that is the story. Our run is over. The class of 2009 will walk down the hill on May 17. We’ll move on, become doctors, lawyers, teachers, engineers, accountants — we’ll go into sales. We’ll write books and make movies and get married and have kids and on and on. But that’s tomorrow’s story. Today, it’s about spending 13 more days as college students. Thirteen more days to enjoy this school and this town. Thirteen more days to spend warm nights on porches with interesting people. Thirteen days to talk about college and life and America’s great singer-songwriters. Thirteen more days at home.

— — Edited by Melissa Johnson

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