The winter of 1996 was cold and windy, at least that’s how I remember it walking from Parking Lot S2 to St. Joseph’s Hall every day. It’s a pilgrimage of sorts, a distance I must have walked 800 times at the University of Dayton. This semester stood out however because of Chris Daniels. Every day — at the exact same place, at the exact same time – Chris and I crossed paths in the courtyard of St. Joseph’s Hall and exchanged hellos. It was awkward at first because we didn’t know each other. Well, I knew he was Chris Daniels, but he didn’t know me – or that my name was Chris too. Over the course of the semester our run-ins became a gag and we’d get a chuckle out of seeing each other on a daily basis with the precision of a Swiss watch. As time wore on, we became creative and drew finger pistols like Annie Oakley or high-fived like teammates do on the basketball court.

I rooted for Chris Daniels for selfish reasons. Nobody in my lifetime named Chris was ever worth a damn in a Flyer uniform. To be honest, there haven’t been many players named Chris to begin with, so I cheered for him as if I lived out my basketball dreams vicariously through his 6-10 frame. When Charlie Robinson announced his name, I took it as my own, substituting the last name for Rieman and visualizing myself in a Dayton uniform like I used to as a kid. It was the closest I ever came to feeling like a superstar, and Chris Daniels helped take me there. Even now, I wonder if Chris Daniels ever knew I was a basketball fan – or if my name was Chris too. I’m not sure we had anything in common other than a first name and a class schedule. He was black, I am white. He was tall, I am short. He was a hoops star, I am a hatchet man. He was well-known, I am unknown.

Fans and friends knew Chris as a gentle giant. They knew him well – well enough to feel like someone ripped their chest out when they heard of his passing. I felt the loss too, but not as much as others close to him. I wonder when the next Chris Daniels will come along and show kids you can blossom late and still have enough time to see the sun go down. I wonder if he’s the last Chris that will ever wear the red and blue and let me fantasize about my childhood dream. I don’t know what he’d say if another Chris came along to carry his torch and carry my imagination, but a smile and a high-five would probably be waiting for me.