By SCOTT PITONIAK
Rochester (N.Y.) Democrat and Chronicle

As he watched the joyous scene unfold on the television screen of his family room late Monday night, the forty-something sports columnist felt mixed emotions. The journalist in him wished he had been in New Orleans to chronicle Syracuse University's first NCAA championship in basketball because as Red Smith, the Babe Ruth of sports columnists, once observed: "There is no substitute for being there."

But money is tight and, perhaps, this was better anyway because this allowed him to be something he's rarely been these past 25 years: A fan.

Sitting on the couch rather than press row, he could shed his cloak of objectivity and pull on a sweatshirt with the name of the old alma mater emblazoned across the chest. For two hours and change, the forty-something sports columnist could ride the emotional roller coaster that fans go through. For two hours and change, he could be true to his school.

He rediscovered how gut-wrenching spectating can be, especially when you invest your emotions in a program with a history of heartbreak. There is a fatalistic feeling that goes with being a Syracuse fan - a feeling that the 'Cuse is cursed, a la the Buffalo Bills and Boston Red Sox and Buffalo Sabres. There's a sense that there's always some Keith Smart lurking out there; some killjoy ready to stick a jumper through the cylinder and a dagger through the heart.

And that is why, even when the Orangemen were up by 17, the forty-something-sports-columnist-turned-sports-fan didn't feel entirely comfortable. He knew that Kansas was too good a team to just lay down and die. So he wasn't surprised when the Jayhawks staged their furious second-half comeback to shave the lead to two points with just seconds left. He couldn't help but feel as if the sky might be falling once more. He couldn't help but wonder if this was, to paraphrase the great philosopher Yogi Berra, deja orange-and-blue all over again.

Visions of the 1987 national championship game against Indiana kept popping into his head. Like so many others, he thought Syracuse had that game won 16 years ago. Then Smart (a name as offensive to Syracuse fans as Bucky Dent is to Red Sox fanatics) hit that fading jumper from the deep baseline with four seconds to go. Say it ain't so, Jimmy Boeheim. Say it ain't so.

Was history about to repeat itself in the Louisiana Superdome - the same building where Smart and an Auburn kicker inappropriately named Win Lyle had dashed SU's national championship hopes in hoops and football within a 10-month span?

Was Boeheim destined to become the Marv Levy of college basketball?

The answers were: No and No.

This time, the ending would be different. This time, the 'Cuse would not be cursed. This time, the game would end with the opponent shooting an air ball instead of a dagger. This time, the Orangemen would be cutting down the nets.

Forty-four years after winning a national championship in football, Syracuse would win one in basketball. Take that, Keith Smart.

In a way, the national championship had brought the sports-columnist-turned-sports-fan full circle.

He thought back to his first SU basketball game - a school record 47-point performance by Bill Smith on Jan. 14, 1971. He recalled all those nights as an undergraduate when he and friends would cheer on Roy's Runts from the raucous student section in Manley Field House known affectionately as the Zoo. He remembers the zaniness on Marshall Street during the 'Cuse's first Final Four trip in 1975.

He was there the night John Thompson officially closed Manley and SU's 57-game home winning streak. He covered Leo Rautin's tip-in in triple-overtime to win the Big East championship at the Carrier Dome. He saw Pearl Washington heave in that buzzer-beating, half-court shot against Boston College. He chronicled the exploits of Billy Owens, Derrick Coleman, Sherman Douglas, Stephen Thompson, Lawrence Moten, John Wallace and Jason Hart. He marveled at the sight and sounds of 30,000 vociferous fans in the Dome.

He had opined in late December that this current edition of Orangemen, led by wise-beyond-their-years freshmen Carmelo Anthony and Gerry McNamara, might just elevate this program to heights never visited before. He had sensed something different, something special was about to unfold with 'Melo and his mates.

It would have been great to have been there and to have written the final chapter on this storybook season, but perhaps this was better.

For two hours and change, the forty-something sports columnist had an opportunity to be something he's rarely been these past 25 years: A fan.

For two hours and change, he was able to be true to his school.