Welcome to Memoirs from the Mount, a weekly adventure through the twisting catacombs of my ever-decaying stream of consciousness. From the solitary peak of Mount Fuji to the cascading slopes of Mount Timpanogos, I'm sending a telegram of my perspective on current events surrounding BYU athletics.
I'm hunched over my laptop in a Thai jungle.
The downpour mere feet from my glorified typewriter is emblematic of the typhoon passing through my current location in Chiang Mai, Thailand. The smacking raindrops are a better soundtrack for concentration than my typical mixtape of Pokémon and Ghibli essentials covered via piano (or the occasional bout of inescapable Chappel Roan. I have guilty pleasures, but I refuse to be shamed).
Sitting on a bench -- well, more of a box -- draped in some unidentifiably basic deep sea blue fabric under a spotty pavilion, I'm almost certain that some animal surprise will make its presence known in my unexplored regions. Gecko would almost certainly be better received than the unearthly and heinous hand-sized Hunstmans I've unwillingly witnessed haunting my camp's darkest corners (not to mention the recesses of my subconscious mind), but the countless ants scurrying across my feet and on my hands wouldn't be more than a minor nuisance.
All the same, I tighten my belt. Some experiences are better left a mystery.
So I lock back onto the artificial light source that provides my livelihood. The blank page pleads to be filled with something clever. Unique. Humidity persistently clouds my laptop screen as the air itself seems to liquify. My right hand becomes less useful with every swipe, smear, smudge.
Mosquitos are either disappearing in droves, or my body's natural response to them has deafened with increased familiarity. Giving a quick check, I see no red bumps on my arms or legs. Interesting. The parasitic plague has abandoned me as a lost cause or declared me to be their supreme leader. Either way, they're simply not a problem anymore. Not compared to the rising water to my left. Rippling, bubbling, the viscous brown pond returns my stare. Face to face, the pouring rain strengthens its intimidation factor; it all but eliminates my Obi-Wan high ground. An impending Man v. Nature documentary starring me must be up next on National Geographic. Heaven help me.
I realize my image of Thailand resembles more of a rugged and intrepid death trap than a luxurious and beautiful vacation. Truthfully, I love it here. Thai is my second language, and a useless one for most any given day if you live in one of the Earth's 194 countries not named Thailand. Being a white guy who speaks Thai is almost like having the face of Ryan Gosling. Women want their daughters to marry you. Men want to be you (or marry you, if that's their thing). You're an instant celebrity the moment you step into the room. Again, anywhere else in the world, speaking Thai is random autobiographical trivia; that's cool, I guess...
So yes, I'm enjoying my stay despite the torrential rains, the impending flooding, and the occasional ant in the bedsheets. Gold lines the very essence of this land, whether paying respect to the King or some Buddhist deity. In a gorgeous and glimmering display, the appearance of royalty beautifies the roads, buildings, and even the inside of your local Big C supermarket. It commands your attention. Claims your view. Tosses you into an unceasing whirlpool of majesty and prosperity (hopefully I don't find myself at the center of a literal whirlpool before this tropical storm passes). Thailand's aesthetic appeal is one of constantly existing within a golden age.
BYU basketball should likewise be familiar with the concept of a golden age -- they're already chest deep within their own (how do you like that for a segue?). Last season's Sweet 16 run was truly special, but given the constant state of reloading and retooling, this is no longer a mere basketball team nestled beneath the shadow of Mount Timpanogos; this is a factory of basketball technology. Rapid advancements to the community's very concept of basketball possibility promise that Brigham Young University is no mere host to the world's best church-ball team. A 3-point-chucking batch of underbaked sandies capable of overachieving and, on occasion, toppling the bloated giants roaming the untamed wilderness of college hoops.
No, please hover your mental mouse over whatever preconceived basketball team lives within your frontal cortex, and confidently mash the delete key. Lobotomize if necessary. Suddenly, this team houses multiple 5-star level contributors, high-flying acrobats with the grace to soar through the air paired with unbridled violence at their fingertips.
Watch Keba Keita spike an errant shot attempt through the Earth in Orlando, and I'll snap a photo when I see it fly out of the ground here in Asia. Watch Dominique Diomande base jump from anywhere within the 3-point arc and deliver a tooth-rattling slam through the helpless orange cylinder in his path. Even the newest addition, Aleksej Kostic, can catch and deliver a soul-shattering jumper from distance, or migrate south for a better, warmer glance at the basket before his shot arrives at the same triumphant conclusion.
But at the summit of Olympus stands the mighty titan. The pride of Coach Young's recruiting accomplishments, the colossus who oversees the trivial strife of those below him, and bellows a thunderous chuckle. The royal blue toga-clad being whose very presence at BYU was a near impossibility only a year before. AJ Dybantsa. A cold-blooded reaper who scores at will from beyond the arc, painting in the midrange, and punching the ball through the goal. The projected top selection and prize of his NBA draft class, Dybantsa had his pick of any basketball program in the entire nation. He chose BYU.
Not Kansas, nor Kentucky, nor UNC, nor anything in between. Dybantsa drove five hours up the road from his high school home in Hurricane, Utah, to set up shop in Provo. The most desirable prospect selecting an untraditional destination is nothing new in the realm of college hoops. Ben Simmons took to LSU. Markelle Fultz arrived in Washington. Anthony Edwards was a Georgia Bulldog. But just as those players were in one year and out the next, so did their respective programs. Rutgers will remain Rutgers with the departure of Ace Bailey and Dylan Harper. Neither UW, UGa, nor LSU became a powerhouse even with the added presence of the eventual number one selection, but BYU's story is opening in a drastically different way.
This season, reading "way-too-early" preseason top 25 rankings have given me a better dopamine shot than seeing a poor unsuspecting victim fall into my hotel-loaded trap on Boardwalk. Pure serenity. Absolute pleasure. What a feeling it is to see the stretch Y as a mainstay in the projected top 10 for next season's basketball-flavored thrill ride.
AJ Dybantsa isn't some unattached mercenary intent on moseying through town and leaving it as he found it. He enters a program ranked 13th in last year's final AP Poll. A squad loaded with elite athletes. Prestigious talent. Accolades and praise have showered Kevin Young's system even in its infancy. BYU basketball has its eyes set on the snowy peaks of the mountain top, and is -- for the first time in its history -- sincerely equipped to beat the rest to that summit.
Even beyond this season, BYU's recruiting team continues to leave its calling card at the scene when a top talent opens his ears. Evidence of a still-sizzling Cougar Tail is written on the cheeks of Baba Oladotun. 5-star after 5-star is getting a phone call from Brigham Young University, and if AJ Dybantsa says yes, there are virtually zero limits on a caliber of player within the team's reach.
Hypothetical this, hypothetical that. Yes, I understand the future is entirely intangible at the present day, and a complete implosion never feels out of the question when the city's high-rise towers seem to have sprouted from the ground in such a short amount of time. I'm open to the idea that this is all a mirage. A delicious vision of tasty jams and hearty slams. A victorious roar erupts from Provo so powerfully that the Richter scale is set off in Tokyo. I dream of the day when I can finally exhale in the knowledge that BYU is hoisting the trophy, and none can deny their position in the basketball world.
If this is truly the dawn of a golden age, we're in for an incredible future.
Calvin Barrett is a writer, editor, and prolific Mario Kart racer located in Tokyo, Japan. Currently writing for SB Nation and FanSided, he has covered the Utah Jazz and BYU athletics since 2024 and graduated from Utah Valley University.