In a sports world that is plagued by cheaters and criminals, it's refreshing to run across a team that will stop at nothing to do what's right. And they're right here on campus.
It was a moment that will undoubtedly stick in my mind for the rest of my life.
There he was, lying propped up in a hospital bed, gasping for every last coma-induced breath.
The man in the bed was my great-grandfather, but he had a daughter and three grandchildren in the room whom I know lovingly as my grandma, twin aunts Cheryl and Carol and my father.
The stroke that he had suffered hours before left him crippled and unable to breathe on his own.
And there he was, this 93-year-old man, known affectionately by both colleagues and family simply as Hank, on an assuredly painful yet silent journey to the light.
It was past midnight, and with early classes the next morning, I had to make the decision to go to his bedside and say what I thought could be my final good-byes to my great-grandfather, who couldn't see, hear or understand a thing I was doing.
The rest of the family stayed with Hank, hoping for something miraculous to happen - and at this point, that was for him to show one sign of consciousness.
I arrived the next morning after class preparing myself for the worst, but I was instead greeted by my grandmother's smiling face.
That miracle everybody was hoping for had occurred only a couple hours before.
"He's up and talking," she said.
Unbelievably, Hank's first sign of life was greeting a nurse with a slurred "Good morning" when she came to his side and attempted to wake him.
Stunned and tickled by the news, I waved to Hank to let him know I was there. He recognized me immediately and said those words I had been hearing for years:
"I think that Ball State women's basketball team plays today."
You see, my great-grandfather Hank, a former newspaper linotype operator who composed newspapers in the olden days before computers, is an enormous supporter of Ball State athletics.
The man, whose hands and knuckles are bigger than someone twice his size, was just a little more than 24 hours past a massive stroke and was already thinking about his Cardinals.
He had become especially fond of the women's basketball program over the past year or so when they began a foster granddaughter program at Westminster Village where Hank lives.
I left the hospital ecstatic and appreciative of the chance I got to visit and talk with my great-grandfather again.
When I got home, I sent Shannon Klei a message on Facebook. Shannon was Hank's foster granddaughter on the basketball team, and she had visited him at Westminster on several occasions. I told her although he was able to communicate, his speech was still slurred and he had to learn to fully function again through therapy.
I had hoped the point had gotten across that Hank would love a surprise visit from Shannon if she was able. I sent then-acting head coach Lisa McDonald a similar e-mail and asked if she would take a moment out of her busy schedule to surprise Hank in the hospital at some point if she could.
What I had learned a few days later made my jaw literally drop.
I visited Hank after one of his therapy sessions, and he told me that not only did Lisa McDonald and Shannon Klei make an appearance, but the entire women's basketball team had made a special trip together to Ball Memorial Hospital - in the freezing rain - to visit him.
These student-athletes took precious time out of all of their own schedules to visit one of their biggest fans around.
As a sports reporter, you're supposed to be subjective. You can't be a fan because it will show in your writing; however, it will be hard not rooting for the Ball State women's basketball team this winter.
After all, because of this team, I know Grandpa Hank will have the strength to be cheering them on himself.
Write to Andrew at adwalker@bsu.edu