Hoisting a championship trophy is typically the greatest moment in an athlete’s career, but after the celebration ends and the congratulations stop you are only left with the memory of what once was.

The trophy will most likely remain through the test of time, stored in some display case in a high school hallway or in a dusty old closet. The status that comes with earning it will quickly fade as your life moves forward. For the high school athlete it is a moment of intense pride, but then it all fades away. Arriving at UW it doesn’t matter if you were all-conference, conference champion, all-state or a state champion because to those who see you walking up Bascom Hill, you are merely another freshman.

As you advance in your college career, removed from the competitive play in the sport you loved, there will be subtle reminders. Every now and again your roommate may ask you what it felt like to play in the Shrine Game or what the best part about playing on a state championship team was. Your high school buddies may reminisce about the time you scored 26 points against your cross-town rivals or the time you shot a front side 31, but you will never receive the recognition like you did in high school.

You are now just a regular guy, another nobody among 40,000 individuals who have made their way to this university.

Next door lives a state champion in swimming whose life no longer consists of a rigorous training schedule in the pool. He’s just Bryan to most of us, and we know him mostly as an Army reserve. Instead of hearing about the breaststroke, we hear about grenade-throwing. His life has changed, and the sport he loved may have been the biggest casualty.

Life at college results in a huge transformation for the high school hero. The talk of the town has been resolved to a notation in history; you’re a brief passing of greatness that today only garners a hometown wave from old man Ripple and a gentle hello from Mrs. Wilson. At college you have to re-establish yourself on the athletic playing field.

If you didn’t make the team here, it’s hard to gain the respect you once had. There is no wall of fame at the SERF for the team that won 19 games in a row and no record board in the Witte backyard that shows who had the most aces in a volleyball match. Here we earn each little ounce of respect through every second of participation.

The high school athlete has to hustle in college or else he won’t be picked up in the next game. There are no substitutions here; there are no coaches to help build your game. It’s all about sweat and tears.

We’re left doing sit-ups in our room; a football star, a tennis phenom and a less than prolific golfer working out on the same level. In college it’s suddenly harder to work off those excess calories; maybe those late-night pizza runs and all-night parties are starting to catch up with us. No longer can the high school athlete skate by on good metabolism and talent alone.

And so the high school athlete is at peril of seeing their future wasted away on a couch, where talks of state championships are accompanied by a case of beer. The champions have to work harder then ever once they get to college. After all, you didn’t think your letterman jacket would truly impress anyone, did you?

Here you are, the high school athlete, alone in the memories of what you once were. You truly have two options — compete every day and hope you don’t lose your edge, or sit back relax and enjoy your new life of normalcy. Either way you’ll likely have fun; just don’t continue to bring up your past if you can’t still put the game behind the words.

So you say you’re a state champion? Check ball and prove it.