This was last week in an otherwise comatose XL Center, middle of Celtics-Knicks, a cosmically irrelevant NBA preseason game. Suddenly, voices from the wilderness.

The UConn chants began. YOU-KAAAHN! HUS-KEEZ! YOU-KAAAHN! HUS-KEEZ! YOU-KAAHN! HUS-KEEZ! HUS-KEEZ! YOU-KAAHN! WOO!"

The guys were maybe 20 rows up, midcourt. They went after Carmelo Anthony, reminding him that Syracuse is trailing in the national championship count, 4-1. Then they got Brad Stevens, needling him about Butler's offensive output ("41 points, Stevens!") in the 2011 national championship game. Next target: Rajon Rondo, a UConn victim in the 2006 tournament.

More UConn chants, more heckling.

The crooners, who looked to be in their 20s, some wearing Celtic green and other in Knick blue, were clean, loud and funny. Rondo was grinning, by the way, taking it in the intended spirit. (Not surprisingly, security marched up there with hilarious self-importance and made them stop, because if nothing else, we are state sans a sense of humor.)

But the UConn chants in the middle of a Celtics game got me thinking.

This is who we are.

UConn basketball is our sporting identity.

I know. Duh. A blinding flash of obvious. But it's worth reiterating. We may be relegated to being the sports Switzerland most of the year. Yanks and Sox, Giants and Pats, Celts and Knicks. Sort of coincides with how we're viewed in bigger circles as a useless piece of real estate with hideous traffic between Boston and New York.

But beginning Friday and running through early April, we have a seat at the table. We get to ditch the inferiority complex for a few months. We are the national frame of reference for college basketball of both genders.

Defending national champs and defending national champs.

It's our time again. It's our time to command national television. Connecticut never, ever participated in the nation's most publicized sporting event until Jim Calhoun came along. We can debate the first time UConn played in the most watched sporting event in the country. I'd guess the Duke game in the 1990 Elite Eight. Or maybe the Clemson game before it, when Scott Burrell threw the touchdown pass to Tate George.

Larger point: We arrived. And haven't left. A perpetual national story. Happily, our season is here again.

Cue Handel's Hallelujah Chorus. Because it's been another rough autumn. Football has been dreadful. UConn has been a punchline. Not fun. Except that now the podium comes to Storrs.

It also makes me wonder: Will anybody pay attention to UConn football anymore this year? It's a lethal combination of bad and dull at the moment. The weather will get colder. It would require some mettle, for example, to sit there in early December for the game against currently winless Southern Methodist.

Quite the dichotomy. Painted faces, roaring crowds and some attitude at basketball games. Crickets at football. The football crowd won't like it. Best we can offer: It'll make for better stories during better days.

Meantime, what a year we have ahead of us. The women play at Notre Dame in December. Maybe Geno and Muffet will have a snowball fight before. They visit Mohegan Sun during the regular season (December) and American Athletic Conference Tournament. It was such a smash last year that Ballo, the hip, Italian eatery at the Sun, did nearly 1,100 dinners the day of the quarterfinals. The women play the first round of the NCAA Tournament in Storrs and the second in Albany, a relatively easy drive.

Both teams play in Bridgeport, site of two loud crowds last year. The men play Duke in East Rutherford, N.J. We can start the countdown now for Coach K's first "it's about the relationships" lecture. The AAC men's tournament comes to Hartford in March. Hoops, hoops everywhere.

I can't wait. Soon, we'll hear the Ollie-isms ("first you bring the sugar, then you bring the hot sauce") and the Geno-isms ("I said she goes to her left, Stacey, not yours.")

I know we are uptight here about only everything. But I hope we enjoy this. It's our time.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro.

Twitter @BCgenius