There are many reasons we watch sports, mostly because of GUS — the Great Unwritten Script— that rarely fails to churn emotions other life endeavors simply can't duplicate.

GUS was truly on its game the other night at Mohegan Sun Arena, leaving me completely envious of a 9-year-old kid.

Background: This was during the Eastern Connecticut Conference boys' basketball finals. There on the Stonington bench sat Carter Wosencroft, 9, the son of Stonington coach Jay Wosencroft. Carter wore a jacket and tie, looking like a de facto assistant coach.

And suddenly, I was awash in my childhood again.

Suddenly, I wished I could be nine all over again.

I can't imagine anything more awesomely awesome for a little kid than to be inside Mohegan Sun for the championship game. Not merely in the stands. But with your dad coaching. Those of us who grew up with our dads as active members of our lives know that dad is your first hero, often exposing us to fun things like sports, creating memories that span generations.

But this? The No. 1 sports venue in the state? And YOU, the 9-year-old, get to dress up and look like the coach? And your team wins? And you celebrate in the big pile and see your dad right there in the middle? I wish I'd posed for a photo with Carter. It would be in my living room.

Carter's story brought me back to my childhood. I grew up in Middletown, a passionate local sports town. My absolute favorite thing when I was Carter's age: the Xavier football game on a Friday night. Xavier was a powerhouse in the days of Larry McHugh. Palmer Field on a Friday night was always good for 4,000 people, the No. 1 social event in town.

The atmosphere was exciting enough. But it was something else that completely shaped my childhood and my forever love of sports: It was the turn on to Washington St.

For the uninitiated: Palmer Field is located on Washington St. (also known as Route 66) a busy road looking something like a Main St. on the west end of the city. It was about a 10-minute drive from our house. The route took us through town, eventually where we made a left on to Washington St.

And there they were: the lights of Palmer Field.

I still can't describe the utter joy of seeing Friday night illuminated. Those lights held everything. They meant everything.

There is something bewitching, if not romantic, about the lights in the distance, these majestic reminders that we made it through school and chores and everything else. They symbolized this thing I'd looked forward to all week. It's here. It's Game Night, where the canons of "Friday Night Lights" and "Monday Night Football" synthesized.

I suspect that's what Carter Wosencroft was feeling on some level Tuesday night: This is just the coolest thing ever. Carter's "turn on to Washington St." was all the neon in Uncasville, the big arena, the shapes, forms, sights and sounds. He was part of this amazing sports experience with all the Stonington players who have become his big brothers.

I hope Carter one day can provide such an experience for his children.

I know the first time I took my son to a game I so wanted to be inside his head to experience all the hope and wonder all over again.

Bet the ECC and Mohegan Sun, who partnered to bring the championship basketball games to the tribal property, had no idea the tentacles would reach this far. Forget providing the memories of a lifetime to the existing youth. Tuesday night conjured some of my happiest thoughts from more innocent times. An oasis from the daily entitlement, volatility and derangement which pollute out current times.

Nothing lasts forever? Au contraire. Memories do. Thank you, Carter, for bring me back.

This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro