Eventually I would be the guard of Tom Izzo’s 2010-14 teams, being a beloved fan favorite. Jerseys and magazine covers, signed. Pictures with star-struck kids, taken. Phone numbers of all female fans, accepted.

Or so I thought.

As you can tell by now, I’m not the starting guard of MSU. Actually, I’m not even the starting guard on my intramural league team. If you were to watch me play pickup basketball, your confidence would instantly soar just by watching me do God-knows-what on the court.

Instead, I’m just a sports writer.

That’s not to say my job as a basketball reporter isn’t almost as awesome as playing for MSU. I mean, coach Izzo probably barely recognizes my face during his press conferences, so that’s pretty cool.

Right?

While reporting on one of the nation’s most prolific programs is great, there is one part of the job I cannot stand — letting young Spartan fans down.

Please, let me explain the most awkward five seconds of a game day to you.

After every game, Izzo and the opposing coach conduct a press conference, and immediately after reporters and cameramen head downstairs to go into the locker room.

Waiting outside the locker room are families and friends of the players, donors and young fans trying to score autographs and pictures from their favorite Spartans.

So, we walk through the crowd and a door opens to let us into the locker room to conduct interviews. After about 10 or 15 minutes, I walk back to the press room, but that means walking back through that door.

That door, however, is wooden, and there is no way for the young people with basketballs and Sharpies to know who will walk out. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the five seconds where I feel guiltiest to be myself.

I walk to the door, it opens and I see the following in about a span of five seconds: Kids’ eyes lighting up, parents slightly craning their heads to see who it is and fans starting to hand off whatever they want signed. Except I’m not their favorite MSU player — I’m someone they have never seen before.

The kids’ faces all slightly drop, the jersey for someone to sign is dropped back to waist level and they go back to their anxious standing position.

After the Nebraska game, I walked away feeling as if I should apologize to the small crowd for not being a basketball player. I even heard a kid say to group of friends “aw man, I thought that was him!” as I walked away from the scene.

I have a strange feeling by “him” he wasn’t referring to a 5-foot-8 kid carrying a notebook. Maybe for that brief second, they thought Keith Appling was the one turning the door handle, and they would get to meet the starting guard for MSU.

The players eventually do go out, and I’m assuming they are nice enough to oblige the youthful wishes of fans. It makes the slight feeling of guilt vanish, but that doesn’t mean a deep, guilty pleasure of mine goes away.

For about three seconds after every home game, I get to see what every starting guard for MSU has seen.

I’m not logging in 38 minutes a game for MSU, but at least for a brief flash of time, I get to step in and experience, in the worst way possible, my dream of being an MSU star.

Sorry I’m not “him,” kids, but thank you for making me feel like “him” for a quick second.

Matt Sheehan is a State News basketball reporter. Reach him at msheehan@statenews.com.