Win or lose on Saturday—but preferably after a win since “it’s kind of what we’re paid to do,” says Towson University men’s basketball coach Pat Skerry—he will eventually settle into a comfy chair at home at night, likely with his 10-year-old son, Owen, and wife, Kirsten, nearby. The family television will be tuned to—what else?—basketball, and on the screen the Skerrys will once again proudly see the fruits of their labor, the campaign that they started.

If you watch a college basketball game this weekend—and, even in February, millions of people will—pretty much every coach, even the well-known ones, will be sporting a blue puzzle piece-shaped pin on their suit jacket lapel.

What’s that for, you may ask?

Well, that’s the point. It’s for autism awareness. For the estimated one in 59 children in the United States today, like Skerry’s son, and more than 70 million people worldwide living on the broad autism spectrum. And it’s specifically for Autism Speaks, the advocacy organization pushing for more research into what’s hypothesized to be a brain and nervous system disorder, but whose cause is still largely debated as diagnosis rates continue to rise.

“It’s something that’s dear to us,” Skerry says, “but it’s also the largest developmental disorder in the world.”

This weekend, in what’s become a very visible nationwide autism awareness push, nearly 400 coaches will wear the small pins, which are shaped like a puzzle piece as a nod to the complexity and nuances of the disorder. And at Towson, which hosts the College of Charleston at 4 p.m. Saturday, you can find the campaign’s co-founder wearing his while the Tigers don blue Under Armour jerseys in honor of Autism Speaks’ signature color.

Skerry started all of this nearly a decade ago, around the same time he was hired at Towson, with coaching colleague and friend, South Florida assistant Tom Herrion, whose son is also autistic. Since then, it’s grown from a truly grassroots effort. In 2014, the Skerrys hand-mailed pins to coaches around the country, and explained why they should wear them during televised games in February. The purpose was to raise awareness of the challenges of life with autism, which can include a variety of symptoms typically including trouble picking up social cues, engaging in repetitive behavior, and sensory issues.

It’s expensive. The average family with a child with autism spends more than $60,000 per year in care, and not all states provide health insurance coverage. When Owen was diagnosed, the Skerrys could afford it, but knew not everyone could do the same. “Not every family has the resources that they need, especially financially,” Skerry says. “We wanted to create more exposure about where to look for them.”

Eighty-two coaches participated in the first year of the campaign, and its footprint has grown each season. In 2018, close to 350 coaches and television broadcasters—many of them appearing on national television games—brought attention to the cause. “The next step is, I want to make it better and bigger,” Skerry says. “I always say it’s an awareness weekend, and I would like it to grow into an acceptance weekend.”

We don’t want to use the stereotype of Dustin Hoffman’s character from “Rain Man,” as an accurate portrayal of each of the millions of people who live with autism, because it’s not, though it is based on a true story. And in fact, at first, that was Pat Skerry’s only impression of a developmental disorder. But the fuller truth is that not everyone with autism is a savant, nor is anyone diagnosed identical to the next. “It’s a spectrum,” Skerry says, “so no two people are exactly alike.”

In the case of the boy closest to him, Owen Skerry was diagnosed at age 2, around the time symptoms in children usually present. Today, he attends the specialized Trellis School in Hunt Valley and has regular appointments with occupational therapists and speech pathologists. Along the way, Skerry and his wife have cherished small moments of growth, like a cry-free swim class or Owen trying a new food. Skerry says Owen is doing well, and his wife Kristen, “is the real hero in our daily mission.”

For reasons like these, Skerry is going to keep spreading the word about what autism really is, answer any questions about it—such as how to best interact with a person on the spectrum (asking questions about their routine is a big suggestion)—and consider the bigger picture and open-mindedness in unfamiliar, yet increasingly prevalent circumstances.

“There’s nothing harder or worse sometimes for a parent that’s maybe out to eat or at a store with a child, or an adult, and there’s an issue or disturbance or a meltdown, and people prejudge, or stare,” Skerry says. “We’re not asking anybody to be perfect, but this is something that affects a lot of people. We’re sensitive because we’ve seen it.”

But he doesn’t want to be pushy, either. He’s not asking for money, though Autism Speaks definitely accepts donations and he admits more funding for grants and research would help the cause that he’s so invested in.

Skerry just wants people to pay attention, to come to Towson’s game Saturday, understand, and be aware. He also wants all those coaches to wear the blue pins, for kids like Owen and everyone else trying to put the puzzle pieces together.

Tom Flacco is used to it. He’s fielded questions about his brother, the NFL quarterback, since Tom played football in high school five years ago in New Jersey and older brother Joe was already with the Ravens. But there’s still times when the practice aggravates him, like in the press conference that followed Towson University’s win at nationally ranked Villanova earlier this fall.

A reporter from Philadelphia repeatedly asked about Joe Flacco. All Tom wanted to talk about was the team, and how everyone else played. “I don’t give a shit,” he finally said, cutting off the string of questions.

And if you’re wondering how he’s similar or different from his brother that might also show you.

It’s a story. When the younger brother of Baltimore’s Super Bowl winning quarterback shows up to play in the same city, it’s going to get attention.

“It’s a hard position for him to be in, especially in this city, but it’s kind of cool at the same time,” Towson head football coach Rob Ambrose says. Even more, when he’s about to play against older brother’s beloved alma mater, Delaware, on Saturday.

Tom is in his first season as the starting quarterback at Towson. Like Joe, who transferred from NCAA Division I program Pittsburgh to “small school” Delaware in search of more playing time—a move that set him on his path to professional football, and essentially laid the groundwork for this family tale—Tom left Division I Rutgers last summer, after spending the previous two years as a backup at D-I Western Michigan, to transfer to Towson. Like the school his brother attended a short drive up Interstate-95, its football team plays in the Football Championship Subdivision (formerly known as Division I-AA).

Tom, the youngest of the five Flacco brothers, now 23 and already with a degree from Rutgers and pursuing a master’s in applied information technology at Towson, has lit up the scoreboard and stat sheet while leading the Tigers to a 6-1 record and No. 10 national ranking. Tom recently was added to watch list for the Walter Payton Award, given annually to the top offensive player in FCS football, and he just won this third Colonial Athletic Association Offensive Player of the Week award. He’s averaging 280 yards passing per game, has thrown 17 touchdowns and has rushed for 515 yards for four TDs ahead of Saturday’s game at the 21st-ranked Blue Hens.

Tom insists Joe’s presence in Baltimore didn’t influence the decision to transfer to here. “It wasn’t going to deter me from coming here,” Tom said. “And it didn’t make it more attractive.” But there is a logical connection. Towson assistant coach Jared Ambrose (coincidentally, the younger brother of the head coach, Rob), was graduate assistant football coach at Delaware and worked with the offense when Joe was there, reaching the 2007 FCS national championship game. Ambrose told Flacco 2.0, who was then a kid watching in the stands, about the talent on this year’s Towson team, and the potential to play right away.

Another perk? The family dinners now on the weekend are pretty nice. On the Sundays when the Ravens play at home, Tom, who lives on Towson’s northern Baltimore campus, will usually go up to Joe’s house nearby on Sunday nights to eat Italian food and see his four nephews and niece. Their mom, Karen, brings and cooks fresh spaghetti from Severinos Pasta Shop from their native New Jersey. Can we come?

“When I was at Western [Michigan], I would never admit it, but I guess I just admitted it, I missed it,” Tom says. “Now I’m definitely grateful for being around my family.”

Joe’s enjoyed it, too. He attended Towson’s season-opening win at Morgan State in person and has streamed other games on TV or the computer. The two exchange messages about each other’s games. “It’s been cool,” Joe Cool says. “It’s unique that he’s right here. I’ve been waiting to see him play for the last three years.”

If you see them stand next to one another, or sit at the dinner table, you don’t have to be a detective to see that they’re brothers, based on their facial features alone, though Joe’s a bit taller (listed at 6 feet, 6 inches) than the 6-foot Tom. How else are they similar? They share the same last name. Come from a competitive, athletic family. Their other brother, Mike, was drafted by the Orioles in 2009 then played college football as a tight end; and another brother, John, walked on the Stanford football team as a wide receiver. These Flaccos play quarterback. Close your eyes when listening to their quotes, and they sound similar. Tom says they share the same outlook on the life, but that’s largely where the comparisons stop.

“You talk about the relationship with his brother and he has it,” Ambrose said. “But everybody wants to compare the two. He doesn’t want any part of that. Tom’s Tom and Joe’s Joe.”

How they’re different? They’re 10 years apart and, yes, have different personalities. “Joe would probably be the best guy you’ve ever played poker against,” Rob Ambrose said. “He has a poker face in everything he does. Tom is a lot more overtly excitable. Joe’s excitable, you just can’t tell.”

And on the field, “The way I play is different, obviously,” Tom says, “You can see if you watch.” Forget being “Joe Flacco’s brother,”—that’s a good thing—Tom seems more interested in shedding other, more dreaded labels like “athletic,” or “running quarterback.” In football parlance, if you’re a quarterback, that’s usually code for “throwing the ball is not the strongest part of his game.” (At the same time, though, older brother has been dogged through his career for being “immobile,” so sometimes you can’t win.)

“I’m a quarterback that’s athletic, not an athletic person playing quarterback,” says Tom, who was a three-sport star at Eastern High in New Jersey and also was drafted as an outfielder by baseball’s Philadelphia Phillies. He sounds like’s talking straight to NFL scouts. “I can be a quarterback, execute the play and if things break down, I can execute that second play to keep things going.”

“He’s 6-foot, but he probably doesn’t get a lot of credit for some of the things big tall guys do,” Joe says. “He can do a lot of those things . . . He’s a really good player, great athlete, he can really throw the ball. Obviously, he’s my brother so I have some bias.”

Which brings us to the big, timely topic at hand. Asked this week who he was rooting for to win on Saturday—his brother or his alma mater?—Joe said family first.