Notes from the Nosebleed Section

We have some new game beads, thanks to our day spent at the NCAA Tournament at Spokane Arena yesterday.  So, of course, I've put them to use this morning, hoping for a good outcome in the game tonight at 5:40 PDT on TNT from the Pepsi Center in Denver.

That's when the ZAGS take on the Utah Utes, and it promises to be a barn burner.

Now, there was a barn burner at the Spokane Arena last night when St. Joe's took on Cincy aka Cincinnati.  It was the last of the four games we watched from our perch in the nosebleed section. 

I'll be first to admit that my Best School Spirit passion from the good ol' days of yesteryear had vanished by the time that last buzzer went off a millionth of a second too soon for Cincy's two-point stuffer to count.  

"What happened?" I asked Bill and Willie as the scoreboard did not change when the ball went through the basket just seconds after St. Joe had dropped a "for sure" game-winning 3 pointer. 

The crowd in the stands and the crowd on the floor seemed to be in a state of disbelief---everybody but me of course.  

I had been watching the clock, but for different reasons.  My aching knees and my weary head had had enough and my lead-weighted eyelids were giving me a heckuva time staying awake. 

So, when that final buzzer sounded, it was a "Thank God" moment for me but a death knell for that second "for sure" game winning shot which had just been drilled into the Cincy basket. 

Turns out, through several minutes of close scrutiny, that the shot hit the basket a hair too late.  

Finally, St. Joe's contingent cheered their lungs out and wildly jumped around a lot like the South Dakota jack rabbit, while one poor, devastated Cincy guy just sat in a chair with the saddest face I'd ever seen since Tom Izzo's heart-breaking press conference after his Michigan State No. 2 Spartans seed lost to Middle Tennessee.  

Who are those guys, anywho?  And, who the heck are those Little Rock and Stephen F. Austin and Rainbow Warriors and all those other little guys who sent big name teams home after the first game in the tournament?

And, who still has hopes of winning the office bracketology pool?  I can tell you that my highest bracket standing right now:  17th place.  Heck, I can't even make the Sweet Sixteen.

BUT, by golly, my sister Barbara who is used to first place finishes (class Valedictorian, first place in more horse show classes than we can count) is currently eyeing all that money!

Back to the final buzzer:   this Best School Spirit soul would normally be on the edge of her seat watching a game like St. Joe-Cincy, but all I could think of during that last AND truly the BEST game of the day was when I was gonna get out of that seat for the last time, go home and collapse into a deep, deep sleep. 

A full day of NCAA game watching is much more rigorous than watching March Madness couch potato style. It's not only the tight quarters, of which ours were actually better than our nosebleed temporary home at Key Arena last year, but it's also dealing with irritating minutiae that comes with attending a game with 11,000 other fans. 

"No cameras with detachable lenses!" the elderly man told me as I prepared to walk through the door. 

"But I had my camera all through the tournament last year in Seattle," I said.

"NCAA rules," he said. 

Suddenly, the beautiful, sunshiny day and the thrill of attending the tournament, took a hit. Our car was about a five-minute walk away.  

So, I stepped from my place in line and started back to the car. 

"Let's go to another line," Bill said. 

So we did.  

"Better stuff your camera under your coat," Willie said. 

At this particular line, bag checkers actually watched me stuff my camera under my coat and LET ME in. 

First obstacle taken care of.

Once inside, I realized that I didn't have the ticket that had been in my hand seconds before.  

Quick panic. I found it at the bottom of my fanny pack, which I found out later had possible contraband inside with that baggie of M and M peanuts. 

Why do I know it was possible contraband?

I know because two arena officials came over to our seating area and asked a guy up behind us where he got that brown bottle of root beer. 

"Somebody gave it to me," he said. 

"Come with us," they instructed.  The guilty bottle holder and his groupies left.

"How do they know he had that bottle of root beer?" I asked.

"Cameras," I was told, "they're watching us."  

That's when I quit worrying about my camera.  After all if they were using their cameras while I had been using mine (with its "detachable lens" to take a few long shots of the activity clear down on the floor, they had to have seen me.

Instead, they zeroed in on that brown bottle of root beer. 

The guys came back within a minute.  

"Did you get in trouble?"

"No," the bottle holder with the Irish brogue said.  Turns out the bottle holder who's in this country from Belfast attending Moody Bible College was completely innocent, which is pretty nice for him. 

Can't imagine a blemish on his record for carrying a brown bottle of root beer to a March Madness game. 

Anyway, the games went on, and we definitely saw one of the nation's upsets as the Rainbow Warriors from Hawaii took it to California's Golden Bears. We were blown away with the athleticism and entertaining play of Oregon, which I do believe is for real.

And, I waved at my friend and former student Chris Pietsch a couple of times while he was shooting photos of Oregon for his paper back home in Eugene.  Chris even spotted us from the other end of the gym up in the stands and took a photo of us waving back. 

I'd say the "detachable lens" on his camera was pretty strong. 

I also saw and visited with several former students, including Karen Campbell May, Rod Wieber and Brian Luce. 

It was a fun experience pretty much from start to finish, but after dealing with those knees that screamed every time I got up and the heavy eyelids in that last game, I'm thinking the comforts of home might be better for the future. 

Bill found a way to deal with his knees during the last game.  We never saw him after halftime.  Turns out the handicapped section was pretty empty late into the night, so it was begging for his presence.  

He could get up and walk around or sit down on a padded chair whenever he wanted, so he just stayed there. 

"You should have texted me.  I would have joined you," I said. 

On the trip home, Willie drove.  It was apparent the tables have turned dramatically from the gold ol' days when Mom was yelling or trying to reach squabbling kids in the back seat.

Instead, Willie just drove as his elderly parents sank into deep slumbers all the way home. 

It's a new day.  We're home, and in the comfort of our soft furniture, we're planning to enjoy a great game tonight from Denver.  I don't think my eyelids will be heavy, nor do I care if my knees hurt. 

GO, ZAGS!!!