I could have spent my Friday night any number of ways.
Go down to Westwood. See a movie. Get some Buck Fitty’s. Maybe even go crazy and do my laundry.
But no, I chose none of the above.
I had to pick the one option that left me huddled around a cheese pizza like a hobo around a trash fire.
It was never a good idea but I knew I had to do it ““ though I still don’t know why.
I had to camp out for Saturday’s basketball game.
Begrudgingly, and wary of what was to come, I headed down to Pauley at about 1 a.m. Friday night.
With my jacket in one hand and my sleeping bag in the other, a friend and I made our way to where at least a couple hundred people had already staked their claims to the prime campgrounds. (The prized possession of shelter down the steps of Entrance 10 is like the Boardwalk for Pauley campers.)
After meeting up with some others, we looked for a spot to claim our own but even the alley next to Acosta was lined with sleeping bags and tents. That’s when you know it’s going to be a big game.
There was a palpable sense of camaraderie, with everyone there sacrificing the comfort of their own rooms to show support for the Bruins.
We signed ourselves up on the master priority number list. We were about the 180th pair of fans to sign up. I wasn’t too worried ““ the first 500 get to sit in The Den.
Exploring the newly founded city of Howland-land, it’s hard to tell whether you actually know anybody. The only people who leave their heads uncovered are the people who are absolutely freezing and couldn’t talk to you if they wanted to.
Even though this was and is Southern California, it was still cold enough that lighting your shoes on fire just to keep your feet warm seemed like a good idea. I would venture a guess that it was about 35 degrees.
The ground was littered with empty cans and bottles (alcoholic and otherwise). Campers were playing catch and board games, and I swear I saw a couple of them watching TV.
A few sneaked into the concession tents behind Pauley to look for some snacks but came up empty.
There was a guy playing the bongo drums with a guitar accompaniment ““ an odd combination. But then again, playing the bongos at 2 a.m. is just weird to begin with.
One of my friends ordered a pizza and I planted myself next to it on the cold cement, not because I was hungry but because it was warmer than I was.
The long night ended after a false roll call (somebody thought it would be funny to wake everyone up at 5:45) and even though I ended up going home for a couple hours (someone else needed my sleeping bag more than I did) I did get my priority pass around 7 in the morning.
Walking home for the second time with my pass in hand, I realize this is what college basketball is all about. Hundreds of die-hard fans enduring the freezing winters of Los Angeles for their team. Nothing says commitment like sleeping on concrete.
But on the off-chance they decide to put in some carpet outside Pauley, I don’t think anyone will complain.
E-mail Feder at jfeder@media.ucla.edu if you’ve ever woken up on a pizza box.