Fifteen minutes before tip-off and something doesn’t feel right.
I left my lucky UCLA wristband at the hotel.
I had on a clean Den shirt, my 1995 Final Four hat and my khaki cargo shorts that should have been upgraded years ago. But I forgot my wristband. That wristband had been worn to almost every home game, at USC, at the Wooden Classic and in San Jose. That wristband has never witnessed a Bruin loss. But now I have.
Upon embarking on the 2,200 mile journey and spending my parents’ hard-earned money, I had a good feeling about the game on Saturday. Florida had not been playing up to its capability and we just played our best game of the season. This was the year.
After calling every Bruin fan I knew, I realized none of them really wanted to fly across the country and miss the first couple days of spring quarter.
I didn’t really understand their logic; I mean, I’m just missing school.
So I flew alone, out of Sacramento International and into Atlanta International. I made no hotel reservations and knew about five people going to the game. As I frantically dialed numbers, I found a free floor to sleep on. Score!
Through the next couple days I woke up with back pains but decided it would all be worth it come Monday night. I took a walk to Georgia Tech and ate more funnel cake than should be legal. A couple of my buddies and I also had a 24-pint night (long story ““ don’t ask).
I saw random sports announcers at bars and a couple celebrities whom I had to Google because they were so famous I couldn’t even remember their names.
Atlanta (where the players play) has great southern hospitality.
Unfortunately, the ridiculous number of scalpers who wanted to buy my ticket for half of its face value along with the obnoxious Gator fans drowned that out pretty quickly.
We may have had home-court advantage throughout the first four rounds of the tournament, but Atlanta is unfortunately SEC territory. Our fans put forth a valiant effort on Saturday but they were no match for the Gator roar felt throughout the Georgia Dome. Even the Ohio St. fans, who don’t want to play Florida today (see Dec. 23) did little to help our effort.
After the game last night I sold my ticket. I told myself I wasn’t going to do it, but I couldn’t bear to watch the blowout which is bound to occur tonight. Saturday’s game was the championship game and everyone is well aware. Sure, tonight might not be the 26-point blood bath that occurred in Gainesville three months ago, but it won’t be close.
We have effectively given Florida two (soon to be three) of their national championships spread among football and basketball. We should be expecting Christmas cards from the Gator Nation.
Through the deep-fried goodness and stresses of the game, by my estimation this trip has taken a couple years off of my life. Seriously, half the restaurants only have deep fryers and paper towels (silverware’s frowned upon).
And as I tour this city for the next couple days and wait for my flight to leave, I have to say that this trip hasn’t been a complete disaster. Only a couple hundred UCLA students by my estimation can say that they have been to a Final Four game, and while we may have to wait a little longer to hang banner No. 12 in Pauley, it is bound to happen soon.
Thankfully, selling my championship ticket gave me enough money to effectively be a baller for the next couple days, in which case I will be eating lobster (OK, fish and chips) and drinking the finest beverages that Atlanta has to offer.
And don’t worry my Bruin faithful, while that “Glad to be a Gator” chant those Florida fans yell is extremely catchy, it’s not applicable after graduation, when they’re looking for a job.
E-mail sreed@media.ucla.edu if you’re still in Atlanta and want to split a pitcher.