So, I was at this graduation party for my girlfriend the other
night. She’s going to Berkeley next year, which is pretty
cool, I guess.
Since I decided not to attend Berkeley, I figure my role as the
understanding boyfriend is to remind her constantly why UCLA is the
better school.
This fact made UCLA’s softball championship win over Cal
extra special. It didn’t really, but it did give us something
to talk about.
Me: “Did you see Cal’s first baseman?”
Lauren: “Yeah, she’s huge.”
Veronica Nelson is hands-down one of the largest women I have
ever seen. She’s a very talented softball player, too. This
season Nelson hit .359 with 13 home runs. She had 117 official
at-bats and 107 walks.
107.
That’s simply ridiculous. To put that in perspective,
Barry Bonds, the man who has shattered all the walk records in
major league baseball, had 407 official at-bats last season. Though
he walked an astounding 198 times, the Stat Geek would tell you
that Nelson is statistically more intimidating.
Bonds walked once every 2.06 at-bats, while Nelson walked once
every 1.09.
Doing the math in my head, I realized that Lauren, who
isn’t a large girl, could have her own personal bodyguard
next year.
Me: “Try to make friends with her next year. She’ll
protect you.”
Lauren: “I’m scared.”
Me: “I’m just saying, I’ve heard Telegraph
Avenue can be kinda shady. It would sure be nice to have an
imposing figure like Nelson at your side.”
That was the extent of our conversation. Lauren didn’t
really care about Keira Goerl’s no-hitter. She probably
doesn’t even know what a no-hitter is. But that’s okay
as long as she remembers that Berkeley can be a scary place, and
Nelson can be a scary person.
Now back to the party. These graduation parties are always kind
of weird. It’s a bunch of people who don’t really know
each other very well making small talk about stuff no one really
cares about ““ kind of like college parties, just without the
kegs, dance floors and random hook-ups at the end of the night.
This particular party was neat because I got the chance to see
people from my high school class that I hadn’t seen since the
end of last summer.
One plays women’s basketball at Princeton.
The other plays women’s water polo at Stanford.
I play C-League intramural basketball at UCLA.
They clearly found themselves in elite company.
We were all standing together, reminiscing with our 11th grade
Advanced Placement U.S. History teacher about such things as Plessy
v. Ferguson and the French-Indian War (which in Europe is called
the Seven Years’ War, by the way), when the subject of
college dorm life came up.
The Stanford student mentioned how great her living situation is
going to be next year. I wasn’t really paying attention to
the specifics of the room, but I can imagine it’s quite a bit
nicer than a triple in Dykstra.
That’s not to say that there’s anything wrong with
Dykstra.
I, as well as the history teacher, figured this was just one of
the many perks of being an athlete at a top Division I school.
“No, the athletes at Stanford are treated no differently
than the other students,” the Stanford student said.
The Princeton student agreed. “The athletes at Princeton
are also treated no differently than the other students,” she
said.
Seeing my opportunity, I stepped up to the plate.
“Yeah,” I said. “The athletes at UCLA are also
treated no differently. …”
I couldn’t finish my sentence without laughing. “On
second thought, they’re treated a lot better than we
are.”
Note to incoming freshmen: This is a fact of life. They have
their own backpacks with their names on them, an exclusive training
table where they eat and special athlete notes. Get used to it.
I initially felt outclassed by my hoity-toity private school
friends, but then I got to thinking. … I don’t care. The
athletes do get special treatment, and it’s fine by me. As
long as we continue to beat Stanford, I’m OK with it.
You see, Stanford has a special place in my heart. I applied to
Stanford, and I didn’t get in. I was sad, but then I was
happy because it made my decision to attend UCLA that much easier.
Anyway, our relationship is simple. They thought they were too good
for me, so I hate them. It’s easy, really.
And now, when UCLA beats Stanford in anything, it’s extra
sweet.
One such sport is women’s water polo. I remember being
happy about UCLA’s upset victory at the time but not nearly
as happy as I was the other night.
Seriously, I was almost giddy when I talked to my girlfriend
about it after the party.
And I wasn’t even drunk.
The Stanford student described how painful it was to lose to
UCLA in the championship game. It was extra hard because Stanford
had defeated the Bruins three times during the season, and the
Cardinal led 2-0 at halftime.
Shucks, poor Stanford choked. It’s really too bad. Behind
my understanding, sympathetic look for my friend, I was laughing.
At her. At her team. At her school.
And I don’t even follow women’s water polo.
You see, that’s the great thing about going to UCLA. I
hardly followed women’s softball or women’s water polo
this last year, but I am automatically entitled to bragging rights
when they win the championship.
It comes with the territory.
So it’s possible that sometime in the not-so-distant
future you will also find yourself at a party with your
athlete-friend on the verge of tears because her team lost in the
NCAA championship to UCLA.
While you try to console them, it’s OK to be laughing on
the inside.
Especially if they go to Stanford.
Be proud that you’re a Bruin. I know I am.