Jays 88, EA Sports 75

Ah, who am I kidding? I wore my Creighton jacket all weekend because at least then I felt as though I was in Omaha at least in spirit. And thanks to the power of the iPod Touch and abundant NYC free Wi-Fi, I was able to listen to the game even though I was in the back of a taxi traveling from the airport to our hotel in midtown Manhattan. My insistence of listening to the game instead of telling the cabbie where our hotel was located infuriated the people I was traveling with. I had made the hotel reservations and like a genius had neglected to share the pertinent details. Had I done so, I could have listened and cheered in relative obscurity. But alas.

Once we got to the hotel, I further infuriated them by bringing up the prospect of watching the second half webcast in glorious three-inch Quicktime window awesomeness. I was only half-joking; I hate watching blurry globuloids that vaguely resemble humans running around in a window 1/8 the size of my laptop monitor, but in NYC, there's such a lack of quality entertainment options that GlobuloidVision seems pretty good.

Oh wait.

So we're in the taxi, heading to a bar in Union Square, and I've got the headphones back in. The Jays are up 64-38 with something like 12 minutes left in the game, and I had the choice of listening to the rest of the game or going into the bar. I made the only choice available, and went into the bar.

I had a Creighton baseball cap on, which was mistaken more than once for a Cincinnati Reds cap by New Yorkers. All three instances occurred in bars with grotesque amounts of Yankee memorabilia. Imagine that. Later in the night, we were in an Irish bar with Boston Red Sox memorabilia decorating the walls; most of the people in that bar were too self-absorbed with themselves to notice anyone else in the bar, much less comment on something. It was surreal to stumble into a Boston bar in the middle of Manhattan; it was sickening to hear three Bostonians discussing whether they'd have enough fingers left for replica rings after the Patriots, Sox and Celtics are done with their reign of terror. Yankees or Red Sox? There are no winners here.

Out of Wi-Fi range, I had one of the guys who had made the trip with me call his wife to get the score. She had taken my tickets, you see. Showing a brazen disrespect for the sanctity of my seats, she and her friend left at the under-four timeout. Furious partially for her willful disrespect, but mostly for my own greedy need to know a final score, I began dialing people back in Omaha to get the score. 88-75, I heard. Eighty-eight points? From a team that people claimed would struggle to score? Shocking. Leaving my seats empty for the last four minutes of the game? Horrible.

How in the world was she going to pick a Polyfro Heee-Haw Player Of The Game when she didn't even stay for the whole contest? Unbelievable.

Don't worry, I made her husband purchase me one beer for each minute his wife had left early. Exhibition or no, you don't leave early. Period. You bet.

--

Saturday morning, we got up early to take the subway into the Bronx for a tour of Yankee Stadium. Yes, I am a hater when it comes to the Yankees (and the Red Sox, for that matter), but they're tearing the place down next year and I wanted to see the building where so many historic moments in baseball took place. Baseball is still my first love and favorite sport.

I had my Jays jacket on during the tour, and while we were walking on the field a Yankee employee asked me where Creighton was. When I told him it was in Nebraska, he said "Oh, its a high school?"

Nice, dude.

Diplomatic in my response and measured in my tone, I answered "No, its a small Jesuit university in Omaha. The baseball team won the MVC last year and played in the NCAA tournament."

Unswayed, he continued. "I didn't know there was anything except the Cornhuskers in Nebraska."

Hilarious. Taking a shot in the dark, I queried him one further question. "Just out of curiosity, and don't take this the wrong way, did you even know about the Cornhuskers before Joba Chamberlain came up this year?"

"Nah, bro, you caught me. Never heard of 'em before then."

Well then.

--

Later in the day, we were in Tom's Restaurant -- you know it as Monk's Cafe from Seinfeld. Sitting at the counter, the owner began chatting us up, and the subject of Creighton came up.

"They're in the...Missouri Valley, right? Good league. Southern Illinois...Wichita...right? Creighton. Didn't their coach leave for Arkansas and come back the next day? Must be desperate to let him back after that. I'd have locked the door behind him."

Sometimes you lose...sometimes you lose.

--

In Times Square, we were walking down the street and a couple approached us; they were Bradley grads. "Creighton, huh? Don't see many Valley fans in NYC!" An argument, albeit very good-natured, over who would win the MVC this year -- obviously, Creighton will -- led to them realizing they had read my work. They invited us to the ESPN Zone across the way for a drink or two, and when fellow MVC fans offer you free beverages, one of my rules is you take them up on it, no questions asked.

What have we learned today? Wearing a Creighton jacket in NYC will get you derided by an ignorant Yankee employee, it will get you bashed by a waiter who knows too much about them, and it will get you complimentary beverages from fellow MVC fans.

You bet.