we hold these truths to be self-evident

Wow.

WOW.

There are days when I don't like all the attention.  And then there are days like today.  

Today I met the President of the United States, Barack Hussein Obama, at the White House in D.C.  

As a blueblooded liberal who registered as a Democrat the instant she was legal to vote, I was ecstatic when Obama was elected last November.  The entire team came over to the house to watch the election results.  I wore an Obama pin, and kept freaking out whenever McCain took a state (so I freaked out maybe three times, zing!).  When he won Pennsylvania, then Ohio, I knew we had it in the bag.  At 11:00, when the West Coast came in and it was clear he had taken it, I watched as the girls on the team danced in my living room to "Signed, Sealed, Delivered", while my mom attempted to join in and failed.  My dad just grinned.  It was justice that he was so happy to see Obama win, as he had been leaning towards voting Republican and Mom and I got him to switch teams just in time for the polling.  Peer pressure's a powerful thing in my family.

I flew to Washington with the team this morning around 9:30, and you could tell there was a big buzz in the air.  Everyone was happy.  I was happy but really nervous.  I didn't know how I'd react when I met Obama.  However, it was also really great to see the girls again.  While I compared lipstick with Tahirah, Sarah Darras came back to explain that three of the girls would be given video cameras to document their experiences at the White House, and that the videos would end up on the official Government website.  The cameras were very tiny, top of the line HD Flipcams, and I spent most of the morning dodging them while they popped out at every given opportunity.  

It was a gorgeous day if insanely hot, and we pulled into a parking lot next to a huge overhang of trees and foliage.  Beyond that was the back end of the White House, but you couldn't see it beyond a bit that stuck out behind a large black gate.  Looking the other way gave us a pretty good view of the Washington Monument.  

We had some time to spare before we had to go in, so we mulled around, taking in how gorgeous D.C. is in the springtime, and tried to avoid the blazing hot sunlight as much as humanly possible.  My mom and I tried not to complain, but we're Italian.  We sweat.

After getting the full security checkpoint treatment, I had to go first due to the alphabet and I kept screaming "Someone walk with me I don't want to walk in by myself!" Finally we got into the East Wing lobby, right next to the First Lady's Office.  Part of me was absolutely dying to see Michelle Obama, but I knew it wasn't going to happen.  The tour then commenced, and it was really quite incredible.  The portraits alone made it worth the entire trip.  Something that surprised me but shouldn't have was how tiny the rooms are.   The biggest room we saw was smaller than your average hotel ballroom, and the Secret Serviceman who gave us the tour told us that it was the room that John and Abigail Adams dried their laundry in, after realizing they didn't want the people of Washington to see the President's dirty underthings out on a pole, blowing in the breeze.  Sadly, no Oval Office tour.  But we did see the Blue, Red, Green, and Yellow rooms, as well as the Banquet Hall with the official White House prayer, taken from a letter John Adams wrote to Abigail:

"I pray heaven to bestow the best of blessings on this house and all that shall hereafter inhabit it. May none but honest and wise men ever rule under this roof."

After the tour, we hung out in one of the Executive Offices that faced the South Lawn, where the press junket was to be held.  That's when we all started getting a bit loud to cover how nervous we were.  At one point the woman who was corralling all of us came in to tell us he was on his way, and everyone got very quiet, only to shout out when the First Dog, Bo, ran past the room.  I unfortunately didn't see it but everyone else yelled "The dog! The dog!"

Then it got quiet again, and people came in and out.  Then...

"Hey, Coach!"

And loping into the room like the most relaxed person on the face of the planet, there he was.

The noise that came out of some people's mouths...I think it's suitable to say that it was a squeal.   I didn't say or do anything.  I may have gaped.  My face melted or something.  The 44th President of the United States was walking towards me and I couldn't feel my feet.  The DNC in 2004, the debates, Dreams From My Father, the moment after the 2004 election, after I had campaigned so hard for Kerry and was devastated when he lost, and when I thought to myself "Obama will win in 2008", and this past year's Election Night and the celebration in our home...I thought about all of it.  Then he came over to us, and it kind of disappeared.  He became just a normal guy.  

First he shook hands with Dad, then down to Mom, talking about how happy he was to see us, and he genuinely looked it.  And then he shook my hand, pronouncing my name correctly, and said he was pleased to meet me.  My mind was completely blank but I managed to say that it was a great honor to meet him.  First of all, he's handsome on TV, but in person, he's just extraordinarily good-looking.  His handshake was firm and he looked me directly in the eye.  He's a tower of confidence, but not in an intimidating way.  Some people of that stature and fame scare the hell out of me.  Not Obama.  He makes you feel like you're the only person in the room.  We got a picture taken with him, and looking back at it, I realize how tall he is.  I was wearing three-inch heels, and he still is a good head and a half above me.  

Two people have asked me what he smelled like, which is a pretty normal question to ask in my opinion.  The answer? Cigarettes.  It wasn't so much that it was gross, but I got a faint whiff of it on his clothes.  I had known beforehand that Obama was a smoker trying to quit so it didn't come as a shock.  I personally think that due to all of the stress in his life, I say let the man have a cig every once and a while.  Man's got enough to deal with!

After he shook my hand, Dad gave him one of our wristbands from Geno's Cancer Team, which are the same bands that were given at my sister's wedding.  They're pink and stamped with the slogan "Remember, Celebrate, Believe." In keeping with his overall awesomeness, President Obama immediately slapped it on his wrist and promised to mention it in the speech.  And he did, which prompted thousands of clickclickclicks from the CNN cameras to document that he was promoting the cause.

I didn't get to talk to him too much because we got ushered out into the conference area on the South Lawn.  The speech itself was standard, but very casual and fun.  The President, after giving a shoutout to the fact that the girls play Pictionary (I wonder if he found that out from my blog...?) pronounced Auriemma correctly, something that Bush had failed to do, although Bush made a funny joke about it so I forgive him ("Whatever his name is, he sure can coach!").  He also added that as a father of two particularly tall girls, he appreciated women who remind them that they can be successful no matter what.  Although I honestly think that Malia and Sasha can do whatever they want anyway, since they're two of the world's most famous kids right now.

After the speech, Renee presented him with the customary jersey, which Obama promised to wear while he played.  There were pictures taken by CNN and other networks, I got another handshake, and it was pretty much done.  I kept cursing in my head because I had probably the best seat at the conference and my camera had died.  I cursed even more when Obama suddenly said "You know, we've got a hoop down that road.  Should we shoot some? I think we should shoot some baskets."

And off they went!  And while Renee complained (and rightfully so) that if she had been in sneakers she wouldn't have done too bad, Obama was on fire.  He's got a pretty sweet jump shot.  Tiffany loved him because he's left-handed.  They sort of have the same delivery!

It was all a bit surreal, but it didn't feel like we were shooting hoops with the President of the United States and default leader of the free world.  We were just hanging out with a guy who had a great sense of humor and a killer midrange shot.  Even when Meghan missed a long jumper, he laughed it off and said "She's a power forward, it's okay!"

After the White House trip, I had to take a taxi to Union Station to catch the train back to NYC.  I was only in there for about an hour, but Union Station is absolutely gorgeous.  I like it so much better than Penn Station! It's almost set up like an airport, with different gates and terminals.  However, it has those big train station windows and vaulted ceilings.  

After the shootaround, Obama thanked us for coming and reminded us that he really loves this part of his job.  Renee stepped forward to give him back the ball, which is emblazoned with the Obama logo and his name.  "Actually, I was wondering if I could keep this?" she said.  Obama looked at her and said "You know what? Yes.  In fact, give it to me, I'll sign it."  

Renee better put that thing in a vault in Fort Knox...

ally

Don't give up. Don't ever give up.

Just to let all of you know, I will be at the Derby Day event hosted by Geno and Kathy Auriemma (aka My Parents) at Mohegan Sun next Saturday.  I will be sporting the floppiest of the floppy hats.  If you see me, feel free to come up and say hello, I promise you I'm a nice person.  

I urge all of you to donate to the auction and bid on the items, which promise to be stellar.  Items up for bid include tickets for Britney Spears' concert at the casino, two  invites to the Hall of Fame Ring Ceremony, and a basketball signed by the 2009 UCONN women's basketball team.  Proceeds from the live and silent auctions will go to the V Foundation through Dad's organization, Geno's Cancer Team.

This cause means a lot to my family, as my grandfather lost his battle with lung cancer twelve years ago.  Also my dad was a great admirer of Jimmy V, and attended Kay Yow's viewing.  It's interesting to note that the first ever paparazzi photo I've seen of Dad was when he was leaving the service.  They always seem to catch people at the worst time, eh?

Even if you can't donate, I still want to see you there.  There promises to be great food and wine, and a lot of fun to be had with the running of the race.  And it's a casino, so there will be no shortage of fun things to do.

Personally, I want the Britney tickets.  But I'm saving up my money, so we'll see.

See you there...

ally

EDIT: I am horribly sorry to add the following addendum: I completely forgot during the writing of this entry that my grandmother on my maternal side fought cancer for twenty years, only to succumb when I was three years old.  I had thought Nana had emphysema, and therefore did not mention her.  I apologize to Mom for leaving her out!

eh eh (nothing else i can say)

You've probably missed me this week.  For that, I apologize.

I've been busy getting together with friends, spending money in places I shouldn't (Urban Outfitters should rename a wing in their building after me) and testing recipes in my very small kitchen.  And going to the gym, although I've skipped today because it was too nice outside to spend an hour of it sweating indoors.  After going to Columbus Circle to walk around and get some nice clothes for work, I skipped down to Chinatown to get custard buns for Connie as a gift this weekend (we first ate them in London and compare them to 'angel wings from heaven').  Chinatown is a 180 from my neighborhood.  While Greenwich Village is a mix of the bizarre and familiar, Chinatown is a stranger to me.  The streets are throttled with activity in a language that I don't speak, music blares from random openings in walls, and the color red is always in view (a lucky color in Chinese culture).  I walked out of the subway to the instant smell of fish on ice in the numerous open markets around Broad Street (and the smell was pretty rank, I won't lie).  I went to King Egg Custard Two and got my egg buns, which I'm trying really hard not to eat before Connie does because they smell pretty amazing.

After my Chinatown adventure, I went to Union Square today and read outside, and it was just beautiful.  There was a slightly sharp breeze so even though I had shorts on, I wore a big cardigan to get some warmth while I read my book, Always Looking Up by Michael J. Fox.  I recommend it strongly.  Fox is a brilliant writer, and it reaffirms my belief that Rush Limbaugh is a blowhard.  

AFter that, I went out to dinner with a friend who's in town.  My takeout menu is growing by the day.  

That's pretty much it, but I would like to address the following picture for a moment:

Who is this insane woman, and what is she doing with my father?

It's actually my mother, but it's the strangest photo I have ever seen of her.  My sister was literally crying with laughter when I showed it to her.  We compared her to a serial killer.  Absolutely hilarious.

Now, if you want a good photo of her, here's a little picture from the Auriemma Family Vault.  This is my communion.  Great of us to make stupid faces in front of Mary and Joseph, right?  Don't get me started on the fashion mess on display in this picture.  But, what can you do? We were babies.

More later, when I have more to say...

ally

Storytime.

When I was thirteen, Dad beaned me in the groin with a softball.

It wasn't on purpose.  If it had been, I would be writing this from a foster home (no way would I have put up with clearly an example of abuse and lack of coordination).  But there's a point to this story, and it begins with my earliest recollections of trying organized sports.

I was a chubby child, although not because I was sedentary.  I swam every day of summer and played sports all through the winter, and I'm pretty sure with all of the time I spent outside in the sun I am due for a big bag of basal cell carcinoma any day now.  But after all of that time basking in the glory of Apollo, I would dive into a burger with French fries soaked in ketchup, and then have a gelato.  I showed no mercy, and in return, the carbs thanked me by making me a chubby kid with glasses.  I wasn't the only one with this issue in my family.  My sister and brother fell prey to the same victims.   I think they'll kill me for saying that.  But this is my blog, I can say whatever I want.  

But there was also another issue with me: not only was I a bit of a chubster to the point where I was inclined to steal pieces of cinnamon twist bread and hide it in my bedroom drawers (i'm not kidding), I was also a musical theatre nerd.  And when I say nerd, I mean total freak.  I would sing showtunes in the bathroom, in the shower, in bed, in the kitchen, in the basement, everywhere.  It got to the point where I would be halfway through an impassioned rendition of "I Dreamed A Dream", Susan Boyle style, only to be interrupted by Jenna's howls of "WILL YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT THE HELL UP?!?"

Obviously, this kind of alternative lifestyle usually doesn't mesh with 'national championship-winning and soon-to-be Olympic coach of a basketball team'.  So I played sports.  Badly.  I tried hard.  But I was awful.  In soccer, I would run and kick the ball, but when I came out in a substitution I would flop down on the grass in Kennedy Field and look up at the burgeoning stars, trying to find constellations.  I would run into the woods and play with spectator's dogs.  In basketball, I ran like a fat kid running for the ice cream truck (read: slowly) and my idea of a defensive stance was limpidly putting my hand out as the other, faster girl sped right by me. 

The first time I played organized sport was basketball.  I was 8 years old and I was the only girl on my club team at our local YMCA.  I shot with two hands.  The only basket I made the entire year was a free throw in our final game.  I resolved from then on that if I sucked at everything else involving basketball, I would be a great shooter.  Like Pete Maravich, but without every other good skill that the Pistol possessed.  I watched videotape of him and Oscar Robertson obsessively.  I spent hours in the backyard trying to perfect my shot.  When I finally got the hang of it, I turned into a scoring machine.  I would get playing time simply because I knew how to shoot the ball.  In my rec league I was voted MVP twice.  The middle school team that hadn't taken me in sixth grade now wanted me as backup point guard.  Life was good.  Even the snide comments about me only making the team due to my last name didn't faze me (after bursting into tears in the bathroom, naturally).  

Eighth grade was my banner year for sports.  I averaged around 5 points a game, and in one of my prouder athletic moments I hit three three-pointers in a row during a highly attended game near the end of the season.  Unfortunately, Dad wasn't there to see it.  Recruiting's a bummer sometimes.  He's made up for it by attending nearly all of my plays and musicals, even the ones that I expressly tell him not to come see because, in my words, "It sucks and you'll hate it."

But I had a point in here somewhere.  The story of the softball.  

As I said, I loved my eighth grade year athletically.  I played basketball and loved it, but I wanted something more challenging, something I wasn't used to.  So I tried out for softball, and to my utter shock, I made the team after a tryout that had me attempting my best Kit Keller impression from A League Of Their Own.  My brother played baseball for travel teams, and he and Dad would have a catch every day outside during the spring.  I decided this was a good time to get some practice in, so I asked Dad if he could alternate a softball and baseball.  

For the first twenty minutes, everything went well.  My dad would throw the baseball to my Mike, then the softball to me, and we'd take turns throwing the ball back, with only three instances of us accidentally throwing at the same time, causing Dad to duck and cover like there was an impending air raid.  Then, my brother stopped paying attention, lost control of his glove, and got whacked in the leg.  He burst into tears.    My dad began laughing.  "Oh, calm down! It wasn't that bad! Suck it up!"  I giggled too, because I was a horrible child.

God must have heard those giggles, because ten minutes later, I get socked in the left leg, just below groin area.  Immediately (after making sure I would still be able to have children), I remembered what happened to my brother, and I sucked wind, let out a groan of pain, picked up the ball and threw it back to my delighted dad.  He pointed to me. "See? See, Mike? That's how you deal with something."

I've never forgotten that.  Ever since then, when life gives me something horrible, I give it a moment of grief, and then I deal with it.  My father, if he hasn't taught me anything, has given me the gift of grit, gab, and stubbornness to a fault.  He taught me to push through hard times and live confidently, even if I didn't always feel confident. 

My brother's response wasn't as revelatory.  After Dad ripped him and and praised my courage and fortitude during the aforementioned epic softball-hitting incident, Mike walked over to me, ripped his baseball glove off, and smacked me upside the head with it.  

Dad shook his head, Mike ran into the house gesticulating wildly to the grass, trees, and dandelion weeds about how he had been done a grievous wrong, and I grabbed at my head and finally started crying.

I still tell this story to my parent's friends.  And every single time, Dad loses his mind with laughter.

I guess the sight of your children inflicting bodily harm on each other as a result of your lessons about self-reliance can be regarded as amusing...

Oh hell, I think it's hilarious too.  But like I said, I'm weird.

ally

somewhere that's green

So.  I made it.

After a day of driving, packing, moving, unpacking, and putting things together, I'm here, settled into my apartment, and nice and satisfied from a frozen organic meal consisting of vegetables and tofu while Family Guy plays.  Don't judge me.

I don't really have much of importance to say about yesterday, although I did eat my brains out at the Italian restaurant we went to last night, and my parents treated my moving to NYC like I was heading across the street to get a frozen yogurt.  My dad got me into a big bear hug and said "Yaaaaay, I'm so happy for you! See you soon!" Man, they really wanted me out of that house.  My sister was the same.  She merely said "Talk to you soon! Call me!"  Hearts of stone, these people.

The move-in was pretty seamless, although the sight of my former bedroom at my parent's house almost bare was intense.  I couldn't really picture how my new apartment would come together, but thankfully it looks pretty much exactly how I thought it would.  Except for a few minor hiccups (my makeup bag was left behind! I feel naked!), I was happy with how it turned out.  Today all I needed were more groceries, curtain clips, plastic hangers, and the like.  When my sister left and I was on my own, I immediately took a two-hour tour of my new neighborhood.  I attempted to get acquainted with things by putting every restaurant I saw into my Blackberry, as well as bars and lounges or other places of interests.  I got quite a big list.  I also stopped into Urban Outfitters...and bought two books.  I will never not be a nerd. 

The one person that I was dreading saying goodbye to was Connie.  Connie has been my best friend for eleven years, and when there's no one else around, we're each other's lifelines.  She came over last night to give me a going-away present: a thick, blank journal with a picture of us at the Eiffel Tower on it, and a necklace she made for me from beads I had picked out the previous day.  She also gave me a card that I read with trepidation, as I wasn't sure if I'd cry or not.  I ended up having to console her a lot more than I had to calm myself down.  She was a mess.  I felt terrible.

I love my apartment.  It's cute.  Sure, it's only about ten feet bigger than my dorm room junior year of college, but it gets the job done.  It's very high up, which unless I lean out the window isn't a problem for me (it makes it harder for people who want to pillage).  Plus, it's just in one of the best neighborhoods in the best city on earth.  What more could a girl want?

Well.  A job on Broadway.  But that's for another day...

ally

PS.  My sister thinks NYC is loud.  Actually, I'm far up enough that the noise doesn't bug me.  It's the smell that bothers most.  In the summer it's reminiscent of hot garbage.

PPS.  The cable doesn't get set up until next week.  Until then, it's the basics.  That, and Telemundo, which is bizarrely addicting.

PPPS.  There is a Pinkberry and a Red Mango within one minute walking distance of my apartment.  I'm probably going to be obese within about a month.  But it will be worth it.  Oh, frozen yogurt.

tweet tweet

I have joined Twitter nation.

Http://twitter.com/alysamarsiella

For those of you who don't know, Marsiella is my grandmother's name and my middle name.  

Feel free to follow...

ally

but i won't forget the place i come from

As all of you probably know by now, Dad got picked to be the next USA basketball women's coach, which includes all of the tournaments up to the 2012 Olympics in London, England.  I've been fortunate enough to go to London although not with the team.  Last year, Connie and I packed our bags and flew to England and France for three days apiece without really knowing what the hell we were getting ourselves into.  It was fun, scary, frustrating, exhausting.  I can't wait to go back there, despite the absolutely heinous exchange rate.

I've actually known about this little piece of fun news for about a month and a half.  The news was broken to me over dinner when my brother was home for a weekend from college.  Actually, it was semi-accidentally blurted out.  Jenna mentioned an announcement taking place in April, and me being inquisitive (read: nosy) immediately wanted to know what was going on.  No one answered me.  Dad made a joke that he was retiring.  I told him in words that I can't print here that a joke like that isn't amusing.  Finally the news came out and my reaction was a lot of screaming and a lot of bleeped words.

Obviously it became really hard to keep this secret but I managed to keep it in.  I succumbed and told Connie on Monday, and then Gina on Tuesday.  The actual announcement was today but apparently someone leaked it to ESPN yesterday.  I didn't mind, as it kind of took the weight off of keeping it from everyone that I wanted to tell.  

Tonight is my last night in Connecticut.  It's strange.  I've lived in CT for my entire life.  I lived on the UCONN campus until I was 2 years old and ever since then I have lived in the same town near Hartford.  We've moved three times, but never out of the same three mile radius.  I'm so familiar with the sight sound smell feel touch...all of those comfortable feelings that you get when you're in your hometown.  But I need to break out, that much is certain.  I wanted to move when I was just out of college, but my sister's engagement prevented that.

Now I'm going to go watch Oprah with my mother, drink decaf coffee, and get ready for a quiet evening of PF Chang's lettuce wraps and Slumdog Millionaire.  Thankfully I've only cried once today...

ally

PS.  Is it weird that I was a little more excited today upon finding out about the new Jen Lancaster and Jennifer Weiner novels than the whole Olympics thing?  Maybe because they're coming out this year and my dad's Olympic duties don't start for another three?  Or maybe I'm just that oblivious to all of the stuff that goes on.

PPS.  A poll:  Should I get Twitter?  Be warned...if I do get a Twitter, you will be bombarded with things such as "In line at Starbucks, I hope they have good yogurt today" or "My hair is raging mutiny on my scalp" or "I think I have pineapple stuck in my teeth."  I'm not sure if people are ready to find out how boring I really am...aw hell, I'm joining.

i can see your halo

Buona Pasqua mi amici!

And that's the extent of my Italian.  It's a shame that I don't know more of it, but according to Nonna I could never learn from my father because they speak a vintage Napoli dialect that apparently isn't really spoken at all anymore, plus my father's grasp of the language is that of an 8 year old's because he moved here at that age.  I'm pretty sure that if I learned Italian from my grandmother and then went over to Montella, they'd look at me like "What is this girl doing talking like a 77 year old?"

I hope everyone got to Mass today and if it was crowded, I hope it wasn't too bad on your legs if you had to stand.  I managed to score a spot right on top of a ledge on the side of the church, right on top of the heater.  We were just a little bit late, so when we walked in a huge whisper ran through the crowd.  I was a little embarrassed but I expected it to happen.  As we found a spot near the back, Dad whispered to me, "They're probably thinking that I only go to church on Christmas and Easter and they're now mad at me for being a bad Catholic!"

It also didn't help that my choice of shoes made it painfully obvious that I had messed up on self-tanner earlier this week...the residue went right to my feet and for a day or so it looked like I had stuck them in a deep-fryer.  

By now I'm sure you all saw my piece in the Courant, something that I was really shocked by.  I got a call from my dad when he was in Secaucus for the draft asking me if I could write a piece about the season.  "Just email it to them, they're expecting to hear back from me," he said.  

"What, hold on," I said, trying not to laugh.  "You're saying that the Courant wants you to write something for Sunday, but you're now going to ask me to do it for you?"

"Yeah!" he said.  "Don't worry, I'm telling them about it before you email them the article.  It's due tomorrow at 1."

For a perfectionist, my dad is the laziest person I know.  But I managed to type it up and send it in, and I refused to let dad look at it until today in the paper.  However, I was kind of stunned that I got a little preview on the front page and Rebecca didn't! I thought Rebecca's article was better than mine...personally I think she's funnier and better at everything than I am, but once again I digress.

Anyway.  This week is the big move to NYC, and I'm both excited and terrified.  I've been wanting this since the minute I graduated from school (UCONN, of course!) and to have it happening so soon is kind of overwhelming.  I keep remembering things that I have to buy and addresses I need to change.  Mom and Dad have been pretty cool about the whole thing, although Dad grumbles every once and a while about the bill.  I'm pretty sure once I strike gold in Manhattan, he'll be fine with it since I'll then take over the majority of the rent.  Personally, I'm more excited to see all of my New York friends, and they can't wait to show me the city.  

I will keep on updating throughout the week but probably not until Wednesday, because until then my life will be a flurry of seeing friends for the last time before I go.  I feel like people think I'm moving to Guatemala...it's two hours away, people...

ally

PS.  If you don't have anything to do one of the nights this week, I suggest seeing Adventureland.  It was absolutely brilliant.  Yes, I see silly comedies a lot.   But this one really struck a chord.  

quickly quickly

This isn't really even a post, just an overall FYI that might germinate into an actual post, since it's past midnight and I really should be in bed, to prepare for another day of packing my life into boxes for the move to New York in under 7 days.  Plus, I'm feeling tired anyway...I think I just inhaled too much self-tanner.  This Connecticut winter did a number on me.

Thank you so, so much to the lovely people over at the Boneyard for all of your wonderful comments and words of support.  Yes, I do read what you guys have to say...I check in at least once a day during the season, and when postseason hits like it did this past week, I check in all the time! I'm so happy and grateful to you for getting the word out about my blog, and it meant the world to me to know that more than one person cared about my opinion other than my mom.  I saw that my post about the idiot spammer on the boards got a lot of mention yesterday, and I do agree with all of you that the vast majority of what is said on that board is nothing if not complimentary and full of love, and for that I am so grateful.

One more thing about Tina that I thought was cute...on her Facebook today she put up a bunch of pictures from her camera and from AP search engines from St. Louis, and one of the professional pictures taken was of her hugging Dad (*gasp* yes he did hug her that night! SHOCKING!).  The caption she wrote on the bottom was "Made 13 girls dream come true."

It's all about love...

ally

PS.  A cute little factoid from the trip...I found out that the final tournament montage was done to that song by Miley Cyrus from the Hannah Montana movie, so I shared it with the girls.  They freaked, and Meghan immediately put it on her iPod and blasted it on the bus.

PPS.  Every single time I got on camera in the tournament, it was always in a light less than flattering.  If I wasn't chewing gum, I was wearing a hat cockeyed.  If it wasn't the back of my head, it was the side of my face.  At least I didn't get caught fistpumping on camera like my mom did during the Cal game.  When we got the game on DVD, Dad made us rewind that bit for about fifteen minutes and could not.  Stop.  Laughing.

PPPS.  Actually, I was caught on camera fistpumping during the Nova game in the Big East semis, when Maya blocked that shot into the second row at the XL.  And I fistpumped with two pretzels in my other hand.  Treacherous!

JUBILATIONS

Finally, I have some time to finish this.  And just an FYI to my dedicated readers out there...just because the season is over, don't think I'll stop blogging.  I'm moving to New York City next week (AHHHH) to start my career as an actor, and I will be keeping you updated on the ins and outs of my family, the move, and my Dad's insanity when I can.  Expect a flurry of updates later on this week, as there promises to be some great developments coming soon! But on to the real meat of the story.

I have so much to say about yesterday and last night, I don't know if I can push it all into one entry.  But I will try.  I'm going to skip over the happenings of Monday night because really, it was quite boring.  Tuesday morning I woke up around 9 and went down to breakfast with the team, and I found them excited, relaxed, and calm.  I had a little time to kill before shootaround so I went back to the room to put on my sneakers, and I remembered that because it was National Championship Day, they were showing memorable women's matchups on ESPN Classic.  

Shootaround itself was pretty good, and Tahirah again won the 2-lap drill, as Dad shouted "Still undisputed champion after four years, undefeated!"  Maya came in second after attempting to catch up with her, and doing a very funny impersonation of someone trying to run faster but really not coming close.  At the end of shootaround with about one minute left, Dad called everyone into the huddle, but then decided they needed to run the zone offense one more time.  With about thirty seconds left on the clock, he asked if everyone got the idea of what they wanted to do, and when the team nodded, he said, "Well, go! Go get a ball! Hurry!" And they did their buzzerbeater practice, as usual.  After shootaround, the team wanted to stay in the locker room to watch the end of the 2006 Maryland/Duke game on ESPN Classic, but CD shooed us out because they needed to squeeze in reading time before pregame.  

As we were walking out of the gym, I went to ask Dad a question and I saw him wiping his face with his head down.  I immediately figured it was his allergies, since he's been congested for the last few weeks with seasonal problems, so I didn't really make a big deal of it.  I come to find out through Doris Burke's analysis during the game that it wasn't allergies.  Dad had cried at shootaround after hearing the sweet things Renee had said about him in the paper yesterday morning.  It was then that it hit me how badly he wanted this for Renee.  For her to go out without a championship would have been heartbreaking.

Because I had two hours to spare, I decided to work out, and I was greeted in the fitness room by Shea, Rosemary (our amazing trainer), JJ, Doc Trojian, and a few other people who work for us.  The great part about this was that at the end of the Maryland/Duke repeat, they showed the 1995 championship game with us and Tennesee.  JJ, as all of you know, played in that game, and whenever she made a great play, Shea screamed from her treadmill.  And we made fun of her mercilessly for her ridiculous hair.  At one point, they showed Dad sitting on the bench before tipoff, and Rosie poked me from her elliptical and said "So handsome!" Not going to lie, I agree.  I'm just glad he got rid of the Afro.

That game was really interesting for me to revisit before we went to the Scottrade Center.  That entire night was a big blur.  I don't really remember a lot of it.  I was nine years old, with glasses, and wearing a Reebok shirt so humongous that I'm pretty sure you could've belted it and turned it into a dress.  My sister and brother were next to me as well as my mom and extended family, and at some points during the ESPN Classic broadcast you can see all of us sitting there.  At the very end of the game you can see my sister getting hugged by our Husky mascot.  I do remember being kind of a rockstar the next few weeks at school, and getting suckered into throwing a pep rally in our gym with my dad, Rebecca, and Jennifer.  But it still didn't really hit me how big this entire thing is.  It still hasn't.  I don't think of my father as anything more than Dad.  Dad, with a pretty cool job.  But still just Dad.

Last night was the first Final Four Championship game that my sister, brother, mom, and I have all been to together since San Antonio in 2002 (Jenna couldn't come in 2003 because of school, and then she went in my place in New Orleans when I had to stay at UCONN).  Nonna said to me that her palm leaves from Sunday night (that Todd had fashioned into a makeshift cross for her) had fallen apart, and that, to her, was tantamount to a death sentence.  "I have this little piece left, and I'm gonna hold it for the whole game," she confided, and kissed the cracking, faded leaves in her hands.

For the first few minutes of the game, I was okay.  And then Angel started lighting us up and I went crazy with worry.  I ran to use the bathroom and get some water, and while there I ran into one of my best friends from college, Stacey.  She was a manager for the girls for four years along with Justine, Stacey (another Stacey), Sara, and Abby, and we all played intramural basketball together on the Droppen Deuces (because we are very, very mature).  She told me she was nervous too, so we hung out on the concourse until halftime, noting how many times Tina got a rebound.  I said to Stacey at one point "I think Tina has all of the rebounds in this game."

By the time the second half started, I managed to move back into my seat and even put my Witness shirt on.  I had felt left out because my sister, Todd, Mike, and Mike's friend Liam all wore theirs to the game.  Noticing I was wearing it after halftime, my sister said to me, "What the hell are you doing?! You're going to jinx everything!" Another thing she did that made me laugh was when Tina came out with about 12 minutes to go, and for the whole four minutes she was out of the game, Jenna kept going "Put Tina back in! Put her back in! I want her to get 50 points and 40 rebounds!"

It didn't hit us until around the 4 minute mark that we had the game in the bag, and that was when there was a TV timeout and we could see my dad doing a seated happy dance.  In the TV timeout! I don't think he's ever done that before in my entire life.  My mom had the best realization moment ever, though.  She suddenly grabbed Jenna's hand and shouted, "Oh my God.  We're going to meet Obama! AHHHHH!" 

When the buzzer went off and the streamers came down, our whole section just could not stop hugging and a sense of warm, wonderful relief swept through me, like a nervous weight had been lifted off my shoulders (just to be placed on again next year).  Our fantastic NCAA/Big East liaisons were great and got us extra passes so we could go down to the court and see Dad, which was different than in previous years when I'd have to sneak past security with Mom.  After I hugged the assistants, I found Dad, who lifted me off the ground in a bear hug which is kind of hard to do for him...not that I'm a big girl or anything but the guy's 55, I didn't want to give him a hernia.

One by one, I found all of the girls and grabbed them aside for an embrace, and I completely lost all composure when Kaili gave me a hug and I saw my sister crying as she let go of Renee with a "I'm so happy for you guys."  That's when I think I really started to cry.  I asked Mike if he cried, and his response made my day: "I don't cry.  I work out."  My brother, ladies and gentlemen.  I think this is the first Final Four where he hasn't cried like a baby.

My favorite moment of the aftermath is a collection of small things-watching the confetti fly down onto the court, Tina getting MOP, Dad walking across the court and doing a shimmy dance that was not unlike what he did when he danced with my sister at her wedding (and it remains as adorably stupid as it did then), Dad sticking his head into the hoop to wave to the crowd with the specialized NCAA net-cutting scissors created just for the tournament that just happened to be bright Tennessee orange, Tina doing the Kid N' Play dance again, Dad getting carried off the court (for the third time!) Renee naming the championship trophy "Nattie" and calling it her baby, and of course, Dad telling the yelling and adoring crowd of fans at the Sears Trophy reception "You guys really are out of your frickin minds."  To which I heard someone in the crowd yell, "But you love it!"

I wish I could tell you that I partied all night, that I was a trouper and hung out with Husky alumnae young and old.  But in truth, I crawled into bed at 2:30.  My allergies finally got the better of me.  

Today was just a blur of plane ride, airport rally, Gampel rally, and busride home.  I did get a lovely surprise at the gym in the form of Mel Thomas! We saw each other from far away in one of the pavilion hallways and just started screaming and we ran towards each other.  I absolutely love that girl, she's just great and I'm so happy she's home to stay from Ireland!  Also, I must say one of the better parts of the day was when I told Dad that I had taped the championship game while we were away.  His response? A gleeful laugh and "OOOH! Let's watch it when we get home!" So we did...and he proceeded to complain the entire game.  Some things never change...

ally

PS.  Someone on the boards at the Boneyard called my father classless for not hugging Tina Charles at the end of the game yesterday.  First of all, how dumb are you if you expect all of your life's approvals to be complete with a hug.  And second of all, Dad did something better than a hug for Tina.  As we touched down at Bradley, my father received a call from President Obama, something that is standard protocol when you win the national championship.  We had been waiting for this call since the game ended, especially Tina because she's in love with the guy.  Dad made his way to the back of the plane as he chatted with the President and got to where the team was sitting so they could hear him, and the girls crowded around him practically buzzing with excitement.  As the conversation wore on, Dad said, with a smile, "I think the person who you should talk to is our Final Four MOP." And with that, he passed the phone-and the President of the United States-to the person he did not hug at the Final Four-Tina Charles.  You can call my dad a lot of things (I've called him an idiot about three times today and that's a light day) but he will never not be classy and you can't ever argue that with me.  Of course, I'm his spawn, so I don't know if it's a fair fight...

PPS.  To all of the people in St. Louis who said they loved my blog, thank you so, so much.  And to all the people in St. Louis who told my sister they loved my blog because they thought Jenna was me...you made me laugh quite a lot on a day when I was feeling really, really ill.  My sister came into my hotel room and said to me "Um, people keep coming up to me and thinking I'm you and saying how much they love me." I was extremely amused.

witness.

I meant to say this the other night, but the Terminator: Salvation commercial that they spliced with the men's Final Four footage on semifinal night was probably the best form of product placement I've seen in the entire tournament.  Well, that and the Guitar Hero ad with Bob Knight in his skivvies.

At one point last night, I turned to Jack Eisenmann's brother who was sitting next to me during the game and I said, "Is this really happening? Are we really almost up by 40?"

Those two games were surreal.  But I will get to those later.  First, my day yesterday.  And once again, I'm sick.  I don't mean sick of St. Louis.  The life on the road will wear you down.

I was supposed to get up at 9 yesterday with the team, but my Nonna, who had flown in Saturday night, had decided to knock on my door at the grand hour of 7:45.  I went to get her and she wanted to go to breakfast.  Naturally, I'm not going to say no to my grandmother.  She's Italian.  I'd wake up with a horse head in my bed.  But I managed to push it back to around 8:30, and we went down to breakfast and I got her past the security in our private room (like me, they won't say no to Geno's mom...she holds precedent over everyone).  My Nonna is so cute...at one point she wanted to bring a breadroll back to her room and there was a couple minutes where she was wracked with guilt about it, trying to hide it in her purse.  All of the girls came down a little while later, and one by one they hugged my Nonna hello, which shows how sweet these girls really are.  I'm not sure which one is my Nonna's favorite on the team right now.  She loves Sveta, Diana, and I think Kaili is climbing the ranks of her favor.

After breakfast, I greeted my sister and her husband, who had flown in the night before.  They took Nonna to church (it was Palm Sunday, after all) and I went on to shootaround, which was exactly how the shootaround before Arizona State played out: Quick, efficient, enthused, and businesslike.  And yes, at the end of practice, I hit my buzzer beater.  In fact, I missed my first one and I had enough time to put up another one.  I won't let it go to my head, trust me.

After the game, I tried to talk to Dad a little bit, but I could tell he was too focused (or too nervous) to really say anything back.  The team was relaxed, but he was kind of a wreck.  I knew that he wanted the game to go well for Renee to get to that title game that he's wanted for her all season long.  And because he was nervous, I got really, really nervous.

After shootaround, I had a bunch of time to myself, so I went back to the gym, and once again I was in there at the same time as Shea.  And once again, I pushed it, and once again, I wobbled out of the room on Jell-O feet.  And I had no wiggle room.  

If anyone on the team was even slightly nervous, they didn't show it.  They were focused, but completely relaxed, joking around and smiling at pre-game meal and on the bus ride to the arena.  Maya even danced a little to "Sneakernight" on the bus (which I still think is the stupidest song ever, but I digress).  As non-essential personnel, I almost had to get shuttled into the main entrance, but by the time I realized this, the tunnel door had shut so Nonna and I got the VIP treatment of an elevator to the front door.

The games were polar opposites of what I assumed would happen.  While Louisville completely shocked me with their win, Stanford kind of folded under our all-consuming pressure.  I had been terrified all day, but the minute Tiffany hit that opening three-pointer, I knew it would be a good day for us.  I freaked out just a bit when Stanford cut it to one, but then Renee lit them up and it was smooth sailing from there.  Even when the Cardinal went on a run, they couldn't get within 18.  I even had to calm down Nonna at one point!  My brother was really, really into it.  At one point, Maya threw up a three and Mike stood up and shouted "YOU'RE BETTER THAN EVERYONE."  I think Maya heard him, because the shot was a brick.  I turned around and shouted "Mike, shut up!"

After the game, I brought Nonna to the locker room to get her something to eat.  She refused to sit inside because she didn't want anyone asking her questions ("I'm-a scared, Lysa, I no want people askin' me things"), so Sarah Darras brought a chair outside for her to sit on while she had some water.  I managed to grab a Final Four guidebook from the room and I sat outside with her, watching the media stream in and out.  Finally, it seemed like there weren't a lot in there, so I grabbed her and we sat inside.  

Everyone was happy.  Renee in particular was thrilled, and was even happier when our team doctor managed to get her a huge bowl of cut-up carrots and ranch dressing.  She refused to let anyone else have any until we got back to the hotel, and I think she ate the entire thing.  This morning, she told me she had some before breakfast, too.

The best moment of the bus ride home was when CD told the team that wake-up would be at 10, a luxury for these girls who had been getting up at 8.  From their reaction, you would've thought that Oprah had given them a free Pontiac G-6.  

My one regret? I didn't get to wear my Witness tshirt.  I had one, but Mike had left it in his room.  If we win on Tuesday, I will probably wear it for the next two weeks.

Now, I'm going to go work out before the afternoon crunch of practice (and Shea's already worked out today so I can take it easy today).  Happy Opening Day to the St. Louis Cardinals.  Our hotel is situated around the ballpark area, so I can hear the music blaring from my room.  Hopefully they'll do a good job.  Me? I'm all about the Sox...

ally

PS. Dad's comments about race were talked about today on 1st and Down today.  One of the guys disagreed with the way he said it, but then he followed it up with "I don't cover girls basketball so I don't know how race is perceived in that sport." Um...maybe you shouldn't talk about it, then? It's prevalent in women's basketball that if you're white, you're stereotyped to be a wuss.  I can think of about five girls from my dad's teams that prove that wrong, however.  Diana Taurasi tops the list of people who could easily break my arms.

PPS.  The fruit at this hotel is insane.  I could eat it all day, every day, for the next three weeks.  And that's just a bit of Random from my head at this point.  I think the Mucinex is kicking in.

spartans take down the dog pound

First of all, the rest of my blogs will be coming from my trusty Blackberry, as my computer's Internet access is on hiatus. Ah, well. I guess I'll use my computer for more lofty persuits, like watching Superbad for the nine bazillionth time.

Today was just as jampacked as I thought it would be. The team got up at 8 with the exception of Maya and Renee and Tina, who were already at the other hotel for the presentation of the State Farm All-Americans. We were shuttled off after breakfast to watch their presentation, and to witness the announcement of the Wade Trophy recipient. The winner was Maya, who was incredibly humbled by the award and kept thanking her teammates and God. The teams this year were pretty rowdy, and screamed a lot. And it was really cool to see how many girls knew each other. Kaili in particular is best friends with Marissa Coleman, so they shared a big hug.

After the presentation, it was back to the junior college for our private practice. it was quick and light. At one point Dad demonstrated a play which lead to a surprise opening for an easy shot, and he shouted 'gotcha!'

Practice was over fairly quickly. Indeed, about 25 minutes early! When I pointed this out to Dad, he simply said, "the time for talking is done. Now we do it."

Then we went to the Scottrade Center for media interviews and press conferences, and the girls were pretty amused by the tall cubbies in the locker room. So amused, in fact, that I walked out of the bathroom to find that five of them had gotten inside them. It made for quite a funny picture, like human Jenga.

Open practice was a ton of fun, except for when Dad pointed out to me that the arena we were in used to be called the Savvis Center. That's when I knew that we would be playing on the same court that we lost on 8 years ago in the Final Four. Just being in that building again made me woozy. That loss was devastating, and I really want this team to rid that hurt from this city. Its too pretty a town to hurt that bad.

After practice, we had an autograph session, where I saw a bunch of friends from camps past. Then, we were shuttled off to the AP Player and Coach of the Year announcement. Maya and Dad won, and it was a sort of hilarious press conference because it took place in an almost cavernous hotel ballroom...and there were only about thirty people inside. The guy didn't even need a mic, yet there he was on a podium. Another highlight was Dad getting pictures taken with his trophy. He was urged to smile a little more, and so he did. And then he did a Zoolander Blue Steel. Classy.

Dinner was slightly rambunctious, as we watched the Uconn-Michigan State game. I was shocked at the way it turned out, but once the dunk on Stanley Robinson was over with, the Huskies just gave up. They played very fast and got very desperate, and it was frustrating to watch. Also, I could practically feel the eyes of Connecticut fans turn to us as we prep for our battle against Stanford tomorrow. I won't lie and say I'm not nervous. But nerves are a good thing.

Check with you tomorrow, after the initial madness...

Ally

sometimes you just gotta dance

I've become quite accustomed to this hotel already.  I guess I'm used to hotel rooms now.  I can't even imagine how much my dad misses home when he's away if I already miss Connecticut and I've only been away for a week.  

I went down to breakfast and was very pleased to see that in our hotel restaurant is an omelet station! I will be getting one of those tomorrow...that is, if I beat the team to it.  They had it on lockdown this morning.  After getting my food, I overheard the team asking JJ if the special bags from Nike had arrived.  These bags, kind of like goody bags, are the way they welcome the teams to the Final Four.  We had gotten a few really cool items last year, so the team was anxious to know what was being offered this year.  JJ said that they couldn't go up to see them without a key, since they were all in my Dad's room.  At this point, Dad had just come down to get food, and I was on my way up to his room to change my practice shirt, as my white shirt had become the victim of an exploding blueberry (next time I'm using my hands, none of this fork business).  I looked over at Dad, who flipped me his key and said "You guys can go up with Ally, no problem!" 

I practically had to fight them off as we went up to the room, and the way they treated the bags, you would think it was Christmas morning.  The swag this year was pretty simple...shirts and a watch and some other items that I can't really remember at this point in time.  I think Nike's trying to cut back on some of its spending due to the economy being so dismal.  Good for them.  

After that, we went on to film, and practice at a local junior college.  At the beginning of practice, to warm up, the team runs two laps around the gym.  Tahirah always wins.  At the end of the lap, I went to highfive her, and she said "39-0, baby."  

Practice went pretty well, although the gym was stifling.  Dad finally made his Lebron underhand shot! And Tahirah made a half-court bomb as well.  

I wish I could say that the rest of the afternoon was just as exciting, but since I wasn't needed at the Scottrade Center for the starting five/coach interviews, I went back to the hotel with the rest of the team and decided to check out the fitness room.  As it turned out, Shea was in the workout room too, and I made the absolutely horrible decision to hop on the machine next to her, thinking that if I did that, I'd work harder.  Boy, did I.  If you ever get a chance to work out next to Shea Ralph, don't do it.  You will completely regret it because you will never ever work out as hard as Shea, or be as intense as Shea.  I tried, and I almost fell off the elliptical.  Lesson learned.

Tonight was the best part.  We had the Salute To The Final Four presentation and buffet, and it's always really fun watching the team get dressed up.  Lorin, in particular, looked amazing, and I kept threatening her that if she put her jacket on and covered up, I would just come and take it right back off.  The buffet itself was great, although it was a little difficult for me and dad to find food without meat in it (gotta love Lent).  After walking around with Dad and debating the different options with him, I finally managed to dig the chicken out of a veggie stirfry and put it on top of salad, along with some fruit (I gave up dessert for Lent).  I know that as Geno's daughter, I shouldn't even be fazed by famous athletes, but there were a few points tonight where I was taken aback by Courtney Paris, and Jayne Appel, whose performance against Iowa State has me just the tiniest bit freaked out about our rematch on Sunday.

There was a live band playing some great songs, and I can't really go into exactly what transpired because frankly it defies description...but just imagine girls from Stanford, Louisville, Oklahoma and UCONN doing a massive Electric Slide, and you're halfway there.  Even Dad got into it.  Oh, he didn't leave his seat, but he knows how to dance sitting down like very few do.  And there's really nothing like the sight of Desiree Byrd and Tina Charles having a dance off.  Something similar happened last year on the boat during the Tampa Final Four Salute, although that was really between just us and LSU.  Needless to say, we won.  

The presentation was nice and understated, but the real thrill for me was seeing Jackie Joyner-Kersee, who came to speak as a representative celebrity of St. Louis.  She gave a short but effective speech about how the Final Four is a 'gateway' to opportunities, something that was reiterated throughout the night.  I think they're beating the whole 'archway' thing a bit to death, but it's still a good metaphor.

Tomorrow promises to be a bit busier, but I think it'll be fun.  They're announcing the WBCA All-Americans and the recipient of the Wade Trophy.  Speaking of awards, congratulations to Renee for winning the Nancy Lieberman Award! The Lieberman, for those who don't know, is the female equivalent of the Bob Cousy Award for the best point guard in America.  Richly deserved, and couldn't have gone to a greater girl.

More tomorrow, and the family arrives, including my beloved Nonna.  We have adjoining rooms...hopefully she won't yell at me for how messy mine already is...

ally

PS.  ESPN Classic is replaying a lot of classic games from the Final Four in the next few days.  Next Tuesday, they're replaying our 1995 game against Tennessee.  

meet me in st. louis...and bring an umbrella!

I have no idea how these girls manage to keep up this frenetic pace in the postseason.  I'm not even doing half the work they're doing and I feel like I'm about to keel over.  But since we arrived here in Missouri today, I might as well impart what went on today.  It will be a short entry, I assure you!

Yesterday was my only day at home in CT, and it was cloudy and slightly cold but still a very good day.  Last night my sister's husband lugged a gigantic takeout bag from PF Chang's to our house (good guy, that husband of hers!) and we feasted while watching, what else, game tape from the Regionals.  Although by the time we got to the Arizona State game, I could barely keep my eyes open, and I ended up passing out around halftime.  Ah, well.  I lived through it once, don't need to see it again.

Today was a big bundle of deja vu from the second we arrived to get on the bus.  The exact same people were there, I had all of the same bags and I was even wearing the same sweatpants.  It was a gorgeous day, and I kept hoping that if it was this nice in CT, hopefully it would be just as beautiful in MO.  And I can't stop thinking about drinking an Arnold Palmer again! Thanks, Kaili!

FYI: for those of you not from the Northeast, an Arnold Palmer is a drink that is half iced tea, half lemonade.  I'm sorry if some of you thought I wanted the golfer Arnold Palmer...I'm more of a Phil Mickelson kind of gal.

We go to the airport and get on the plane, and it was a pretty tiny plane.  The gangplank was just big enough for one person, and it was lopsided seating wise (one seat on the left, two to the right).  And I can do a lot of things in my life, but there is one thing I will never be, and that is a comfortable flier on planes.  Every little shake, twist, or bump, and my head will scream out "THIS IS IT WE'RE ALL DOOMED."  So you can imagine how I felt getting on this little thing.  And then the turbulence started...Jacquie laughed at me for how I reacted to it, but I personally think that putting your head down on the airplane tray and plugging your ears is a suitable way to deal with it.  It beats screaming, which is what I wanted to do.  I have no idea how some people sleep on planes.  I used to be able to.  Indeed, I once passed out on Nykesha Sales' shoulder before an 8 hour flight from Hawaii to Chicago and didn't wake up until they were serving breakfast.  But I just get too nervous now.  Aw.  I'm growing up.

After saying thank you to the purple-haired flight attendant, I almost kissed the ground when I deplaned, but didn't want to get my mouth wet with rainwater.  Yes, it's raining.  Pouring, in fact.  A nice little tidbit that a security guard offered me was that there had been thunderstorms all day in town, but we had just missed them.  On the way to the hotel, the bus stopped at a light across from the Arch.  I had never seen it before and I was pretty surprised at how wide it is.  I always thought of it as being tall and skinny, but it's got a vast space beneath it (it's sort of set in the middle of an open space, almost like a park).  Of course, I took a picture.  The hotel itself is pretty big and kind of intimidating, but Shea and I were thrilled when we ran to check out the fitness room and discovered they had more than one elliptical machine! We kind of annoyed the people working out in there, I think...probably because we started dancing...

When we got to the hotel, we were greeted by a group of girls from a special club that promotes healthy relationships between girls and the development of their character, and they did a truly amazing step-dance for us that had to be seen to be believed.  It was pretty thrilling, and the team went nuts when they finished.  Maya looked over at us and said "I love them so much!"

And now, I'm in my hotel room after unpacking and taking almost the last one of my Amoxicillin (thank goodness!), typing and watching HBO, a luxury since I don't have it at home due to my mother being opposed to cable.  I can hear the wind blast against my hotel window right now and I can feel my eyes closing.  And tomorrow promises to be...insanity...

ally

PS.  I didn't know she was doing this, but Heather Buck is doing a blog.  Ch-ch-check it out.

we ain't so bad...

"Coming in to congratulate me again?"

Of course, Dad.  We're going to St. Louis!

I'm pretty tired, I won't lie to you (and would I ever lie to my devoted blog-viewers?).  We got back to our car at around 2 in the morning last night in Manchester, so I think I crawled into bed around 3.  I thought the bus ride home would be more amped up than it was, but everyone was so tired that we were about fifteen minutes into the bus ride movie (Untraceable) and everyone, including me, passed out.  But I must impart my thoughts on yesterday and the game. 

Yesterday I woke up, went down to breakfast, and packed my bags since we'd be leaving after the game.  Shootaround was pretty interesting, and a far cry from the slightly scattered attitude of the previous practice.  They went through drills calmly, and Dad directed their offense and defense with authority.  I saw a lot of what they ran during the game last night, and a lot of it was executed with great results.  Sometimes it went wrong, but you can't expect it to go perfect 100% of the time.  It'd be so boring if it did.  At one point, I clapped for Tina on a good play, and Kaili looked at me and whispered, "Cheerleader over there!" Of course! What else would I do?

The girls played the "stick the balls in the net" game again, and almost gave up on getting nine in there when Tina got two balls stuck on the sides of the net, and then it was a free for all.  We were so excited to get the nine that getting ten in there seemed impossible.  Well, I was getting a drink of water when Caroline poked me on the shoulder and whispered "We got another one!" Sure enough, I looked up and balancing precariously on the top of the pile was one more ball.   Perfect.

Last night was both exhilarating and infuriating, in my eyes (and the eyes of everyone watching at the Sovereign Bank Arena).  First, let me get the bad parts out of the way.  

That was the worst officiated Elite Eight game I have ever had the displeasure of sitting through.  It got to the point where I thought Dad was literally going to strangle anything that would stand still.  Much has been made of the third foul call on Renee, and I would like to take this opportunity to remind all of you that the ref that made the call was the same ref that nearly fouled Renee out of the national semifinals last year.  Maybe he's just jealous that Renee has swagger that he'll never have?

But, I digress.  There was much to love about this game, but by the end of it I was so upset with the officiating that at the 3 minute mark I turned to Mom and said "This game needs to just go into a vault and end already!"  And it did, thank goodness, and on to the celebration! 

I have a tradition within myself that whenever we win a big game like this, I need to be on the court with the team and with my Dad.  I have a laminated picture from when we advanced to the Elite Eight in 1994 of my sister, my brother and I hugging my dad on the court, so it's been 15 years of tradition.  I was not about to break that! My mom and brother wanted to stay up with the family, so I ran up the stairs and around the side, only to remember that since this was a converted hockey rink, they didn't have an opening onto the court like at the XL Center.  Thankfully, the security guy let me pull a Prison Break.  Yes, I hopped the barrier.  I immediately found Shea first and hugged her, and she laughed and said "I'm not sure what to do, I've never done one of these as a coach! Where do I go?!" I wasn't sure!

Then I found my dad, who looked so happy.  You can tell my dad is happy when he really doesn't have much to say, but simply stands there and smiles.  And he was doing quite a bit of that last night.  He hugged me, and gave me his hat to wear, which I immediately plopped on my head.  It came across my mind "Hmm, I hope this doesn't make me look like a total idiot if I get seen on ESPN."  And about ten minutes later, a friend of mine texted me "I saw you in that cute hat!" Nice.

I walked out with Dad and the team into the locker room, where I encountered a dance party of epic proportions.  Everyone was completely freaking out, as they should be! I took a ton of pictures, with the promise that I'd tag Lorin on facebook (she jumped into all my pictures with the cry "Tag me! Tag me!")  After the dance party ended (with Kalana doing the robot), Dad addressed the team, walking around in circles, musing to himself more than really speaking at anyone.  He spoke of the concept of team, and what it means to pick someone up when they fall down, and how to be there for someone when they're not having a good game.  He said, "When Renee didn't have a great game on Sunday, Tiffany stepped up...and I think Tiff realized that Renee was going to have a great game tonight, so she could play like crap tonight," which everyone thought was hilarious.  He then singled out individuals for their achievements, particularly Renee, Maya, and Tina, and with words for Meghan and Kaili as well...and then ended with "Tiffany played like crap, good work," which made Tiffany laugh.  If the refs hadn't called her on dumb hand checks then I think she would have been more comfortable.

After that, they went on to media, where someone actually told dad that he broke down the passing on our plays to about 1.7 every possession, after a very long-winded mathematical process.  His question? "Do you feel comfortable with only having 1.7 touches on every possession or would you like to have more?" Dad simply smiled and said "I'd like to know as a reporter how you had enough time to figure that (stuff) out." Touche.

Before the game, I got interviewed by Mike DiMauro from the New London Day! Thanks, Mike! I'm glad you like my blog!

Then, the uneventful ride home.  I'm happy that I managed to sleep on the bus, it was an easy and comfortable trip, if very very long.  

In the car after we got dropped off by the bus, Dad turned up the volume on a 70s classic station, and as we turned onto our street, it blasted, I kid you not, "Ladies Night".  

Oh, what a night.

Next time I update, it'll be from the Lou...

ally

PS.  Rebecca said it on her Twitter, and I agree...I need to learn how Coach Thorn from ASU squats in those short skirts.  I tried it in the locker room the other day at practice and I fell on my face.

PPS.  Since I've started this blog, I've gotten about fifty friend requests on Facebook from people who like what I'm doing and want to know more about me.  While I can't tell you how grateful and appreciative I am that people are so into what I'm doing and I'm truly very humbled by all the great press this blog gets, I simply just don't accept friend requests that I'm not friends with outside of the Internet.  I never have.  Please don't take it personally if you tried to friend me and I denied you, it doesn't mean that I don't appreciate the gesture.  I am really quite flattered at all the attention I'm getting, but I have to draw the line somewhere, and that line is, apparently, facebook.  However, I am open to all messages and questions or compliments or slander, so feel free to message me on there!  

PPPS.  Saying that these girls are arrogant is like saying the moon is made of Gorgonzola.  These girls are the nicest, coolest girls on the planet, who just happen to be better than anyone else in the country at the game of basketball.  If that's arrogance, then I'll eat my All-Access Pass.