If ever there were two wildly different topics to cover on a blog, these would be the two, I believe.
Last night, Rebecca Lobo was inducted into the Women's Basketball Hall of Fame in Knoxville (I still think it's crazy the thing is in Knoxville, but I digress). It's only a matter of time, I believe, before she gets herself on the Springfield shortlist. It's hard to believe that I've known Becca for almost twenty (!!) years. She and Pam were in the first graduating class I ever got emotional over. The classes before, I was too young to comprehend it, and I wasn't as close to them. But when Pam and Becca graduated, I was 9. I was old enough to understand-they weren't coming back next season. It was heartbreaking. It really devastated me the next year, when Jen and JJ left. But Pam and Becca were the first to really upset me with their graduation.
When Rebecca was playing for UCONN, she was a classy, tenacious, athlete whose polite manner off the court was in no way indicative of her ferocity on it. That's what I loved about those players we had in the mid-90s: they were so sweet and caring out of uniform, but the minute they put on the Husky blues, they would probably do everything short of murdering someone if it meant winning the game. When we won it all in 1995, I remember the big hug Rebecca gave me. She was sweaty, exhausted, and thrilled.
I felt awful for Rebecca that her career in the WNBA was cut so short with the knee injuries; after a nearly flawless career at UCONN health-wise, she should have gotten a couple more years of playing time in the pros. But she has transitioned beautifully into a commentator and blogger for ESPN, and her Tweets about the game and her family are both profound and hysterical. It helps that her husband, Steve Rushin, is an accomplished author and Tweeter himself. Go buy his book, The Pint Man, out in stores now. (There's the plug, Becca!)
Now that I'm grown, we have a different relationship. She'll come up to us during dead spots in games and we'll have a chat, and joke around. At one point during our stay in Ohio, she came up to our dinner table and whispered to me, "I am still so under CD's control...I don't want her to see me because she'll yell at me for dressing too casual!" And when she found out my sister was expecting, she ran up to her in San Antonio and they swapped pregnancy stories.
Rebecca, no one is more deserving of the title "Hall of Famer" than you. You are a wonderful, funny, brilliant person, and I only hope this puts you firmly in the history books as one of women's basketball's greatest all-around stars.
And, let's face it, I wouldn't have half my Twitter followers if it weren't for Rebecca's consistent "Follow Friday" recommendations. So, thanks for that, too!
And now for the bad part of my post. It has to do with sports, so I must address it.
I'll call this section of my post 'Cheating', or 'USC, You've Got Some Splaining to Do.'
Let's face it; cheating is a dirty thrill. We all do it. People cheat on tests and their loved ones. We cheat in business and in pleasure. Abby Sunderland cheated death this weekend (I honestly thought she had capsized and thank every god in the pantheon she didn't). And let's face it, most of the time, people don't get caught.
I have always been taught by my family that cheating is a dirty, dirty thing to do. One should make their own way, rather than profiting off others. If there is one thing my father has been accused of that makes me the angriest, it's any accusations of cheating. I dare you to find a cleaner program. Yes, there was one little snafu with a certain orange school in the south. But we were exonerated. There was no cheating involved.
Well, apparently USC decided just simple cheating was not enough. They had to become the grand poobahs of dirty dealings. And boy, did they get caught.
I don't understand why people cheat in sports. It's like they don't think they'll get caught, or they think they're too special and there's no way they'll get caught. It's like those dirtbags on Maury who deny they're the child's father until the paternity tests come out, and then it's all mea culpa from then on.
It is the rare thing that pisses me off more in sports than the revealing of cheats. Actually, it pisses me off even more when bribery and payment come into the equation. The fact that USC has to relinquish its National Championship as well as forgo several bowls, not to mention Reggie Bush might have to give up his Heisman Trophy from that year...it's enough to make my eyes and ears bleed.
It's not just USC that's had problems over the past years. Indiana has dwindled from a national powerhouse to a struggling name thanks to one too many illegal phone calls. John Calipari goes from school to school, taking high-ranking recruits and revoked championships with him. And now, we at UCONN are dealing with the fall-out of violations in the men's program.
And then there's Lane Kiffin. Oh, Lane. What are you doing? With the limos and the 13 year old recruits and the calling out of Urban Meyer. Pete Carroll was right to get out of USC when he did, although now he's in hot water anyway because he was the coach during the time these violations took place.
Did they think they couldn't win if they didn't cheat? You're from the University of Southern California, for cryin' out loud. Winning is in your nature. Work a little harder next time. I promise you, the wins will come. Take it from someone who knows what they're talking about: work hard, and reap those benefits. Don't make a name for yourself in swindling the hopes and dreams of die-hard Trojans.
Of course, it's not just basketball. Baseball will never be the same for me. Neither will track and field, or even women's gymnastics (those Chinese gymnasts were twelve, I tell you! TWELVE!). We live in a society where it's not about whether you win or lose. It's about winning, by any means necessary.
Winning isn't everything. Not when it costs a little piece of your soul.
But enough of my ranting and raving. I plan to soak up some long-absent sun this weekend by joining my family at our shore house before I start my summer job of teaching kids at a local children's theater. I've been looking forward to this job for months. When I left NYC last year, I thought to myself "You are going to teach at C.A.S.T." and my heart swelled with joy.
Find something you love, and remain tremendously interested in it. Without having to resort to tricks...
ally
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
it hurts to be sixteen
When I was sixteen, it was a very bad year.
"How could that be?" I can hear my friends wonder, those who didn't know me then, who didn't know that Ally. "Your dad's team went undefeated, they were pounding people into the dirt! What an amazing year."
Well, it was a great year for him. But he wasn't an overweight teen with a mullet.
I suffered from a number of teenage plagues-acne, bad hair, worse clothes (really, Ally? four inch platform flipflops with every single outfit?), isolation, loneliness. Growing up in a fishbowl, everyone knew me and everyone knew what I was supposed to turn out as; another product of the Auriemma athlete machine, as it were. My sister, then a freshman at UCONN, had graduated a three-sport athlete from MHS...although if you ask me, golf is barely a sport, but I digress. Then there was my brother. If he could've been a three sport athlete all through highschool and college, he would have. But back then he was thirteen, with an insane pitch and deadly three-point shot, one that he perfected while getting his ass kicked in Horse by a certain Italian/Spanish chick from California who happened to shoot the ball a little bit better than he did. I was supposed to follow in those footsteps, and complete the trilogy of talent. We'd be like the new Avengers. Only hairy.
There was just one glitch in this grand master plan. I sucked.
I kind of quit sports freshman year, after it came down to either playing basketball or doing the musical at another highschool. No-brainer. All I wanted to do was sing, dance, read, write, rinse/repeat. Oh, and eat. I was good at eating. Particularly pints of Ben and Jerry's. And the highlight of my sixteen-year-old year was when Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring came out. I bemoaned my blonde hair, wishing it carried an onyx wave like Liv Tyler's. I was an utter nerd.
(Okay, still am.)
Boys didn't exist to me, or rather I didn't exist to boys. Sixteen year old guys don't tend to pin their romantic hopes on fat girls with mullets (shut up, I was going for the Mandy Moore pixie look and got stuck with a mullet). I hid myself away at highschool, which was all-girls, so my chances of snagging a boyfriend were limited to awkward inter-school mixers and the occasional hot guest speaker. Dances of course were brutal. I kept to the walls like a daddy-long-leg, observing and never joining in unless it was to bust a move, awkwardly, with my friends.
Yes, I had friends. Very good friends. My one redeeming factor of the entire year was the friendships I made amongst the day students at my day/boarding school. In them, I found a unique brand of freakery that I will treasure for the rest of my life.
My grades plummeted, simply because I didn't care about school much. I was screamed at by both my parents for a good hour after my final exams were posted, but at that point I was too numb. I didn't want to deal with the world, with growing up. With living on the same spiritual plane as the rest of humanity. I just wanted my fantasies. In them, I was skinny, tall, with a haircut that wouldn't put me in any 80s cover band, and had a man in my life who loved me.
Sometimes, in the deep watchers of the night, I still think like that. But then I banish those thoughts way back into that part of hell where the Fred Phelps family first spawned.
A very good thing that came out of that sinkhole known as the sixteenth year of my existence? I started to blog for the first time. Granted, it was full of goth musings and really bad poetry, and boy whining on the level of Bella Swan. But I wrote it all down nonetheless. Then, I began to write stories based on films and books I had read. Yes, ladies and gentlemen...I wrote fanfic. From that humble Mary Sue beginning came a humongous wealth of my own creative output, and now I'm hoping to send some chapters off to a publisher/agent at the urging of my parents.
A few nights ago, after the name-calling and tongue-lashings on my last post, I got a comment from a sixteen year old girl who said I talked to her when we had our games in Norfolk back in March. I remember a girl coming up to me and feeling saddened we hadn't gotten a chance to talk a bit more. Amongst the wonderful things in her comment, she mentioned that because of me, she had a woman to look up to.
She thanked me. Me. If you had told me at sixteen that nine years later a girl would consider me a role model, I would have laughed. Then I would have cried. How impossible.
AJ, my girl, I am so humbled and so overjoyed that my little corner of the web has become an inspiration to you. I started out this blog to share my story and hope that I might just make people laugh, think, or give them an escape from their day. I didn't ever think I'd be a role model for a girl at the age when I felt most lost. So I hope you'll indulge me with this little note, just between us. Girl talk, if you will.
AJ, you are probably smack dab in the middle of the most transformative year of a young woman's life. Stuff's going to happen that you won't understand, but incredible things will occur too. And if there's any advice I could give to you, it's the advice I'd give myself at that age:
1. Do something completely ridiculous every single day. It could be dancing by yourself in your room, singing loudly in the car (if you have your license, or just do it in the passenger seat and annoy the hell out of your mom), or pulling faces in the mirror.
2. Make friends. Lots of them. Not just fringe 'hi in the hallway' friends. Real, honest friends that would shed blood for you if it came down to it-although, let's hope that's not the case.
3. Put yourself in the position to make those friends. Be social, be active, be alive and present in the world around you. If it gets hard, don't hide away. Try your best to fight it.
4. If it gets hard and you can't fight it, then embrace it. You have every right to be confused about something, or feel like things are overwhelming. Don't let it swallow you up, but observe and face it.
5. Boys are crazy, stupid, wonderful beings. They'll be a great part of your life but don't let them BECOME your life. Boys like Edward Cullen do not exist. Although I personally think he's an abusive stalker, so maybe that's a good thing? And don't think because a boy didn't call, the world is ending. He's clearly an idiot. That Taylor Swift knew what she was talking about when she sang "It's too late for you and your white horse to come around." Leave him in the dust!
6. Say yes to everything you know you won't go to jail for.
7. Say no to the stupid girls and boys at your school who are using their post-adolescent confusions as an excuse to dive headlong into unhealthy choices. Dumb decisions can take so many lives.
8. If you don't have a boy to go to the prom with, take your best girlfriend and call it a date. I did exactly that with my best friend of twelve years, Connie (monthly shoutout!). We pranced around a boat for three hours and had a grand old time with nary a man in sight.
9. Don't be what people expect you to be. Be who you want to be.
10. That haircut might seem like a great idea, but you might want to get a second or third opinion before hitting the salon. This is me trying to protect you from my horrifying hair mistakes.
In closing, AJ, I'd like to pass on to you the words of Jim Valvano, the great NC State men's basketball coach and founder of the Jimmy V Foundation for Cancer Research. Jimmy V gave an acceptance speech at the 1993 ESPY Awards that remains one of the greatest public speeches by any sports individual. One thing I've taken from that speech is Jimmy's urging of all of us to laugh, think, and cry every single day. "If you can laugh, think, and cry all in one day, that's a heck of a day."
You commented on my post to thank me. I should be thanking you. For in the midst of a bleaker blog day, you were a definite light. Bless you and good luck...
ally
"How could that be?" I can hear my friends wonder, those who didn't know me then, who didn't know that Ally. "Your dad's team went undefeated, they were pounding people into the dirt! What an amazing year."
Well, it was a great year for him. But he wasn't an overweight teen with a mullet.
I suffered from a number of teenage plagues-acne, bad hair, worse clothes (really, Ally? four inch platform flipflops with every single outfit?), isolation, loneliness. Growing up in a fishbowl, everyone knew me and everyone knew what I was supposed to turn out as; another product of the Auriemma athlete machine, as it were. My sister, then a freshman at UCONN, had graduated a three-sport athlete from MHS...although if you ask me, golf is barely a sport, but I digress. Then there was my brother. If he could've been a three sport athlete all through highschool and college, he would have. But back then he was thirteen, with an insane pitch and deadly three-point shot, one that he perfected while getting his ass kicked in Horse by a certain Italian/Spanish chick from California who happened to shoot the ball a little bit better than he did. I was supposed to follow in those footsteps, and complete the trilogy of talent. We'd be like the new Avengers. Only hairy.
There was just one glitch in this grand master plan. I sucked.
I kind of quit sports freshman year, after it came down to either playing basketball or doing the musical at another highschool. No-brainer. All I wanted to do was sing, dance, read, write, rinse/repeat. Oh, and eat. I was good at eating. Particularly pints of Ben and Jerry's. And the highlight of my sixteen-year-old year was when Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring came out. I bemoaned my blonde hair, wishing it carried an onyx wave like Liv Tyler's. I was an utter nerd.
(Okay, still am.)
Boys didn't exist to me, or rather I didn't exist to boys. Sixteen year old guys don't tend to pin their romantic hopes on fat girls with mullets (shut up, I was going for the Mandy Moore pixie look and got stuck with a mullet). I hid myself away at highschool, which was all-girls, so my chances of snagging a boyfriend were limited to awkward inter-school mixers and the occasional hot guest speaker. Dances of course were brutal. I kept to the walls like a daddy-long-leg, observing and never joining in unless it was to bust a move, awkwardly, with my friends.
Yes, I had friends. Very good friends. My one redeeming factor of the entire year was the friendships I made amongst the day students at my day/boarding school. In them, I found a unique brand of freakery that I will treasure for the rest of my life.
My grades plummeted, simply because I didn't care about school much. I was screamed at by both my parents for a good hour after my final exams were posted, but at that point I was too numb. I didn't want to deal with the world, with growing up. With living on the same spiritual plane as the rest of humanity. I just wanted my fantasies. In them, I was skinny, tall, with a haircut that wouldn't put me in any 80s cover band, and had a man in my life who loved me.
Sometimes, in the deep watchers of the night, I still think like that. But then I banish those thoughts way back into that part of hell where the Fred Phelps family first spawned.
A very good thing that came out of that sinkhole known as the sixteenth year of my existence? I started to blog for the first time. Granted, it was full of goth musings and really bad poetry, and boy whining on the level of Bella Swan. But I wrote it all down nonetheless. Then, I began to write stories based on films and books I had read. Yes, ladies and gentlemen...I wrote fanfic. From that humble Mary Sue beginning came a humongous wealth of my own creative output, and now I'm hoping to send some chapters off to a publisher/agent at the urging of my parents.
A few nights ago, after the name-calling and tongue-lashings on my last post, I got a comment from a sixteen year old girl who said I talked to her when we had our games in Norfolk back in March. I remember a girl coming up to me and feeling saddened we hadn't gotten a chance to talk a bit more. Amongst the wonderful things in her comment, she mentioned that because of me, she had a woman to look up to.
She thanked me. Me. If you had told me at sixteen that nine years later a girl would consider me a role model, I would have laughed. Then I would have cried. How impossible.
AJ, my girl, I am so humbled and so overjoyed that my little corner of the web has become an inspiration to you. I started out this blog to share my story and hope that I might just make people laugh, think, or give them an escape from their day. I didn't ever think I'd be a role model for a girl at the age when I felt most lost. So I hope you'll indulge me with this little note, just between us. Girl talk, if you will.
AJ, you are probably smack dab in the middle of the most transformative year of a young woman's life. Stuff's going to happen that you won't understand, but incredible things will occur too. And if there's any advice I could give to you, it's the advice I'd give myself at that age:
1. Do something completely ridiculous every single day. It could be dancing by yourself in your room, singing loudly in the car (if you have your license, or just do it in the passenger seat and annoy the hell out of your mom), or pulling faces in the mirror.
2. Make friends. Lots of them. Not just fringe 'hi in the hallway' friends. Real, honest friends that would shed blood for you if it came down to it-although, let's hope that's not the case.
3. Put yourself in the position to make those friends. Be social, be active, be alive and present in the world around you. If it gets hard, don't hide away. Try your best to fight it.
4. If it gets hard and you can't fight it, then embrace it. You have every right to be confused about something, or feel like things are overwhelming. Don't let it swallow you up, but observe and face it.
5. Boys are crazy, stupid, wonderful beings. They'll be a great part of your life but don't let them BECOME your life. Boys like Edward Cullen do not exist. Although I personally think he's an abusive stalker, so maybe that's a good thing? And don't think because a boy didn't call, the world is ending. He's clearly an idiot. That Taylor Swift knew what she was talking about when she sang "It's too late for you and your white horse to come around." Leave him in the dust!
6. Say yes to everything you know you won't go to jail for.
7. Say no to the stupid girls and boys at your school who are using their post-adolescent confusions as an excuse to dive headlong into unhealthy choices. Dumb decisions can take so many lives.
8. If you don't have a boy to go to the prom with, take your best girlfriend and call it a date. I did exactly that with my best friend of twelve years, Connie (monthly shoutout!). We pranced around a boat for three hours and had a grand old time with nary a man in sight.
9. Don't be what people expect you to be. Be who you want to be.
10. That haircut might seem like a great idea, but you might want to get a second or third opinion before hitting the salon. This is me trying to protect you from my horrifying hair mistakes.
In closing, AJ, I'd like to pass on to you the words of Jim Valvano, the great NC State men's basketball coach and founder of the Jimmy V Foundation for Cancer Research. Jimmy V gave an acceptance speech at the 1993 ESPY Awards that remains one of the greatest public speeches by any sports individual. One thing I've taken from that speech is Jimmy's urging of all of us to laugh, think, and cry every single day. "If you can laugh, think, and cry all in one day, that's a heck of a day."
You commented on my post to thank me. I should be thanking you. For in the midst of a bleaker blog day, you were a definite light. Bless you and good luck...
ally
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Who's this Heimlich Maneuver man, anyway?
If the title of this post is a little odd, it's because my mother said it. I hope you all had an amazing Mother's Day, filled with love and respect and adoration of your mommies. I had only one thing on my mind when I was picking out a present for Miss Kathy, and it consists of three words: Friday. Night. Lights. The woman is obsessed. I came in from a night with friends last Friday to find Mom sitting in front of the TV, face glazed over, eyes penetrating the screen like a death laser from Neptune. Clearly, no conversation would get through to this woman. She was lost in the moment. And by moment, naturally I mean Tim Riggins. Dad thinks it's insane that my mother is in love with this show, because, in his words "He could be with your Mom, since he's like a 40 year old playing a highschool student!" For the record: Taylor Kitsch is 28. Also for the record: Taylor Kitsch is my husband, so Mom should just step off if she knows what's good for her. That includes my sister, Jenna. I'm watching you both.
The past three weeks have been stressful, but in the end it's all about family. I will not go into the details because this blog should be about lighthearted things from now on (considering I'm meeting the President again next week, life could be so, so much worse), but my family has been dealing with a few things that aren't pretty and aren't very light. We have come together on the other side, stronger and more committed to each other than ever. As far as my own health issues go, all is well. There is nothing so wrong a little lactose restriction can't fix. :)
Another thing that is beyond value? Friendship. After a particularly trying morning a few weeks ago, I reached out to my best friend, Connie (there's your monthly shoutout, Connie girl). Without question and without hesitation, she came driving over to my house and we spent two hours hanging out and laughing. My problems were still there, but the clouds weren't so dark. It helps when your best friend lives three minutes away. We've timed it.
Something I've been doing quite a bit of is reading. Since I'm attending school in the fall, I need to bone up on my classic literature, or at least literature I should be familiar with. I blazed through Watership Down in three days. If you have not read that book, go out and buy it or borrow it from the library in your town right now. It is heartrending and stunning. I was not expecting to be so moved by a story that, when pared down, is basically The Odyssey with rabbits. I tried to explain my now-powerful connection to rabbits with my family, but they looked at me as if I myself had turned into El-ahrairah after the Black Rabbit took away his ears and tail. "They're RABBITS!" my sister shrieked at me after I expressed disbelief at her statement that, given a gun, she would shoot them (they're ripping up her lawn).
My brother has commandeered the televisions now that he's home from school. He got a bone shaved down in his foot, so he's been laid up and watching Criminal Minds on repeat (he ordered us to go out and get the DVDs, and of course we obliged for the cripple in our midst). After watching several episodes, I must say that I'm a willing and loyal convert to the cult. Is it gross? Sometimes. Is it creepy as hell? Um, always. But what keeps me watching are Reid and Garcia. Reid, for his fascinating puzzled look and his way of always putting everything together before everyone else-and also, the way he goes off on a subject until the other person in the conversation literally has to walk away to get him to shut up, which is very much something I do. And Garcia...I mean, come on. She IS the show. Prentice is awesome, but without Garcia the show would be just another police procedural, albeit with a little more viscera. A good chunk of my time watching the show is spent wondering what Garcia's outfit/hair/hairclips are going to look like, and then the rest of the show is spent enjoying her banter/affection with Agent Morgan. Wouldn't you want to banter with him? And do other things? If you say no, you're a filthy liar.
You may have noticed that I was absent from this blog for about a month. I didn't do this on purpose. Life simply gets busy and updating a blog takes time. I also had to step away for a little bit after I got eviscerated on a message board (you know which one) for living through my parents, and my formspring got attacked by trolls who thought a) I had emotional issues and b) I was a spoiled waste of space.
The other day, I drove through a small neighborhood in my town, and happened upon the house I first lived in, before the team began to get big and before the craziness started. I stared at the one story house. In that house our pet cat, Chipsy, gave birth in a dresser drawer. We lived next to a fire station where I got to sit in a truck, and a highlight of my afternoons was eating lemon cookies with the octogenarian who lived down the street. His name, I believe, was Joe. In that house, I slept on the floor on a mattress, because I kept crawling out of the crib. We held block parties and barbecues. We were a family, and we still are a family.
I feel sorry for families that are broken, that don't love each other like my family does. To quote another Italian mother, we are as thick as thieves. I have my own life. But my family is a large, large part of my life.
This summer promises to be quite transformative, just as last summer was. I'm making plans to move, start another job that should be close to my line of work, continue my college education, and maybe, just maybe, Semi-Veganista will stage a comeback when I have things more exciting to talk about than tofu.
I plan to grow, and change, and consume life with every ounce of energy that I have. And I've got the best team behind me to get it done...
ally
PS. My other best friend, Gina, is a culinary whiz. She's also dealing with a recent gluten intolerance diagnosis that has drastically changed her diet. And thanks to my incessant prodding, she's started a blog to talk about it all. Watch her journey (and her pastries!) on her new blog, Gluten Free Gina: Footloose and Gluten-Free.
Friday, April 16, 2010
momma said home is where the heart is
I am worn out, people.
After almost an entire month of traveling, dining, freaking out, and counting prayers, the postseason has begun. Now come the national team scrimmages, which begin tonight with a closed match. And the parade! Oh, the parade. Every day at work, people talk to me about the parade.
The national team has been practicing at Gampel with Dad, and the USA honchos have been over at my house for the past few days for dinner. It all culminated in a big shindig last night with the team also showing up, which was a bit nervewracking for me. On one hand it was really great to see Swin, Tina, Kalana and Renee, but on the other hand the amount of basketball greatness was overwhelming. At one point, Todd leaned in and said to Jenna and I "There are seriously some phenomenal people in your living room." I mean, where else am I going to watch Monica Wright, Jantel Lavender, and Kayla Pederson watch VH1 on my basement TV while upstairs Dawn Staley is eating my mom's spinach penne?
One perk of the evening? I finally got to meet Kara Lawson, which was fantastic. She had come over for dinner a few months ago, but due to a date, I was absent. That fellow hasn't stuck around, but thankfully Kara has. We talked at such lengths, she missed her bus back to campus!
One person I didn't get a chance to introduce myself to was Jayne Appel. I've heard nothing but unadulterated praise about her from Dad for years, and it was my chance to just say hello and tell her I thought she was very brave for continuing to play in the amount of pain she was in. Unfortunately, that did not come to pass. Debbie Ryan and Sherri Coale came over as well, which made me very happy. Those two are fantastic. I've known Debbie since I was born, so it was really great to see her and catch up. She told me that she and her husband read my blog, which was a bit surreal to hear. So, hi Debbie!
Another thing that is surreal? The fact that a year ago, I moved to New York City on a wing and a prayer and a very big makeup case, only to move home less than six months later with my tail in between my twenty pounds slimmer legs after realizing my dream may not have been what God had planned for me. It was the most difficult decision I have ever made in my life. I sometimes wonder what could have been, and these last six months have been tremendously difficult both mentally and physically. I have been through career shifts, employment trouble, and an eating disorder I'm still trying to navigate. But you know what? Family is created for times like these. It's like what Dory says in that amazing Pixar film about a father trying to find his son.
When life gets you down, you know what you gotta do? Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...
ally
After almost an entire month of traveling, dining, freaking out, and counting prayers, the postseason has begun. Now come the national team scrimmages, which begin tonight with a closed match. And the parade! Oh, the parade. Every day at work, people talk to me about the parade.
The national team has been practicing at Gampel with Dad, and the USA honchos have been over at my house for the past few days for dinner. It all culminated in a big shindig last night with the team also showing up, which was a bit nervewracking for me. On one hand it was really great to see Swin, Tina, Kalana and Renee, but on the other hand the amount of basketball greatness was overwhelming. At one point, Todd leaned in and said to Jenna and I "There are seriously some phenomenal people in your living room." I mean, where else am I going to watch Monica Wright, Jantel Lavender, and Kayla Pederson watch VH1 on my basement TV while upstairs Dawn Staley is eating my mom's spinach penne?
One perk of the evening? I finally got to meet Kara Lawson, which was fantastic. She had come over for dinner a few months ago, but due to a date, I was absent. That fellow hasn't stuck around, but thankfully Kara has. We talked at such lengths, she missed her bus back to campus!
One person I didn't get a chance to introduce myself to was Jayne Appel. I've heard nothing but unadulterated praise about her from Dad for years, and it was my chance to just say hello and tell her I thought she was very brave for continuing to play in the amount of pain she was in. Unfortunately, that did not come to pass. Debbie Ryan and Sherri Coale came over as well, which made me very happy. Those two are fantastic. I've known Debbie since I was born, so it was really great to see her and catch up. She told me that she and her husband read my blog, which was a bit surreal to hear. So, hi Debbie!
Another thing that is surreal? The fact that a year ago, I moved to New York City on a wing and a prayer and a very big makeup case, only to move home less than six months later with my tail in between my twenty pounds slimmer legs after realizing my dream may not have been what God had planned for me. It was the most difficult decision I have ever made in my life. I sometimes wonder what could have been, and these last six months have been tremendously difficult both mentally and physically. I have been through career shifts, employment trouble, and an eating disorder I'm still trying to navigate. But you know what? Family is created for times like these. It's like what Dory says in that amazing Pixar film about a father trying to find his son.
When life gets you down, you know what you gotta do? Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...
ally
Thursday, April 8, 2010
it's a beautiful life
I'm going to try and make this entry as coherent as I can, but it's so hard not to just scream and type in caps for fifteen paragraphs. The last two days have been such unbelievable hours, filled with tears, laughter, and star-shaped confetti.
Monday morning I woke up, and ordered breakfast with my family at the hotel restaurant. I attempted to get some sun by the pool, but the weather wasn't exactly agreeing with me. After a couple of hours of being lazy, I went and got lunch at an adjacent hotel and ate it by the pool (I had been dying for fish tacos), then went on the bus to team practice. There was an hour of press in the locker room, during which Kaili was answering a reporter's question and choked on a hunk of banana and suddenly got helium-voiced. The reporter waited patiently while we howled at her.
After a whirlwind practice during which I made the buzzer beater shot again, we all got dinner at a rustic, elegant Italian place just outside the city. Dad and Mom had discovered it two nights previously and we ended up taking over the entire restaurant with our party. Over the course of two hours, many plates of bread, carpaccio, and pasta were consumed, and aside from nearly choking on cocoa powder when I tried my sister's tiramisu, I adored everything we ate. I sat with my sister, brother, brother in law Todd, and Todd's three friends who made the trip down with us. Our conversation ranged from top actors of all time to quotes from The Hangover. I kept checking up on the Butler/Duke score, and by the time halftime rolled around we were begging Dad to get the bus to come around and take us home. Thankfully, he listened, and we spent the ride back to the hotel watching someone's iPod app. I was brokenhearted for Gordon Hayward, particularly after watching a special report on ESPN about how close he really was, scientifically, to making that last shot. He was off by only about the width of a fingernail.
Tuesday morning, I woke up late and again had breakfast with my family. Shootaround was very straightforward. I was watching Kaili shoot after walkthrough when she turned to me and said "Should I shoot a three if I get into the game tomorrow?" I immediately responded "Um, yes!" To which she replied "Okay, I'll make one for you." And then she shot and hit a three from the corner. I loved that moment. Kaili's probably the senior I'm the closest to. We hang out a lot in the back of the bus during trips, and she's the one that convinced me to go on the Texas trip back in November, a trip that I still hold very close. At the end of shootaround, while loading the bus, I found out that Vice President Joe Biden would be attending the game that evening, and I freaked out a little bit. I mean, I've already met Obama. Now on to Biden!
After a nerve-wracked pregame and a quick run on the treadmill (which helped calm me down tremendously), I met up with my family and we all walked to the Alamodome on the pedestrian walkway. I could feel myself get more and more stressed about the game with every step. It wasn't until we got to the entrance line that I felt something off on my person, and realized my fly had been undone throughout the entire walk. It was clearly going to be that kind of night.
And the first half of the game did nothing to assuage my fears. I can't even explain what happened to us. We were either terrified, or the pressures had caught up to us, or something. But our faces weren't scared, just confused and annoyed. I was so stressed and horrified by our performance, I spent most of the first half in the bathroom, pacing frantically. When I did emerge, I was yelled at by my mother for wearing a 'doom and gloom' face. I didn't care. I wanted it so badly for our five seniors that the thought of this not happening was almost too much for me to bear.
At the beginning of the second half, I ran up to the bathroom to calm myself down. I repeated a mantra Mom had given me a few weeks ago, during a particularly stressful period. I kept saying "Have faith, and blessings will come" over and over again. I imagined Maya hitting threes. I practiced the art of visualization. And then, all I heard for the next five minutes were announcements that UCONN had scored. On my third visual of Maya hitting a three, I heard the announcement that Maya had done just that. Surely we were close! I ran out to the court and saw we were up by three! I ran down to my chair and watched the rest of the game, cheering and screaming and holding my mom's hand. It was a crazy atmosphere to say the very least. At one point, Jenna held onto her tummy and said, "Well, the baby's excited!"
One of my favorite moments of the entire game was when Caroline hit those back-to-back threes near the end to seal the deal for us. I felt awful for Caroline last year when everyone ran out to center court and she had to walk. This was her first full season in three years, and then on top of it she had a stomach virus throughout the tournament. So to see her make those big time shots was a thrill I will never forget, and it brought me back to the day I first met her after the North Carolina game in January 2008. Another moment I loved was when Kelly fell to the floor but kept her dribble alive enough to make it down the court. That girl is going to be a force to be reckoned with.
The game didn't truly end for me until the final buzzer sounded, which was very different from last year. In St. Louis, we had the game in the bag for the entire second half, so we were celebrating for a long time before the game actually ended. This time, we stood up holding hands and I counted down the clock, and it took that ringing sound of the buzzer for us all to realize that we had won. We did it. We were the National Champions for 2010, and we had accomplished something that most people dream about. And when that buzzer went off, the scream my family emitted was a combination of joy, euphoric, and dizzy relief. I looked up at the monitor and saw Meghan sobbing into Tina's arms, and that is the exact moment that I lost all control of my emotions.
From that moment on, the one thought in my mind was Dad. Get to Dad. Thankfully, our fantastic Big East liaisons got us sweet All-Access tags and we made our way onto the court, tripping over wires and confetti. I saw Dad getting interviewed by Rebecca (who apparently called his shoulder bag a 'manpurse'...good one, Becca!) and instantly teared up again. When it became clear that he was free from the post-game interview, I waited until Michael had his turn and then launched myself into Dad's arms, sobbing like a little kid. He whispered a few things in my ear to calm me down, and it was all gentle and very knowing. He rubbed my back to get me to calm down, because by then I was leaving eyeliner all over his shirt. I released him and wiped my face...and that's when I saw the camera, pointed straight at my nose. Then my purse, tucked under my arm, began to vibrate uncontrollably. My first thought? Aww, people are congratulating me on the win. My second thought? Oh crap. Everyone just saw me ugly cry on ESPN.
Sure enough, every single text message I received from then on in the night ran along the lines of "Saw your crying face on TV!" Hey, wouldn't you?
The next few hours are a big blur. From getting to hug Marisa (who screamed "I've got one now!" and subsequently realized she had carried Dad five feet in their postgame hug) and emotional speech by Dad in the locker room (where he mentioned that he was so grateful to have such an amazing group of women to coach, and how blessed he felt), to the mini-rally and trophy presentation at the Hyatt, to the amazing post-game meal and countless Sportscenter shoutouts, to Tina not taking off her net necklace, to closing down the hotel bar (at which my mother booed quite loudly) to giggling with Mel Thomas at 2 in the morning in the hotel lobby...everything is a joyous, wonderful mess. As it should be.
The next day was a chore, I won't lie to you. We were all running on about four hours of sleep, and the rainy weather we encountered on the flight didn't make us feel any better. Thankfully, the delicious chicken spinach wrap I ate on the plane home definitely helped. I skipped the Gampel rally in favor of coming home and crashing. After the last three weeks, I definitely needed it.
This year has been so crazy. There were a lot of supporters of our journey, but also a lot of downers and dissenters who said it couldn't be done twice. That we didn't have a true point guard. That our streak was bad for the women's game. Those people should stay away from women's basketball and go watch a sport more worthy of their time and energy. Like golf. I hear that Tiger Woods is one interesting individual.
This group of girls is my favorite out of all the teams I think I've ever witnessed under my father, and not just because of how close I am with them. They approach everything with such joy and zest, it's impossible to not get caught up with it. They are like my little sisters, all of them. And it's a blessing to be close enough to Tina to get to watch her take this next step in her career as a professional athlete, right here in the state that loves her the most (except for New York, and now they've got Kalana!)
Now, on to the post-season festivities, and my activities this summer will be surely documented on this blog. Stay tuned for the laughs, lunacy, humor and heartbreak that is Life Beyond The Postseason...
ally
PS. Just like last year, Dad watched the game again last night with me over dinner. And just like last year, he found plenty to bitch about. One good quote? "A lot of Tina's jumpers from the lane last night were the kind that you sit there and go 'That shot BETTER go in, or else you are in trouble.'"
Monday morning I woke up, and ordered breakfast with my family at the hotel restaurant. I attempted to get some sun by the pool, but the weather wasn't exactly agreeing with me. After a couple of hours of being lazy, I went and got lunch at an adjacent hotel and ate it by the pool (I had been dying for fish tacos), then went on the bus to team practice. There was an hour of press in the locker room, during which Kaili was answering a reporter's question and choked on a hunk of banana and suddenly got helium-voiced. The reporter waited patiently while we howled at her.
After a whirlwind practice during which I made the buzzer beater shot again, we all got dinner at a rustic, elegant Italian place just outside the city. Dad and Mom had discovered it two nights previously and we ended up taking over the entire restaurant with our party. Over the course of two hours, many plates of bread, carpaccio, and pasta were consumed, and aside from nearly choking on cocoa powder when I tried my sister's tiramisu, I adored everything we ate. I sat with my sister, brother, brother in law Todd, and Todd's three friends who made the trip down with us. Our conversation ranged from top actors of all time to quotes from The Hangover. I kept checking up on the Butler/Duke score, and by the time halftime rolled around we were begging Dad to get the bus to come around and take us home. Thankfully, he listened, and we spent the ride back to the hotel watching someone's iPod app. I was brokenhearted for Gordon Hayward, particularly after watching a special report on ESPN about how close he really was, scientifically, to making that last shot. He was off by only about the width of a fingernail.
Tuesday morning, I woke up late and again had breakfast with my family. Shootaround was very straightforward. I was watching Kaili shoot after walkthrough when she turned to me and said "Should I shoot a three if I get into the game tomorrow?" I immediately responded "Um, yes!" To which she replied "Okay, I'll make one for you." And then she shot and hit a three from the corner. I loved that moment. Kaili's probably the senior I'm the closest to. We hang out a lot in the back of the bus during trips, and she's the one that convinced me to go on the Texas trip back in November, a trip that I still hold very close. At the end of shootaround, while loading the bus, I found out that Vice President Joe Biden would be attending the game that evening, and I freaked out a little bit. I mean, I've already met Obama. Now on to Biden!
After a nerve-wracked pregame and a quick run on the treadmill (which helped calm me down tremendously), I met up with my family and we all walked to the Alamodome on the pedestrian walkway. I could feel myself get more and more stressed about the game with every step. It wasn't until we got to the entrance line that I felt something off on my person, and realized my fly had been undone throughout the entire walk. It was clearly going to be that kind of night.
And the first half of the game did nothing to assuage my fears. I can't even explain what happened to us. We were either terrified, or the pressures had caught up to us, or something. But our faces weren't scared, just confused and annoyed. I was so stressed and horrified by our performance, I spent most of the first half in the bathroom, pacing frantically. When I did emerge, I was yelled at by my mother for wearing a 'doom and gloom' face. I didn't care. I wanted it so badly for our five seniors that the thought of this not happening was almost too much for me to bear.
At the beginning of the second half, I ran up to the bathroom to calm myself down. I repeated a mantra Mom had given me a few weeks ago, during a particularly stressful period. I kept saying "Have faith, and blessings will come" over and over again. I imagined Maya hitting threes. I practiced the art of visualization. And then, all I heard for the next five minutes were announcements that UCONN had scored. On my third visual of Maya hitting a three, I heard the announcement that Maya had done just that. Surely we were close! I ran out to the court and saw we were up by three! I ran down to my chair and watched the rest of the game, cheering and screaming and holding my mom's hand. It was a crazy atmosphere to say the very least. At one point, Jenna held onto her tummy and said, "Well, the baby's excited!"
One of my favorite moments of the entire game was when Caroline hit those back-to-back threes near the end to seal the deal for us. I felt awful for Caroline last year when everyone ran out to center court and she had to walk. This was her first full season in three years, and then on top of it she had a stomach virus throughout the tournament. So to see her make those big time shots was a thrill I will never forget, and it brought me back to the day I first met her after the North Carolina game in January 2008. Another moment I loved was when Kelly fell to the floor but kept her dribble alive enough to make it down the court. That girl is going to be a force to be reckoned with.
The game didn't truly end for me until the final buzzer sounded, which was very different from last year. In St. Louis, we had the game in the bag for the entire second half, so we were celebrating for a long time before the game actually ended. This time, we stood up holding hands and I counted down the clock, and it took that ringing sound of the buzzer for us all to realize that we had won. We did it. We were the National Champions for 2010, and we had accomplished something that most people dream about. And when that buzzer went off, the scream my family emitted was a combination of joy, euphoric, and dizzy relief. I looked up at the monitor and saw Meghan sobbing into Tina's arms, and that is the exact moment that I lost all control of my emotions.
From that moment on, the one thought in my mind was Dad. Get to Dad. Thankfully, our fantastic Big East liaisons got us sweet All-Access tags and we made our way onto the court, tripping over wires and confetti. I saw Dad getting interviewed by Rebecca (who apparently called his shoulder bag a 'manpurse'...good one, Becca!) and instantly teared up again. When it became clear that he was free from the post-game interview, I waited until Michael had his turn and then launched myself into Dad's arms, sobbing like a little kid. He whispered a few things in my ear to calm me down, and it was all gentle and very knowing. He rubbed my back to get me to calm down, because by then I was leaving eyeliner all over his shirt. I released him and wiped my face...and that's when I saw the camera, pointed straight at my nose. Then my purse, tucked under my arm, began to vibrate uncontrollably. My first thought? Aww, people are congratulating me on the win. My second thought? Oh crap. Everyone just saw me ugly cry on ESPN.
Sure enough, every single text message I received from then on in the night ran along the lines of "Saw your crying face on TV!" Hey, wouldn't you?
The next few hours are a big blur. From getting to hug Marisa (who screamed "I've got one now!" and subsequently realized she had carried Dad five feet in their postgame hug) and emotional speech by Dad in the locker room (where he mentioned that he was so grateful to have such an amazing group of women to coach, and how blessed he felt), to the mini-rally and trophy presentation at the Hyatt, to the amazing post-game meal and countless Sportscenter shoutouts, to Tina not taking off her net necklace, to closing down the hotel bar (at which my mother booed quite loudly) to giggling with Mel Thomas at 2 in the morning in the hotel lobby...everything is a joyous, wonderful mess. As it should be.
The next day was a chore, I won't lie to you. We were all running on about four hours of sleep, and the rainy weather we encountered on the flight didn't make us feel any better. Thankfully, the delicious chicken spinach wrap I ate on the plane home definitely helped. I skipped the Gampel rally in favor of coming home and crashing. After the last three weeks, I definitely needed it.
This year has been so crazy. There were a lot of supporters of our journey, but also a lot of downers and dissenters who said it couldn't be done twice. That we didn't have a true point guard. That our streak was bad for the women's game. Those people should stay away from women's basketball and go watch a sport more worthy of their time and energy. Like golf. I hear that Tiger Woods is one interesting individual.
This group of girls is my favorite out of all the teams I think I've ever witnessed under my father, and not just because of how close I am with them. They approach everything with such joy and zest, it's impossible to not get caught up with it. They are like my little sisters, all of them. And it's a blessing to be close enough to Tina to get to watch her take this next step in her career as a professional athlete, right here in the state that loves her the most (except for New York, and now they've got Kalana!)
Now, on to the post-season festivities, and my activities this summer will be surely documented on this blog. Stay tuned for the laughs, lunacy, humor and heartbreak that is Life Beyond The Postseason...
ally
PS. Just like last year, Dad watched the game again last night with me over dinner. And just like last year, he found plenty to bitch about. One good quote? "A lot of Tina's jumpers from the lane last night were the kind that you sit there and go 'That shot BETTER go in, or else you are in trouble.'"
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
where them bloggers at?
There are so many emotions running through my body right now. Exhaustion is chief among them. I'm running on four hours of sleep, hotel coffee, and half a cinnamon bagel with yogurt and an apple. But also mixed in there is elation. And relief. And pure joy.
And I didn't even get a chance to blog about the Baylor game yet. So this entry will focus on that day and that game.
After meeting my family in the hotel bar, the great walk to the Alamodome began. We had asked the bartenders about the directions to the arena, so we figured it would take less than fifteen minutes. I think that it's safe to say our bartenders were trying to mess with us, because it took about twenty, stumbling around on the side of a Texas highway. It didn't hit us until later in the game that the area above where we were walking was actually a pedestrian walkway, and that thousands of fans were making their way along with us, but at a totally different time and probably in a much easier fashion. I don't mind saying it: I nearly died about fourteen separate times. Nobody knows how to jaywalk like my mom.
We arrived at the game in one piece, and I was pretty shocked at how many people from CT had made the trip. But then again, why should I be? I'm not exaggerating when I say that our fans are the most dedicated and devoted in the country, almost to the point of fanatical. It's a great thing to see when the UCONN fans outnumber the Baylor contingent, and it's a four hour plane ride from Connecticut and a three hour car trip from Waco. What a sight.
Once we got to the Alamodome, I stayed with Nonna while Mom got waters for the group. We had to wait at the top of the stairs while swarms of people made their way up to the bathrooms and concessions. Nonna curled close to me as numerous people stared, pointed, and even exclaimed "ARE YOU GENO'S MOTHER?!" It was pretty classic, although Nonna kind of doesn't like all the attention. At one point, after smiling and nodding at the thirteenth gawker, she turned to me and whispered "What the hell are these people doing, staring at me? I don't like this, Lysa." I whispered back, "that's the price you pay for being such a celeb, Non."
As we were waiting, the Stanford/OK game was winding down. We had been on our little pilgrimage to the dome when i got a text message from my sister, exclaiming Oklahoma had cut the lead to four with 2 minutes remaining. I wanted to run to the arena and see the ending, but we got there with about twenty seconds left. I felt so bad for Oklahoma. I would've really liked to play Stacey's team in the championship, as a sort of companion piece to our 2002 run. That would've made for great theatre. Of course, the end result was still pretty interesting. But that's, like I said, for another blog.
We reached our seats in one piece, and that's when the nerves kicked in. I always get a bit nervous for the semifinals, especially since the 2001 game when it all just slipped away in the second half. I'm constantly on edge because of that heartbreak, and I just wanted it so badly for our five seniors, it was driving me insane. Plus, I think Brittney Griner could literally murder me with one hand.
Thankfully, we came out in that first half and played lights out. I was jumping up and down, screaming, clapping, and watching Maya just blow the competition away. But as happy as I was for Maya, I was even happier for Tina. She completely disrupted Brittney Griner's game to the point where, as I later found out, Griner begged Kim Mulkey to get her out of the game. Tina had quite simply worn her out. Another highlight of the first half for me was walking into the bathroom at one point and seeing Jamelle, Tamika, and Swin all at the same time. I didn't get a chance to say hi to Swin but I shared a screaming hug with Tamika that I'm sure caused a lot of stares our way. And of course, every five people who came up to us to say hello simply had to touch Jenna's baby bump. But thankfully, every single person who did it prefaced their action with "Is it okay if I...?"
I loved seeing the individual team stuff on the Jumbotron, particularly one in which Dad implored the entire Alamodome with shouts of "Husky fans! Come on! Get on your feet! Don't leave me alone here!"
The second half was a bit dicey for all of us, especially that first five minutes. We kind of lost our composure and didn't put the game away, and Baylor came out and just tore up our defense. Brittney's move, a drop step layup, is effective, and around the third time she did it I got a bit worried. Then we found our footing thanks to Maya and Tina, and we turned it all around. When we go on runs, it is pretty impossible to stop us. That's our trademark, and I think it will never be equaled by any other team.
One of the extreme highlights of the game wasn't actually on the court, but came courtesy of the 'fan cam' used by ESPN. At one point during a TV timeout, the cameraman came over to our section and pointed the camera directly at Jenna. Had he been any closer, I think he would've seen her brain through her nose. Now, a normal person would have grinned and bore it, and just waved hi or done something. My sister's reaction was to put her hands in front of her face, wave them like she was at a rave, and say over and over again, "NO! NO NO NO NO NO GET IT AWAY." The camera man didn't listen, and kept his lens square in her face. Finally, after about five minutes of Jenna's flailing and shouting, he moved to another section. Thankfully they didn't use the footage, or they would've thought Geno's eldest is prone to rage blackouts.
I wish I could remember some of the things that my brother in law, Todd, was saying during the game. They were all absolutely hysterical. But my two favorites occurred in the second half. When Tina was called for a shooting foul far, far away from the basket, Todd stood up and yelled "Horrible call! She was running for the doors!" Then, as Maya releasing a a high-arcing floater, he threw his hands into the air and screamed "JORDAN!!!"
After the game (and waving to Dad as he walked off the court), I walked with my Mom back to the hotel on the actual pedestrian walkway instead of on the side of the road. It seemed to us like a mass exodus out of the Old Testament. I kept wondering aloud "Where's Moses?!" After a short walk up the Riverwalk we happened upon the Hard Rock Cafe, where I managed to satiate my Lent sacrifice with a peanut butter and chocolate dessert shooter. If you haven't had this thing, I urge you to seek out your nearest Hard Rock Cafe and eat it, pronto. Go right now, in fact. I also managed to finish off my sister's ice cream as a sort of digestive.
I will write the National Championship game edition of my blog tomorrow. Too much detail and too much emotion to pack into one edition.
Except I will say this: Rebecca calling Dad's satchel a 'manpurse' was the funniest thing ever...
ally
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome...
Or should I say...Bienvenudos a San Antonio, mi amigas!
That was probably heinous Spanish, but it's the thought and enthusiasm that counts, am I right? Right?!
Out of all of the cities I've been to for a Final Four, I must say that San Antonio is my ultimate favorite (with Phildelphia being an extremely close second. I can only wish that all of you can someday experience the beauty of this city. Except for the heat. The heat/humidity is so bad, I swear I've inflated like a Nerf football.
The flight down was fairly peaceful, save for a few bumps every now and then. Our flight crew had decked out the side of the plane with signs and banners screaming out that yes, this was the UCONN plane. The flight attendant was a bit of a flake (i haven't had the best luck with flight attendants lately, have I?). We flew out of a bright, sunny, warm Connecticut, so I was hoping San Antonio would be the exact same, only multiplied by 1000. We landed...and it was cloudy and slightly rainy. I sucked down all of my complaints and boarded the bus. We took a short detour to the Alamo for a team picture, which, of course, was just as great as I had remembered. It was a bit different being there in the height of spring, rather than the middle of winter.
The best surprise of the day came when we got to our hotel-a mariachi band and huge crowd, celebrating our arrival! We each got an Easter basket with chocolate Reese's eggs and cascarones (confetti filled eggs), as well as offers of melon juice. We received a very warm welcome from the head of our travel party, and made our way upstairs for dinner (fajitas!).
I wish I could tell you that I spent the rest of the next day with the team, at practice. I wish I could talk about the ins and outs of everything that went down at closed practice, open practice, and beyond. But...I went shopping with my mom and sister, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch with plenty of guacamole, then hung out in my room and read magazines. It's the simple things, really, that give me pleasure.
Friday night was the big welcome banquet, or 'Premiere'. After the players got their rings sized and had some dinner shoved into them (literally...they kept ordering us to eat faster), we walked over to another ballroom for the main event. The NCAA treated the entire thing like the opening-night party of a huge movie, including the addition of a red carpet, which I thought was hysterical. I went with my sister, who kind of balked at the idea of walking a red carpet. As did I! I wasn't playing in any of the games, why did I need to make a spectacle of myself? But it was all in good fun. I especially enjoyed the sight of my sister walking the red carpet looking straight ahead, holding a glass of water. She can do whatever she wants now, right? She's carrying Geno's grandchild.
Speaking of that blessed event, I'm so excited. I'm going to be an aunt! I've had to keep a lid on that news for about four months, so now that it's out in the open I can just say we are pleased as punch and it's going to be one loved, worshipped, spoiled baby. Moving on!
The inside of the arena was a cross between a movie theatre and a rave, complete with glow-in-the-dark rings and noisemakers shaped like stars, which my sister and I thoroughly abused. After an introduction by 'party starters' dressed like referees (I wish I were making that up), the teams were made to walk a kind of runway, with one spokeswoman from each team announcing them with a little tidbit about each team. Kaili was picked as our announcer, and personally I thought she was the best. The girls were escorted down the runway by a little blonde boy, who didn't escort them so much as run behind them. When Dad was announced, he walked out, saw the little boy, and motioned to him like "What the hell are you doing?" It was classic.
After the intros came a question and answer session with the coaches, led by Hannah Storm. No revelations to report, although Dad got a huge kick out of Kim Mulkey's leather jacket. "When do we get our official Members Only jackets?" he asked loudly. Kim's reply? "I'll trade you. You get the jacket, we get your timeouts and no shot clock!"
The night closed with a replaying of 'The Power of the Dream', the unofficial anthem of the women's tournament. It's supposed to be our 'One Shining Moment' of sorts...but honestly, both songs are awful. They just are. Not as bad as 'Sneakernight' by any means. But still. The night closed with me, my sister, and my mom in my mom and dad's hotel room, eating Edible Arrangements and watching the replay of the 1995 national championship game on ESPNClassic.
Yesterday I was too exhausted and dehydrated from all the sun and fun to even do anything remotely related to the team, so once again I rainchecked. I spent the day out by the pool with my family, ordering lunch and watching my brother drink Dos Equis. It was a much nicer day than the day before, which had been unbearably sticky. That night came the arrival of my Nonna, aunt Anna, and my weekend roommate, my cousin Stephanie. I love Stephanie because we're incredibly alike in a lot of ways: We both love makeup, clothes, shoes, and we have a tendency to be messy. We ordered room service and watched the men's semifinals. I thought the moment shared by Bob Huggins and Desean Butler was one of the most moving and memorable of any tournament I've seen. You could tell that they really both just respect and love each other, and Butler's agony on the floor gripped me in a way no fictional drama ever could.
Today is Easter, so once again, I spent the majority of the day with my family. Apparently CD had the team go on an Easter Egg hunt! After breakfast (where we heard a few people at the tables whisper loudly "It's the whole family!" like we were God's relatives), we went to church at the local parish which was very nice but it was led by a pastor who was the reincarnation of Harry Kalas. i thought he was going to start talking about Jesus' RBIs.
I write this poolside, as the sun struggles to part from the clouds. It's been off and on sunny today. And I'm not going to lie, so has my mood. On one hand, I'm extremely excited to watch tonight's game. The other hand is terrified. I always get nervous, but this is different. I don't want this trip to end like the last time my whole family came down to a Final Four-Tampa, 2008. I spent the night crying in my hotel room that night as I carefully repacked my things, waiting for the news about our flight home the next morning.
I hate that feeling. Let's hope tonight isn't a repeat of the worst kind...
ally
That was probably heinous Spanish, but it's the thought and enthusiasm that counts, am I right? Right?!
Out of all of the cities I've been to for a Final Four, I must say that San Antonio is my ultimate favorite (with Phildelphia being an extremely close second. I can only wish that all of you can someday experience the beauty of this city. Except for the heat. The heat/humidity is so bad, I swear I've inflated like a Nerf football.
The flight down was fairly peaceful, save for a few bumps every now and then. Our flight crew had decked out the side of the plane with signs and banners screaming out that yes, this was the UCONN plane. The flight attendant was a bit of a flake (i haven't had the best luck with flight attendants lately, have I?). We flew out of a bright, sunny, warm Connecticut, so I was hoping San Antonio would be the exact same, only multiplied by 1000. We landed...and it was cloudy and slightly rainy. I sucked down all of my complaints and boarded the bus. We took a short detour to the Alamo for a team picture, which, of course, was just as great as I had remembered. It was a bit different being there in the height of spring, rather than the middle of winter.
The best surprise of the day came when we got to our hotel-a mariachi band and huge crowd, celebrating our arrival! We each got an Easter basket with chocolate Reese's eggs and cascarones (confetti filled eggs), as well as offers of melon juice. We received a very warm welcome from the head of our travel party, and made our way upstairs for dinner (fajitas!).
I wish I could tell you that I spent the rest of the next day with the team, at practice. I wish I could talk about the ins and outs of everything that went down at closed practice, open practice, and beyond. But...I went shopping with my mom and sister, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch with plenty of guacamole, then hung out in my room and read magazines. It's the simple things, really, that give me pleasure.
Friday night was the big welcome banquet, or 'Premiere'. After the players got their rings sized and had some dinner shoved into them (literally...they kept ordering us to eat faster), we walked over to another ballroom for the main event. The NCAA treated the entire thing like the opening-night party of a huge movie, including the addition of a red carpet, which I thought was hysterical. I went with my sister, who kind of balked at the idea of walking a red carpet. As did I! I wasn't playing in any of the games, why did I need to make a spectacle of myself? But it was all in good fun. I especially enjoyed the sight of my sister walking the red carpet looking straight ahead, holding a glass of water. She can do whatever she wants now, right? She's carrying Geno's grandchild.
Speaking of that blessed event, I'm so excited. I'm going to be an aunt! I've had to keep a lid on that news for about four months, so now that it's out in the open I can just say we are pleased as punch and it's going to be one loved, worshipped, spoiled baby. Moving on!
The inside of the arena was a cross between a movie theatre and a rave, complete with glow-in-the-dark rings and noisemakers shaped like stars, which my sister and I thoroughly abused. After an introduction by 'party starters' dressed like referees (I wish I were making that up), the teams were made to walk a kind of runway, with one spokeswoman from each team announcing them with a little tidbit about each team. Kaili was picked as our announcer, and personally I thought she was the best. The girls were escorted down the runway by a little blonde boy, who didn't escort them so much as run behind them. When Dad was announced, he walked out, saw the little boy, and motioned to him like "What the hell are you doing?" It was classic.
After the intros came a question and answer session with the coaches, led by Hannah Storm. No revelations to report, although Dad got a huge kick out of Kim Mulkey's leather jacket. "When do we get our official Members Only jackets?" he asked loudly. Kim's reply? "I'll trade you. You get the jacket, we get your timeouts and no shot clock!"
The night closed with a replaying of 'The Power of the Dream', the unofficial anthem of the women's tournament. It's supposed to be our 'One Shining Moment' of sorts...but honestly, both songs are awful. They just are. Not as bad as 'Sneakernight' by any means. But still. The night closed with me, my sister, and my mom in my mom and dad's hotel room, eating Edible Arrangements and watching the replay of the 1995 national championship game on ESPNClassic.
Yesterday I was too exhausted and dehydrated from all the sun and fun to even do anything remotely related to the team, so once again I rainchecked. I spent the day out by the pool with my family, ordering lunch and watching my brother drink Dos Equis. It was a much nicer day than the day before, which had been unbearably sticky. That night came the arrival of my Nonna, aunt Anna, and my weekend roommate, my cousin Stephanie. I love Stephanie because we're incredibly alike in a lot of ways: We both love makeup, clothes, shoes, and we have a tendency to be messy. We ordered room service and watched the men's semifinals. I thought the moment shared by Bob Huggins and Desean Butler was one of the most moving and memorable of any tournament I've seen. You could tell that they really both just respect and love each other, and Butler's agony on the floor gripped me in a way no fictional drama ever could.
Today is Easter, so once again, I spent the majority of the day with my family. Apparently CD had the team go on an Easter Egg hunt! After breakfast (where we heard a few people at the tables whisper loudly "It's the whole family!" like we were God's relatives), we went to church at the local parish which was very nice but it was led by a pastor who was the reincarnation of Harry Kalas. i thought he was going to start talking about Jesus' RBIs.
I write this poolside, as the sun struggles to part from the clouds. It's been off and on sunny today. And I'm not going to lie, so has my mood. On one hand, I'm extremely excited to watch tonight's game. The other hand is terrified. I always get nervous, but this is different. I don't want this trip to end like the last time my whole family came down to a Final Four-Tampa, 2008. I spent the night crying in my hotel room that night as I carefully repacked my things, waiting for the news about our flight home the next morning.
I hate that feeling. Let's hope tonight isn't a repeat of the worst kind...
ally
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