The Observer, March 25, 2005
Volume XXXVII, Issue 22
Milwaukee underdogs join in on the Madness in Cleveland
In accordance with my efforts to have a state college experience, I partook in the NCAA tournament games downtown last weekend. In accordance with my occasional efforts to be a good human being, I cheered for the underdogs, which, in this case, turned out to be the legendary (slight hyperbole) University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee who battled the favored and therefore evil Crimson Tide of Alabama.
As these contests sold out the day tickets went on sale (sometime in April 2004, I think), I reverted to a totally overhanded and fully legal method of obtaining ducats: the ubiquitous men with "I need tickets" signs who hang around sporting events.
It may seem baffling that people advertising a "need" for tickets inevitably have them in large supply, but such is always the case, and thereby I gained arena access.
Continuing to disregard rules and regulations, I ignored my seat assignment and sneaked into the nearly full UWM student section. "You guys mind if I cheer for Milwaukee?" They overwhelmingly welcomed my blatant bandwagoning.
I later learned that UWM is a largely commuter-based school on the east side of Milwaukee, known mostly for its communications and journalism departments. Hence I didn't tell them about my intentions to write an article about the affair, lest they want to evaluate my efforts. (Or lack thereof.)
Anyway, the game started pretty poorly (hasty three-point brick by Panthers star Ed McCants, quick dunk by the wicked Tide), and the mercurial students began to lose their pep. Fortunately, the Panthers on the court quickly discovered that, having gotten that hideous initial miss out of the way, they could do no wrong from behind the arc.
The students were euphoric, even in spite of the menace of network-mandated breaks. "These TV timeouts are killing us," bewailed a student, anguished and prone to slight hyperbole; I saw no murders.
On a side note, I, too, began to refer to UWM in the first person plural by the end of the first half. The royal we, man. I even learned their cheers (You-Dubya-Em-CLAP!)
From the home seats, or even from the nonpartisan seats, the game probably didn't look too interesting. Alabama never got closer than five in the second half. Anytime they made anything resembling a run, UWM responded.
But amid the cheering throngs of Milwaukee's best (somewhat under the influence, I might add), the game was a stomach-wringing roller coaster. Anxiety spread when Alabama scored but once. Three in a row? Imagine sneezing at a hypochondriac conference. It was chaos. "I don't like these single-digit leads," commented one of my new compatriots, liberally gifted with understatement as opposed to my slight hyperbole.
Fortunately, he can now enjoy the 10-point cushion that our team (see?) enjoyed at the final buzzer, meaning he and his team could return on Saturday to repeat their upsetting ways against Boston College in an even more intense game, which I did not see on account of the aforementioned ticket-needing men charging appallingly inflated prices, surpassing the contents of my wallet, credit limit, total net worth, and monetary value of my eternal soul. Combined. Exponentially.
(Slight hyperbole.)
Also returning were the UWM cheerleaders (all female, I might add), whom I invited to a celebratory party in their honor on Saturday. I guess they already had sufficiently jubilation with the scoreboard display – UWM 83, BC 75 – for they eschewed my soirée.
So while I, much like the vanquished foes of UWM, did not score, can still say, "There's always next year," and, much like the elated students of UWM, be entirely certain that the improbable will happen. (Slight hyperbole.)
