Baseball Heaven: Why Every Sports Fan Should Experience Omaha

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Ever since the ripe young age of 10, I have wanted to go to the College World Series. At a time in my life when a typical day centered on snap bracelets, jolt cola, and zubaz pants; college baseball took over.

I remember seeing Rosenblatt Stadium for the first time on my television. It was around the first of June, in 1992. I was just about to finish the fifth grade, the unkempt look of grunge fashion was starting to grow, and Vanessa Williams was saving the best for last.

Many things in life are too old, too insignificant, or just too damn pointless to recall; but for some reason I remember the '92 CWS like it was yesterday.

My first glimpse of the collegiate baseball Mecca that is Omaha was one that I will never forget. I guess peering through my parent's 27-inch Zenith at that majestic stadium on the top of a hill in the fading Nebraska sun, with eye-black clad ballplayers on the field and face-painted co-eds in the stands spoke to me.

I sure as hell don't recall what exactly it was saying, but it spoke to me.

I remember Pepperdine winning the title that year over Cal-State Fullerton; and for some odd reason I also recall that Phil Nevin (who played on the CSF team) won the Most Outstanding Player award in the tournament. Ever since then, I have told myself that I would make it out to Omaha; but year after year, June after June, an excuse not to go always came up.

Naturally, regret and jealousy would rear it's ugly head when I would see the games on television, hear the "ting" of the metal bat, and listen to Greg Gumbel or Mike Patrick tell the tale of Johhny Rosenblatt, the ex-pro ballplayer and mayor of Omaha from 1954-1961 for whom the stadium is named after.

Finally, after 16 years of ill-fated plans and unfulfilled promises, I decided that it was time for my first trip to the College World Series. This is my story.

In the late fall of 2008, I was at a wedding reception for my friends, Mike and Sara (It was at a Maggiano's here in Chicago…and it was absolutely fantastic). As the evening progressed, the normal wedding reception glide path of activity began to take shape.

Bottles of Miller Lite turned into Ketel & Soda's, which in-turn morphed into Crown Royal on the rocks. The "How We Met" slide show generated an overabundance of "Ooohs" and "Awwwws" from the crowd, twenty dollar bills came flying out from people's wallets in an effort to cajole the bartender into pouring shots, and I'm pretty sure I tried to bribe one of the waiters into letting me smoke cigarettes in the coat room.

It was while all of this ballyhoo was occurring that I got to meet a gentleman I had never met before; a relative of the bride by the name of Patrick. We galloped our way through the normal "how do you know the bride/groom" and "what do you do for work" small talk, and then we began discussing our respective hometowns.

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