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Bill got in a cab and came by my place around 3:45 am on Friday morning the 19th, and we were both still struggling from a long night of unforeseen cocktailing the night before. Well, I was the one that was struggling; Bill was still lit up like a Christmas tree.
The funny part about this is that when still drunk, Bill has a tendency to walk like...well, walk like he is still drunk. The wayward path he was weaving through the airport terminal had me absolutely cracking up.
Infants, old women, handicapped people, nothing made a difference—if they were in his path—he was ready to plow them over like a diesel-powered John Deere. Luckily, there were no injuries and we made it onto the plane without incident.
After touching down in Omaha, and me almost throwing up on a stewardess during the flight, we picked up our luggage, hopped in a Cab, and headed down Dodge Street over to the Marriot on the west side of town.
Coincidentally, this was the same hotel that the Arizona State Sun Devils were staying at. Unfortunately, I don't think any of the players girlfriends were allowed to stay there; because I didn't see one woman there all weekend that even compared to the gaggle of ASU co-eds I saw at Rosenblatt on Friday night.
After settling into the room, we made the obvious decision to head on down to the hotel bar to start our CWS experience off right with a beer and a burger.
There had definitely been some rain in Omaha that day, and throughout the morning and early afternoon hours that followed, moisture was still in the air; thus pushing the afternoon game (LSU-Arkansas) back a couple of hours, and further extending our drinking time at the bar before the game.
But, before we knew it (and after mass quantities of Miller Lite and Omaha cheeseburgers were consumed), we were in a cab on our way to the stadium. We had a homegrown Omaha guy as our cab driver, and after slithering his way through a couple of back roads between I-80 and I-480, he dropped us off at the bottom of the hill on Bert Murphy Avenue, and we began our walk up to the Stadium.
Walking up the street and through the crowds, and seeing the mass of people all dressed in their school colors was like nothing I have ever witnessed before. I have been to a number of major college stadiums throughout the country for football games and seen this, but college baseball?
I don't think the term "You've got to see it to believe it" has ever rung so true. This was college baseball!! There aren't supposed to be tens of thousands of people who care so much about college baseball!!
It seemed that each time I turned my head there were either a couple of drunk Texans throwing their Hook 'Em Horns up in the air, or a couple of incredibly delectable Arizona State females wearing maroon and gold belly shirts that would make even a Eunich blush.
Continuing my ramble through the throngs of fans, past the speed pitch booths of the fan fest, and around the "Road to Omaha" sculpture, it really started to hit me. This was it. I was finally here.
There was no time for me to imagine what Rosenblatt looked like in person, because my eyes were staring at the entrance to the stadium. Every year, 288 baseball teams around the country begin their season with dreams and aspirations of getting to the 'Blatt.
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