(R)uffda!'s Journal -- a brush with fame
Once upon a time (this is long) ...
12/7/1996 330pm
Not LBSU at all.
I dillied. I dallied. I'm still four hours early. But I'm confident this is the place.
I sit on top of the trunk of my Susuki Esteem, the sun at my back, the Albert Reingardt Gymnasium looming in front of me. They appear to call it The Pyramid. I can't imagine why, unless it has something to do with the fact it's shaped like a pyramid. The outer shell appears to be aluminum or some such material. The surface is grooved. It must be quite a sight in a rainstorm. It is also just a little darker than sky blue, but still blends in nicely with the heavens above.
It is also sealed up so tight you'd think there were mummified pharoahs inside. I could see inside, and, yes, they appear to be ready for a volleyball match. But, as of this point, there are no tickets to be had, nor any being sold.
[a bad sketch of The Pyramid]
I have just purchased my third local newspaper. I have low expectations for extensive game reportage/features. The first two did not even list the event.
This state charges you to park everywhere you go.
Hold everything! First the Press Telegram actually has an article, including a note about "former St. Anthony standout" Tera Fiamengo. And maybe it is just "The Pyramid." It says "The Albert Reingardt Entrance" over the door here on the west (?) side. Maybe it's just the entrance that bears Al's name. If not, we'll have to research into Al's fascination with or connection to blue pyramids.
No sign of the vaunted Misty May or her 49er cronies. At the beach, no doubt.
I see movement inside. Perhaps the 4 hour pre-game extravaganza is about to begin. Perhaps not. I'm moving to the steps.
There. Sitting on The Pyramid steps, the sun sliding down behind the parking ramp to my left. "Hey, I've been here since Thursday" will be my response to any potentially embarrassing encounters with people who know me, who might be, and probably will be thinking "that doofus's camped out on the stairs 4 hours before game time." I'm thinking maybe I can tell Misty the game's been moved to San Clemente. The Nixon Compound.
The lot is filling up, but not with VB fans methinks. There does seem to be traffic to and from the ticket office, but I don't believe tickets are being sold. I suppose they could be 49ers, but they're pretty damned short.
Who knows where the pasty-faced legion is. [There is a charter group of Minnesota fans on their way.] Probably Disneyland or some such thing. Not everyone sees the thrill in travelling half-way across the country to sit on these steps.
Let's go check out the plaques by Al's entrance, shall we? Ah, just the wall of "Pyramid Capital Campaign" fame. Nothing on Al. There are people inside, however. Preparations are being made.
Dang! It's getting pretty darned cool with the sun down and all. I'm switching from sandals to shoes.
Back at the Esteem, the vigil continues. (Is it just me or has no one else ever heard of a Suzuki "Esteem" either? And isn't that a lousy name for a subcompact?) The parking ramp casts its shadow high against The Pyramid. A single gull flies over the point. No one appears to be bothering with the self-service parking permit dispenser.
We seem to be directly below the approach path for the Long Beach Municipal Airport. No doubt The Pyramid provides a handy point-of-reference.
5:45pm
The team arrives. I am either invisible or just inconsequential. No one even notices me. I am not surprised. I will not need any of my "ad libs."
Long Beach has been straggling in, including a hobbling player who I think was Ms. May. Drives up in a convertible and parks next to the Esteem. Another player thinks she has "left her kneepads." She has not.
Darkness has swallowed The Pyramid. Late arrivals will miss its full effect.
I have now stepped up the 6 flights to the top of the ramp three times. I think that's enough.
[That's it for the pre-match comments. Almost 15 years ago. The Gophs lose 10-15, 13-15, 6-15. Katrien DeDecker's last match (among others).]
12/8/1996 10am (near Orange County Airport)
I've pulled into a deserted parking lot near the airport. There's a lot of vegetation, birds are chirping, squawking, trilling. The sun is shining (it's warmer today). All in all, it's swell.
I feel like I'm dealing with a break-up.
It dawned on me late last night or maybe this AM that I'm probably depressed because the season is over. That usually happens. I, in my one-sided sports fan way, have grown incredibly close to them over the last 4 months, not to mention, for many of them, the last 4 years. And now they will not be a part of my life. It's sad.
But here in my parking lot, sitting on top of my Esteem, things seem a little better. God, I love the sun. And warmth. I'm living in the wrong state. Like I said, one of Life's unattainable desires. Not that it has to be. But for me ...
Somebody else is now in my parking lot. Time to move on.
[For Gorf and Vagabond -- and Mike. And my oldest daughter, born January 15, 1997.]
12/7/1996 330pm
Not LBSU at all.
I dillied. I dallied. I'm still four hours early. But I'm confident this is the place.
I sit on top of the trunk of my Susuki Esteem, the sun at my back, the Albert Reingardt Gymnasium looming in front of me. They appear to call it The Pyramid. I can't imagine why, unless it has something to do with the fact it's shaped like a pyramid. The outer shell appears to be aluminum or some such material. The surface is grooved. It must be quite a sight in a rainstorm. It is also just a little darker than sky blue, but still blends in nicely with the heavens above.
It is also sealed up so tight you'd think there were mummified pharoahs inside. I could see inside, and, yes, they appear to be ready for a volleyball match. But, as of this point, there are no tickets to be had, nor any being sold.
[a bad sketch of The Pyramid]
I have just purchased my third local newspaper. I have low expectations for extensive game reportage/features. The first two did not even list the event.
This state charges you to park everywhere you go.
Hold everything! First the Press Telegram actually has an article, including a note about "former St. Anthony standout" Tera Fiamengo. And maybe it is just "The Pyramid." It says "The Albert Reingardt Entrance" over the door here on the west (?) side. Maybe it's just the entrance that bears Al's name. If not, we'll have to research into Al's fascination with or connection to blue pyramids.
No sign of the vaunted Misty May or her 49er cronies. At the beach, no doubt.
I see movement inside. Perhaps the 4 hour pre-game extravaganza is about to begin. Perhaps not. I'm moving to the steps.
There. Sitting on The Pyramid steps, the sun sliding down behind the parking ramp to my left. "Hey, I've been here since Thursday" will be my response to any potentially embarrassing encounters with people who know me, who might be, and probably will be thinking "that doofus's camped out on the stairs 4 hours before game time." I'm thinking maybe I can tell Misty the game's been moved to San Clemente. The Nixon Compound.
The lot is filling up, but not with VB fans methinks. There does seem to be traffic to and from the ticket office, but I don't believe tickets are being sold. I suppose they could be 49ers, but they're pretty damned short.
Who knows where the pasty-faced legion is. [There is a charter group of Minnesota fans on their way.] Probably Disneyland or some such thing. Not everyone sees the thrill in travelling half-way across the country to sit on these steps.
Let's go check out the plaques by Al's entrance, shall we? Ah, just the wall of "Pyramid Capital Campaign" fame. Nothing on Al. There are people inside, however. Preparations are being made.
Dang! It's getting pretty darned cool with the sun down and all. I'm switching from sandals to shoes.
Back at the Esteem, the vigil continues. (Is it just me or has no one else ever heard of a Suzuki "Esteem" either? And isn't that a lousy name for a subcompact?) The parking ramp casts its shadow high against The Pyramid. A single gull flies over the point. No one appears to be bothering with the self-service parking permit dispenser.
We seem to be directly below the approach path for the Long Beach Municipal Airport. No doubt The Pyramid provides a handy point-of-reference.
5:45pm
The team arrives. I am either invisible or just inconsequential. No one even notices me. I am not surprised. I will not need any of my "ad libs."
Long Beach has been straggling in, including a hobbling player who I think was Ms. May. Drives up in a convertible and parks next to the Esteem. Another player thinks she has "left her kneepads." She has not.
Darkness has swallowed The Pyramid. Late arrivals will miss its full effect.
I have now stepped up the 6 flights to the top of the ramp three times. I think that's enough.
[That's it for the pre-match comments. Almost 15 years ago. The Gophs lose 10-15, 13-15, 6-15. Katrien DeDecker's last match (among others).]
12/8/1996 10am (near Orange County Airport)
I've pulled into a deserted parking lot near the airport. There's a lot of vegetation, birds are chirping, squawking, trilling. The sun is shining (it's warmer today). All in all, it's swell.
I feel like I'm dealing with a break-up.
It dawned on me late last night or maybe this AM that I'm probably depressed because the season is over. That usually happens. I, in my one-sided sports fan way, have grown incredibly close to them over the last 4 months, not to mention, for many of them, the last 4 years. And now they will not be a part of my life. It's sad.
But here in my parking lot, sitting on top of my Esteem, things seem a little better. God, I love the sun. And warmth. I'm living in the wrong state. Like I said, one of Life's unattainable desires. Not that it has to be. But for me ...
Somebody else is now in my parking lot. Time to move on.
[For Gorf and Vagabond -- and Mike. And my oldest daughter, born January 15, 1997.]
posted by (R)uffda! at
6:15 PM
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