COLUMN: From The Line, the diary of a desperate fan

From Todd Wise's, "Where Lovely Mermaids Flow," Fall '99 From Todd Wise's, "Where Lovely Mermaids Flow," Fall '99Thursday, 11:02 p.m. My quest for men's basketball season tickets begins with a jolt. But all of a sudden, I see some girl jumping around in front of the Palladium, all excited because she had just gotten her line number at the Button. I was stunned. The line had been in progress for an hour and it was already too late. All of the high numbers were gone. Teams have to be at the Palestra at 9 a.m. on Saturday. I have 33 hours to find a friend who will let me join his group. Friday, 10:00 p.m. Split negotiated. I meet a friend with tickets at a Halloween party. I assure him being one of the 500 Penn students dressed as doctors for Halloween this year is no big deal. I have my split. He is supposed to be there when the line starts at 9 a.m. I am scheduled to take over at 1 p.m. 2:00 a.m. I go to sleep with dreams of front-row seats on my mind. Saturday, 11:33 a.m. My second annual pre-line Eat at Joe's meal. I figure that if I can deal with Joe's slow service, spending my weekend on the line will be a piece of cake. 12:49 p.m. My tuna melt has finally arrived. I've got 11 minutes to get to the line. 1:13 p.m. I arrive at the Palestra. My group is nowhere in sight. 1:22 p.m. Still haven't found my group. I'm beginning to wonder if they've stood me up. 1:25 p.m. I call the doctor. It turns out my seats were sacrificed to his Halloween hangover. Back to the drawing board. 1:39 p.m. I sit down to read some Chemistry, feeling thoroughly discouraged. 2:00 p.m. Study break. I strike up a conversation with the group sitting next to me. They agree to give me tickets to three games if I wait with them. They're just doing it because they feel sorry for me. I have no idea what their names are, but I'll take their charity. 2:08 p.m. An hour in and my ass is already numb. 3:11 p.m. The leaders of the line do a line check. This is to make sure you're still there. I couldn't move if I wanted to. 5:23 p.m. Penn senior Matt Langel shoots lights out during warm-ups. My ass doesn't hurt quite as much. 6:00 p.m. My shift ends. I'm due back at 10 p.m. 9:47 p.m. My cell phone rings as I get into a cab outside of the Ritz Five movie theater. It's my group. They don't need me there until 8 a.m. on Sunday. Sunday, 8:00 a.m. I arrive at the Palestra. People are not looking healthy. My group is nowhere to be seen. I can't believe it. 8:15 a.m. I sit and pray for my group to return. I hope against hope that we haven't missed any line checks. 9:30 a.m. Reality starts to set in. I'm too tired to care. 10:00 a.m. I get a call on my cell phone. "Yo, dude, we bailed." 3:00 p.m. Still haven't found anyone interested in negotiating. Running out of options. Besides, at this point, people have been waiting for two days. There isn't that much suffering left for me to share in. 3:58 p.m. Leave Palestra to collect thoughts. 8:17 p.m. Reality has set in. I don't have tickets. I return to the Palestra to look for a third group. Desperate times call for desperate measures. 8:45 p.m. I'm still at the Palestra and I still don't have a group. One of my friends tries to convince me that I should come home. We can buy tickets in the non-chairback sections tomorrow, he says. 9:01 p.m. My friend finally convinces me to come home with promises of Colombian coffee. Twelve hours until the consolation line opens. Monday, 9:04 a.m. My friend and I arrive at the ticket office. A tall, swarthy man tells us the line opens at 11 a.m. I have class at 11 a.m. The whole ticket thing is starting to look like a cruel joke. 12:01 p.m. I call another friend after class. He says he's going down to the ticket office at 4 p.m. I promise to go with him. 6:00 p.m. I wake up. Too late to buy tickets. Guess I'll wait until next year.