Diary of The Line

When it comes to Penn traditions, there are two different types. There are the ones that went by too fast, that you can't wait to do next year or tell your kids about. Spring Fling, throwing toast at football games, Hey Day (if there still is such a thing). Then there are those that you dread, the ones where you count the minutes until they're over. For the last two years, The Line had been the second for me. I lost my entire weekend, couldn't sleep and woke up sore in every muscle in my body.

But I decided to give it a third try. The experience was a little from Column A, a little from Column B and more than enough to fill this diary.

Friday, 5:30 p.m. Watching Borat on opening day, going to Friday night services and dinner at Hillel, cleaning my bathroom. There are a lot of things I'd rather be doing than going down to sleep at the Palestra tonight. But I take my 122 bracelet number and head down there to meet Jen, the second member of Group 64. Fellow blogger Josh Hirsch is Group 64 by absentee as he's in St. Louis for the weekend, presumably sleeping in a bed.

5:35 p.m. Assigned to the Harlem region of the Palestra to drop my stuff. The seven regions are named after the seven sites of Ivy League road trips with Hanover first and Columbia's Manhattan locale second. Couldn't really figure out what order they're in, just that it's obviously not in order of the best road trips. Head into the gym to see that the volleyball team is already warming up. I thought the match wasn't until 7 p.m.

5:54 p.m. Seriously, aren't they going to get tired? The match isn't for another hour.

6:47 p.m. Now Brown's trying to run an entire practice before the match as well. They're playing some kind of 4-on-4 king of the court game. My legs are getting tired just watching them.

6:55 p.m. First line check with Group Leader Charlie. No better way to bring back memories of third grade summer camp than random line checks. I hope we break out the buddy system on our trip to Princeton tomorrow.

7:02 p.m. OK, volleyball practice is over. Go ice yourselves down and get some rest, you all worked really hard out there. Or go play a five-game match. Either way.

7:07 p.m. I take it all back. The Quakers look good in the early going. I give their performance a 6, but their performance a 9.5. Seriously, this is something that has to rank up there in the worst rules in sports along with injury time in soccer and the Ivy League football playoff ban.

In NCAA football, if a guy does a backflip across the goal line, it's a disgrace to the game and a 15-yard penalty. And this is a game when a team will score two or three touchdowns a week (a touchdown every two or three weeks in Columbia's case). In volleyball, a sport in which it takes at least 30 points to win a game and three games to win a match, players are allowed to meet in the middle, turn around, shake their spandex, put their right foot in, put their right foot out, rap some 50 Cent, set off fireworks, bring sexy back, rinse and repeat. No penalty. Congratulations on the other team missing a serve. Now go win 89 more points.

7:08 p.m. Sorry Coach Wilson. Didn't mean to throw in the Columbia remark. Please don't eat me.

7:24 p.m. I played volleyball for four years in high school and still don't really enjoy watching it. So I head outside for some sprint football. I must admit I've never been to sprint football, but I enjoy it as a concept. It's football with one extra rule; you can't play if you're over 172 pounds. I actually take a great deal of pride in the fact that somewhere there's somebody who weighs as much as I do playing offensive line.

7:26 p.m. As I walk over to Franklin Field, I'm coming up with my vision for how the sport got started. Think back to the 1930's and picture some grandfatherly types from the elite universities sitting around discussing ideas for a new sport, to give opportunities to those who otherwise wouldn't get a chance. (Unless you happen to be any sort of minority. Then picture a bunch of people who look nothing like your grandfather.)

Penn President: OK, here are our choices. Lightweight football, short basketball, sober rugby, left-handed field hockey, fat track and field, Gentile tennis and poor golf.

Harvard President: You guys and Princeton and Cornell can do what you want. This is stupid. Even Columbia's laughing at you.

7:27 p.m. Really, Coach Wilson. That one slipped out. I do respect your program and think your defense is "damn good."

7:38 p.m. It doesn't take long to realize why Princeton hasn't won a conference game since 1999. This team is terrible. The Li'l Quakers are running and throwing all over them. Meanwhile, Peter Stine has knocked in all three of his extra points. I couldn't believe he was playing the night before re-debuting for the varsity, but I guess it's his senior day, so more power to him.

Besides, it's not like kickers can get injured.

8:12 p.m. Back at the Palestra to choose my seats. The last couple of years, I've had bracelet numbers in the 20s, not the 120s and got third or fourth row chairbacks, so I'm expecting to do much worse. A chairback seat if I'm lucky.

8:13 p.m. Or a first-row chairback. I don't believe this. Every year, the chairbacks have been more expensive than the bleachers but have still been the first to go. At 122, our group still had three seats waiting for us in the front row of the best section. It's beginning to feel like my night. I wish I could go out and buy a lottery ticket. But I fear Uncle Charlie's line check.

8:49 p.m. After winning the first two games, it's slipping away from the Lady Quakes. Brown took Game 3, and Penn just turned in one of the worst plays of all time. An ugly low pass forced an awkward second ball, which if my high school coach were here, he'd say she had to 'set from her junk." Then, if this was our practice and I made that pass, he'd throw a ball in the direction of my junk and try to make me set it. Sorry. Nostalgia over.

9:00 p.m. Penn on the verge of major chokery. The Quakes lose Game 4, making the basketball teams wait a little longer for their much anticipated unveiling. Meanwhile, they're doing a pretty good job holding back their I-can't-believe-we-have-to-watch-another-game-we're-never-going-to-get-to-go-out-drinking faces.

9:18 p.m. There will be no collapse tonight. The Quakers win eight of the last 11 points to grab a five-game victory. Nice to see the crowd on its feet for the last couple of points. My guess for tomorrow's attendance: a very quiet 50.

9:25 p.m. As we all sit in the bleachers preparing to meet the team, we get the statement of the night from marketing staffer Brian Head, who seems to be running the show. After tomorrow's game at Princeton, "the bus will be leaving 30 minutes after the game ends regardless of the score." Is that so? Regardless of the score? That's funny, because if I ran things, I'd make it 30 minutes if there were an odd number of points scored and 15 if it's even. Or maybe one minute per point minus two per defensive touchdown.

9:27 p.m. Red and Blue Crew head man Jason Ginsberg announces with enthusiasm the men's and women's basketball teams. And I announce with sarcasm the part about enthusiasm. But give him credit. He got 10 of the 16 pronunciations right for the women's team. Hey, .625 is pretty good for baseball. I even think the Penn men's team would take it for free throw percentage.

Ginsberg is upstaged two minutes later by women's coach Pat Knapp shaking his rear end to the crowd's Let's Go Quakers chant. Awkward.

9:35 p.m. I'm going to pretend to be Glen Miller for a second. I'm in a new city, new team, trying to win over new fans. I have a good idea. Why don't I not show up to my introduction. Luckily Adam Franklin saves his absent coach by taking the microphone. "I hope to see you at the games," Franklin says. Thanks, Adam, and I hope to see you in the games.

9:39 p.m. Have I really only covered six hours? Let's fast-forward for a bit. Clear the court. Order Greek Lady. Dodgeball tournament. Why not a basketball tournament? Sit this one out. Can barely walk. Ran 24 miles this morning. Decide to coach DP sports department team. Win. Win. Lose. Dammit. Really tired. Sleep. Wake up at 5. Air mattress deflated. Ghosts of the Palestra apparently playing hockey overhead. Wake up at 6. Wake up at 7. Wake up at 7:30. Air mattress deflated again. Now what's wrong with my back? Go home. Sleep some more. Read The Buzz to find out where Coach Miller was. Off to Princeton.

Saturday, 12:32 p.m. Arrive at beautiful Princeton Stadium. Seriously, there was nothing sarcastic about that. It's everything you could want in a football stadium. Gorgeous architecturally, the right size, no track lets you sit really close. My friend and former Buzz blogger Jeff Shafer meets me in the concourse and shows me a copy of the New York Post, where I read the following headline: DITZY IVY PREXY'S H'WEEN BALL BOMBS. Don't you miss her, Princeton?

1:28 p.m. With Princeton up 7-0 it's time to restart the Peter Stine era. The Quaker mascot (which really, really needs a name) seems ready, down on his knees praying. Must have chosen the wrong divine being. Stine goes postal off the right upright. Guess you can't teach an old new kicker new tricks. Or is it a new old kicker. Something like that.

1:29 p.m. Zoch watch: Starting kicker is in street clothes, so as not to take a spot on the limited road roster. After Stine's kick, Zoch comes over to the stands and says something to a few fans. Presumably "I would have gone for the left post."

1:45 p.m. This didn't really just happen. You must not have heard me, Peter. I said kickers don't get hurt. Stine takes a rough fall after converting an extra point and getting run into. He hits the back of his head and walks over and sits on the sideline for a while chatting with personnel before getting taken off on a stretcher. I'm 99 percent sure it was precautionary, but thoughts and prayers are with him. Now it's up to wide receiver Braden Lepisto again. At this point, nobody's sure what to think other than: go for two.

1:46 p.m. Zoch watch: Now he appears to be sending or receiving a text message. Probably to Bagnoli. Don't u wish u started me now.

2:51 p.m. This one from the cheerleaders: "B-L-U-E, Let's go big blue." Big blue? Where did that come from? Since when was Penn the New York Giants?

3:14 p.m. Key third-and-less-than-a-foot-from deep in our own territory. And the snap and, oh, no. He didn't just call the toss did he? It's third and the length of a fingernail, and you're going to make Sandberg go four yards to get it? Naturally he doesn't, and it's three-and-out. Really glad Hirsch isn't here. He might have gone down there and strangled whoever called that one.

4:03 p.m. Now Penn needs a miracle. We're talking Donovan to Fred-ex type miracle. It's 4th-and-24 with Penn down seven and a minute to play. Irvin off his back foot. CAUGHT. Billy May! First down. Three plays later it's a touchdown. The Penn fans go wild, this will be one they're talking about for a long time.

4:10 p.m. They're going to overtime again. Three straight weeks? That has to be a record. But if it is, it's not as impressive as...

4:19 p.m. --the record Penn just set for most ways to screw up a field goal in a season. This time it was when Lepisto's personal holder (minds out of the gutter, please) can't handle the snap. But every Penn fan knows that it was when the Quakers didn't go for it on 4th-and-a-very-short-2 from the Princeton 3. But Princeton's kicker boots one straight into the Penn line, and we're going to a second OT.

4:25 p.m. The PA announcer confirms it. It is the NCAA record for consecutive OT games by one team. Pretty impressive record, but not as impressive as...

4:30 p.m. -- the record for best play I've seen in an Ivy League game. Roger Hughes shows some guts and goes for it on 4th-and-goal from the 1 and is rewarded as Rob Teresco goes nowhere on the run up the middle but flips it back to Terrell, who scrambles in for the touchdown. Princeton fans jumping and screaming with excitement. Bagnoli jumping and screaming for a stop of forward progress ruling.

4:32 p.m. That didn't take long. Matt Carre ties it up with a 25-yard catch from Robert Irvin on the first play. Unbelivable. We're going to a third overt-oh, no!

Epilogue: It's 6:30, and we're back at the Palestra to pick up our tickets, still not sure what to think after Ted Rosenbaum bounced the snap back to Matt Reinert (no relation), who couldn't handle it and scrambled to no avail. But it was perhaps summed up best by someone, not Yogi Berra, who said, "how can you not do that when that's what you do." Somehow that made sense to me at the time.

When it comes to Penn traditions, there are two different types. There are the ones that went by too fast, that you can't wait to do next year or tell your kids about. Then there are those that you dread, the ones where you count the minutes until they're over. And when I left at 6:30 that night, I was incredibly thankful it was over. But for the first time, it's one that I can't wait to do next year. Unfortunately, I'm a senior, and for the first of many times this year, I'll say it. It went by too fast.