A sports reporter's travel log

When the plans finally came together last week for several sports editors, myself included, to travel to Maine and report on the five Tufts teams that would be playing at Bowdoin, you knew there was no way this would be a boring trip. For starters, team coverage of this magnitude had never been attempted by Daily staffers before. It was bound to be comical. Second of all, well, let's just get to the log, shall we?

Saturday, 9:45 a.m. _ The traveling reporters, Manali, Schwartz and I, met at Dunkin Donuts on Boston Ave. It was an early start to the day so we would not miss any of the afternoon action at Bowdoin. I got myself a ham, egg and cheese breakfast sandwich on a plain bagel from Dunkin Donuts, and we were off. (Honestly, is there anything in the world more satisfying than a ham egg and cheese breakfast sandwich on a plain bagel from Dunkin Donuts? Am I crazy? Is anybody even reading this?) I, a Maine native, sat in the front seat and served as the navigator, while Schwartz (avid Yankee fan) sat in the back mulling over New York's loss the night before, and Manali drove.

10:45 a.m. _ Still far too early to be driving anywhere on a Saturday morning, we found ourselves through New Hampshire, crossing the bridge into Maine. We drove across, got our passports stamped, and headed up I-95. Immediately after crossing the boarder, Schwartz was on the phone with his mom, a conversation that went something like this.

Schwartz: Mom, I'm in Maine. Just thought you should know. I love you. The game last night was like watching a relative die slowly. I don't want to talk about it. Bye.

The Beautiful Marjorie Schwartz: Bye.

(It was a strange feeling to see a Yankee fan in a state like this. I was never sure if I should laugh, cry, get angry, violent, or what. I'll get back to this.)

12:45 p.m. _ We finally arrived at Bowdoin, and started to make our way around to all of the events. We watched women's soccer, men's soccer, field hockey, and tennis, and we couldn't help but notice that the football field was nowhere in sight. Everything else was pretty much right next to each other, but no football field. With game time approaching, Schwartz and I decided to ask a Bowdoin field hockey player where it was. Seemed like a logical choice, clearly someone who would know her way around the school. This is the conversation, verbatim.

Schwartz: Excuse me, do you know where the football field is?

Field Hockey Player: The football field?

Schwartz: Where they play the football games.

Field Hockey Player: Oh. It's sort of out there, kind of to the left, sort of take a right, walk through the woods for a while... ask somebody else.

An absolute genius this woman was. I think that when you can't find the football field at your own school, and you're an athlete, it's time to take a good look in the mirror and consider what the hell it is you're doing with your life. Maybe that was a little harsh.

1:55 p.m. _ Traveling without a photographer, I was forced to make an utter fool of myself and take pictures of the football game. To some (Manali), my awkward handling of a camera and tripping over my own two feet was almost too funny to handle. But to others (the ten year old boy who inexplicably accosted me) it was the most fascinating thing ever.

Boy: Are you taking pictures for TV?

Me: No, my camera isn't big enough.

Boy: Are you from Bowdoin?

Me: No, I'm from Tufts.

Boy: Me too. I like the Tufts.

Me: You're from Tufts?

Boy: Yup I'm ten.

Quite a fascinating dialogue really. All this while my colleagues pointed and laughed. Thanks guys.

4:45 p.m. _ Games over, hungry and tired, the traveling reporters headed back to "the Tufts." To ease the hunger pains ravaging my stomach, we stopped at a Wendy's drive thru. (Of all fast foods I think Wendy's really takes the cake. You really have to hand it to Dave Thomas. The man knows, I mean knew how to cook. And oh the Frosties. My Lord. I'm rambling again...) We ordered up our food _ spicy chicken sandwiches, drinks, a few Frosties, and pulled up to the window. Manali (still driving) paid for the food, and took off, forgetting the fact that grabbing the food was part of the equation. Really a pretty natural thing to do, pay for something, get nothing, decide you're satisfied and then leave without your Frosties. Solid work.

6:25 p.m. _ Driving home, we tuned into the Yankees-Angels game after Schwartz had been making frequent phone calls home to check on the score. It was around this time that the Angels busted out everything they had against the Yanks pitching staff, and rocked them to the tune of eight runs. They really just kept piling it on. Watching Schwartz go through this was truly a unique experience. I was absolutely at a complete loss for what to do. Part of me wanted to cheer out loud and scream about rally monkeys and Angels in the outfield, but the other part of me felt badly for the devoted fan sitting in the front seat who was having his heart ripped out. Absolutely fascinating. And you could tell he didn't quite know what to do either, because something like this never happens to the Yankees. If you ever get the chance to watch the Yankees lose big in the presence of a true Yankee fan (and by true I mean someone who won't become a Mets fan as soon as the game is over) I suggest you do it. It's a real emotional roller coaster.

7:30 p.m. _ We arrived back at Tufts, the Yankees losers, and all three sports reporters at a loss for how to feel. Tired, confused, and without a Frosty, I walked home, wrote up my article, and ate some Cheerios. The day was success, one bound to be repeated in the not so distant future, and I sat back and relaxed, dreaming of Frosties and comfortably imagining Yankee fans around the world saying "Just wait until next year."