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It's guys-only on the first two legs of my fantasy day, if only because I wouldn't dare take a female into the maw of unfettered testosterone we encountered in Buenos Aires or, for that matter, here in the Yankee Stadium bleachers. Sure, the Bleacher Creatures are a vile, offensive, whacked-out bunch -- I once sat next to a chap who wore a rubberized gorilla mask and sang acid-fueled Pink Floyd songs for an entire game -- but there's no better place to watch the national pastime. Call out the Yankees' fielders one by one (DE-rek JE-ter! Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!) and watch them acknowledge you with a wave of their gloves. Harass Red Sox first baseman Brian Daubach with nonsensical trash talk ("Hey Daubach, you're no Staubach!") and come up with new taunts for hefty reliever Rich Garces. You'll need a shower after it's all over, both physically and spiritually, but there's no denying that you'll leave with a smile on your face. I know, I know, it's been a long day, but try and sneak a quick trip to the gravesite of James Naismith, the inventor of basketball, on the west side of Lawrence, Kan. as you roll into town in your rental car. Allen Fieldhouse is the most tradition-steeped, acoustically perfect barn in the country, and it's impossible not to sense the presence of former denizens Naismith, Phog Allen, Wilt Chamberlain, Clyde Lovellette, Danny Manning and Dean Smith. Grab a spot in the raucous KU students' section, and don't miss out on any of the traditions. Volunteer to have your body tossed 10 feet in the air during the "HEY!" cheer. Pipe up during the eerily cool Rock Chalk chant. Poke fun at the Leo DiCaprio-esque forelock of hated Missouri coach Quin Snyder. It's all part of the fun. And after the Jayhawks dispatch those Tigers once again, make sure to drain a pitcher or two of lager at The Wheel as you regale listeners with tales from your 24-hour fan's fantasy. |
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