Wishin' and Hopin'

I’m baaaaack (as Tina Charles exclaimed to Barack Obama after she’d cut the net down, since the team will be returning to D.C. a second year in a row), chugging ginger-pineapple-carrot juice, made for me by one of my pseudo-daughters to help me get back on my feet from the cold, sore throat, and now fever that have taken up residence inside me and my iffy immune system (which doesn’t seem to be all that particularly immune from Alamodome, hotel and airplane germs, does it?).

I came, I saw, and I conquered San Antonio. I rode the water taxi and trolley, walked along Riverwalk and the streets above it (which we explored from end to end), cheered like crazy for UConn (thank God they won, or I’d have gnawed off my wrist at being stuck in Texas without basketball to look forward to), and ate at some off-the-beaten-path restaurants. (I posted my comments on Chowhound, which you can read if you’re a member or have nothing better to do.)

Even though I’m officially sick, I’ve washed, folded, and put away all my UConn-themed T-shirts, read all the back issues of the Hartford Courant, and finished reading Lee Smith’s newest book of short stories, Mr. Darcy and The Blue-Eyed Stranger. I’ve recounted my Final Four adventures to my friends and daughter, spent way, way too much time in bed trying to fight off this cold, and utterly enjoyed the silence of home, where neither the loud, raucous UConn pep band nor those high-pitched gaggle of cheerleaders can continue to blow out my already-blown eardrums like it did in San Antonio. (I bet you didn’t know that I was the only fan in the entire Alamodome who wore earplugs to block out the noise!)

I’m glad my we-only-live-once, UConn-obsessed husband made me go with him on this topsy-turvy, four days and nights of men’s and women’s basketball-filled trip. I’m now wishing I was a baseball fanatic, like my son-in-law, so I could continue to read the sports page each morning and cheer for my favorite players, like I do all fall and early spring. Unfortunately, I’m not (it’s hard to teach this old Husky dog new tricks), but, hey, hope springs eternal…so who knows what tomorrow may bring.