Friday, Oct. 3

6:30 p.m. I and my hockey associate Kelly are packed up and laden with a cooler bag of various food items, as well as half a dozen bagels for making friends.

6:45 p.m. Friend and housemate Jackie drives us to Bartels. I ask Kelly if she remembered to bring her line number. Jackie drives us home. Jackie drives us back to Bartels. Thanks, Jackie.

7:10 p.m. We set up camp near people who look mentally stable and hygienic.

7:30 p.m. I add the final flourishes to an extremely political and important article. Freshman year hallmates Shobit and Tucker stop by and ask what I’m writing my column on. They are inspired: “You should keep a chronological journal of the hockey line.” I immediately crumple up my 1,000-word opus on the vice presidential debate.

8:00 p.m. I’ve been looking at the same people for an hour and I’m sick of their faces. I turn my back to them to spice things up.

8:05 p.m. Kelly goes out to forage for food and entertainment. She returns with a falafel, a deck of cards, and a bottle of Nyquil.

8:45 p.m. Nyquil and I are having a marvelous time.

9:30 p.m. We buy novelty Made in China bears from some of the hockey players. I say no at first, but they are only $5 and the players say they are for breast cancer.

9:33 p.m. We realize the hockey players were probably lying about the bears being for breast cancer. I have no money for food.

9:35 p.m. I warily eye the Made in China label on my hockey bear. Maybe they are supposed to give you breast cancer. I move my carcinogenic stuffed animal nearer to Kelly saying, “My bear and your bear want to be friends.”

11:00 p.m. One of our mentally stable neighbors has zipped himself into a sleeping bag and is caterpilling his way across the room. We watch in silence.

12:30 p.m. Kelly and I are playing Gin when the lights go out. I complain loudly, but am secretly relieved since I am losing by many hundreds of points.

1:15 a.m. Some of the freshmen start giggling and yelling out words they learned in their sex ed. classes last year. I fantasize about throwing beer cans at them. Thwunk. Right between the eyes.

Saturday, Oct. 4

7:15 a.m. I wake up cold and angry. Kelly is asleep so I start gnawing on the friendship bagels.

8:00 a.m. The Escape: Kelly has found someone willing to hold our line numbers for us. Thanks Zach/Zack/Zaak, however you prefer to spell your name. We leave the friendship bagels and some cookies as a peace offering. Betsy the minivan takes us to freedom.

9 a.m. - 3 p.m. I do academic-y Saturday things.

3:30 p.m. The Return: The Powers that Be have decided to end the line early. The Ramin Room smells like misery and takeout food.

4:25 p.m. The tables are set, the seating charts up, the free t-shirts folded. The ticket line is forming, and Kelly and I are not on it. Someone who notices that we are glassy-eyed and about to miss our seating picks escorts us to our proper place in line. Thanks, Dean/Deen/De!an, however you prefer to spell your name.

4:30 p.m. To bursar or not to bursar? I think of missed birthday presents and my last credit card statement. And the time my dad knocked my cat out of a tree with a pole. Bursar. To preempt a guilt-attack, I put a post-it on my ticket sheet that reads “Happy 12th, 17th, 20th, and 21st birthday. Love, Mom and Dad.” Thanks, Mom and Dad.

The $247 season ticket price tag for my section B row 2 (!) tickets didn’t seem so bad after I realized that unless I plant a human toe in my Ivy Room Italian wedding-style soup and sue the university for $10 million, I will never be able to afford seats this good at a professional sporting event.

Outside of the grit and fervor of the Lynah Faithful is a sports culture of luxury and privilege. Even baseball, the last vanguard of populism in New York City, kowtows to wealth. At the new Yankee Stadium, “Premium” seats behind home plate will run from $500 to $2,500, while a season’s use of one of the new luxury suites, with its private restrooms, wait service, and cushioned seats, will run $600,000 to $850,000. Unless you are a Very Important City Official, in which case you can probably get in on one of the city’s 29 free luxury suites or 180 reserved seats.

Bleacher seats will remain $12, some grandstand seats $25, but good luck being able to see anything. When all is said and done, the new stadium caters to corporations, city officials, and people who can afford to sign multi-year contracts for seats that run $2,500 a game. America’s Pastime is now Mr. Moneybags’ pastime.

But me? I’m happy at Lynah Rink. So, just one last time, give me my cold wood bench and my moderately priced, but excellently situated, seats.

Carolyn Byrne is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be reached at cbyrne@cornellsun.com. Byrne It Down appears alternate Tuesdays.