Oh for Memorial

I'm not allowed to go to the Vandy game--at least not in Nashville. The Cats are winless at Memorial Gym when I am in attendance. I might as well walk around breaking mirrors under ladders and refusing to forward email chains as to show up in that funky gym. For real.
My first little venture occurred in high school during the probation years. We had unusually good tickets--my mom's friend was related to the athletic director (or something.) It was still dark. That gym is a cavern. (And I will persist in calling it a gym. Not stadium. Not arena. Gym.) I watched as Pitino was ejected from the game, trailing his sport coat and flaming ire in his wake. The Cats lost.
As my ticket-procuring ability increased, so did my losing streak. We lost on Josh Carrier's 21st birthday. We lost after prank phone calls to Kelenna Azubuike's hotel room (pretty sneaky, Vandy kids.) We lost after my poor mother practically needed stitches from a nasty scrape on the bleachers. We lost after a cat-fight between a current NBA girlfriend and a Vandy fan. The Vandy fan was tossed from the game; the girlfriend got to stay. I guess the usher didn't think a little bitty girl could be that much trouble. He was sorely mistaken.
I'll be watching from home this year. Hopefully this will mean good luck for our Cats.

Sidebar: since I'll be at home, I can watch the ever-growing Gillispie/Edwards fireworks. I think he is nervous after being rude the first time and is terrified of inserting his foot further into his mouth. Of course, that just makes things worse. Perhaps Jeanine should give him the question before the game so he can practice. Or she could just interview Kevin Stallings. Either way, Billy must shape up. It's quite embarrassing.