Before I get into my thoughts on Omaha, my mom's knowledge of baseball and alternative rock, and the College World Series, let me say that I saw ESPN sideline reporter Erin Andrews walking across the field between innings tonight, and she is TEN TIMES more beautiful in person than on television.


Watch this YouTube video to see evidence of why I yelled, "I LOVE YOU ERIN!!" for all the world to hear as she flaunted her stuff in front of me.

As for when she went to ask the home plate umpire a question in the middle of the 6th? All he could have possibly been thinking in the aftermath was "Thank God I'm wearing a cup."

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The Real Field of Dreams.

Omaha, Nebraska

For the fourth year in a row, Virginia choked in the opening round of the NCAA Baseball Tournament and failed to advance to the Super Regionals.

Three of those four times, they were the No. 1 seed at home. Two of those four times, they were eliminated by Oregon State. One of those four times, I got to see the team that took Virginia's place play in the College World Series.

That "one time" would be tonight, when Beaver Nation shock-n'-awed Cal State Fullerton into the loser's bracket at Rosenblatt Stadium. OSU won 3-2, thanks to a huge baserunning gaffe by Fullerton which probably cost the Titans a run.

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If Cooperstown is Baseball Mecca, Omaha is Baseball Medina. I haven't made the hajj to upstate New York just yet, but I've seen at least Holy City No. 2. The College World Series is that sacred.

People cheer, they boo, they pay $9 for general admission and then line up for hours under the pounding sun for a bleacher seat in the outfield, they mingle with the players after the games, and they do it every day, twice a day, for two weeks. And they do it again the next year.

Eight teams, one consensus: Omaha is where it's at for baseball purists. If only Kevin Costner were here, he could sum up my feelings perfectly.

Me: "Is this Heaven?"

Kevin: "No, it's Nebraska."

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A few thoughts.

• Who invented booing? Is it some innate human noise that everyone just knows how to do? Do they boo in China? Were the Aztecs booing when someone messed up on that hip-bouncing game thingy? Did the Jews boo when Goliath came out to face David? It really is an amazing sound. "Booooo! BOOOOO! BOOOOOOOO!" It is so fun to really let out a healthy one -- especially when your voice is a little deeper than average, because you can really get your point across: "I am extremely displeased!" I boo at every possible opportunity. Even when I'm not extremely displeased, if the time is right, I'm taking flight with the boo birds. Like, say, when ... security tries to take an Arizona State fan's oversized flag because it surpasses the 3 x 5 limit, stoking the ire of every Sun Devil fan in sight; or when security tries to take away a beach ball from a sea of overjoyed fans; or whenever there is the slightest bit of controversy regarding a call at first base; or when the ball girl misplays a foul pop that rolls way too fast off the protective net, over her head and into the batter's box during an at bat; or -- the classic -- just whenever anyone else boos. I hate to let them be alone.


• How does Drunk Heckler Guy not turn into Sobering Up Heckler Guy by the 7th inning at a CWS game? The 7th inning! That's like two-plus hours after the first pitch! How is he still this drunk? They're not selling alcohol in the stadium, and this guy isn't making any in-and-out trips to the tailgate. I guess he must have snuck something in past Rosenblatt's security check, whose training regimen is definitely modeled after a pre-9/11 TSA manual. Not exactly Israeli-esque in their pat downs here in Omaha. Today's Drunk Heckler Guy was helping to make me forget about the scorching sun pounding down on my thighs, and only because of a simple question he left unsolved: Which team was he even heckling? One minute, he was all over ASU's pitcher: "You suck two-two! You've got nothing!" The next, UC Irvine's batter was getting it: "Blow it by him two-two! Rip him up!" The lipper he was packing defied description; I didn't know they even put that much in a can. His eyes were glazed, his drool was effusive. He's Drunk Heckler Guy; he's the man.


• I've never been more positive that a stranger was baked out of his mind than I was today with the bottled water guy who was trekking up and down the stairs in the 200 degree heat. "Two bottles of water!" -- two second delay, a laugh with the guy sitting on the aisle, and then acknowledgement: "Seven bucks," with a really relaxed smile. And he had a lot of trouble making change for a 50. But I mean, he's the bottled water guy. It's the summer. He's probably in college. He's just trying to chill.


• Here are some questions my mom asked tonight at the game. 1) (because the kids in front of us were from Colorado) "So, is Colorado playing in the World Series too?" 2) (after the Fullerton baserunning error that led to a crucial out on a rundown between third and home) "Has anyone ever gotten out of that situation?" Me: "What, in the College World Series?" Her: "No, just ever." 3) "Does the pitcher stand on the rubber, or in front of it?" It's like, Mom. Mom, Mom, Mom. I don't even know how to begin.


• My little sister brought a People Magazine to a baseball game. I was livid. Me: "You bringing People to a baseball game would be like me reading pornography in church." She kept the magazine in her purse.


• Omaha has inspired me to bring back the beach ball to Astros games. Where has it gone? As a kid, I have countless memories of them bouncing around the outfield deck seats at the Dome. But at Minute Maid, I am drawing a blank. Have I ever seen a beach ball at the Ballpark Formerly Known as Enron Field? I honestly cannot recall it. Three games at Rosenblatt for the College World Series has more than made up for eight seasons of no shows, though. The general admission rowdiness in the outfield seats is conducive to that sort of behavior. At one point tonight, I swear there were at least 10 of them bouncing around at the same time in right field. Then they would inevitably fall onto the warning track, the high school aged, blue-shirted Rosenblatt employee would run out to collect them, he'd fill his arms with three our four, begin to run back, only to find that another two have been knocked onto the field, and he would call for back-up. This never ceases to amuse me. It's like booing. I will never get tired of it. I watch the beach balls before I watch the game. When I go back to Houston, I'm going to $2 outfield deck seat night on a Tuesday, and I'm bringing like 15 uninflated beach balls with me. I am prepared for an ejection if an ejection is the opportunity cost of hilarity.


• Primo seats are where The Wave goes to die. There is a direct corrolation between the price of the seats and the rowdiness of the fan that sits there.


• The 15ish-year-old kid in front of us, who Garland has dubbed "Perfect Hair Kid," was a lock for "Most Likely to Make Use of the Hotel Blow Dryer" Award. I mean, he had it down -- the "organized chaos" look that is. Thirty minutes a morning in the mirror, on average? Sounds about right. The repeated use of the brush, followed by a shake of the head, followed by some pinpoint ruffling of the hair, followed by a profile shot in the mirror. Organized chaos. Working hard to make it look like he didn't work hard. He had no idea he was being analyzed by a girl of the same age bracket which he was trying to impress. And when he did the "hair flip," I thought Garland was going to start crying with laughter. The best part of all? "Oh my god Bayless!" Garland had just come back into our hotel room and she was bursting at the seams. "Perfect Hair Kid is in our hotel! He's staying on this floor!" We're gonna have to put our ears to the door to see if he's using that blow dryer. We've got a hundred bucks riding on the outcome.


• When Erin Andrews went and sat in the Oregon State dugout in the 7th, I was sure she had been paid off by someone in the Fullerton camp to do her best distracting job. The Beavers were winning by one, Fullerton hadn't been hitting all night, and this was a last gasp effort to avoid the losers bracket. Well, like someone with less foresight than Donald Rumsfeld could have predicted, one of the OSU players began to hit on her, during the game, taking his eyes completely off the field. Did anyone not see this coming? It's Erin freaking Andrews. She's hotter than Melissa Stark, easy. And she's chilling in your dugout. What line is this guy going to use? This isn't some stupid college chick who thinks it's cool to hook up with a college baseball player -- Erin has probably turned down more than one offer from real major leaguers like Harold Reynolds. Well, the ploy almost worked -- that dropped pop fly in left on what would have been the final out of the game definitely doesn't go down if they send Rachel Nichols to Omaha. No sir.
  
• The owners of the house whose yard we parked in today had a pet raccoon. Uhhhh.... is it okay that I let it crawl around on my shoulders? Have these people gotten any rabies vaccinations for their new pet? And is "Pancho" gonna realize at any time that he is not supposed to be domesticated and start tearing shit up? Way too many questions about that issue.


• More quotable quotes from my mom, this time on the ride home: 1) "What was the deal with the guy that had that 'Beavers' t-shirt on?" (this is the part where we explain to her that the Oregon State mascot is the beaver). "Really? Oh." I kid you not, I have seen at least 476 t-shirts that say "BEAVER NATION" across the front since arriving in Omaha yesterday. Maybe 500. They are orange t-shirts. 2) (in response to my exaggerated sing-along rendition of a Collective Soul song playing on the radio) "This is from our generation ... it's the Stones, right?"


• And finally, my No. 1 overriding thought of the day: I WISH VIRGINIA WAS PLAYING IN THIS THING, I WOULD BE GOING CRAZY IF THEY WERE.