HOMETOWN: ST. LOUIS, MO

HIGH SCHOOL: LADUE HORTON WATKINS HIGH

HEIGHT: 5’10”

WEIGHT: 195 lbs

POSITION: 1B/OF

OTHER INFO: GENERAL BADASS

When did you start playing baseball? When did you realize you wanted to play on a collegiate level?
My dad put a bat in my hand as soon as I could walk, so I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember. I didn’t realize that I wanted to play in college until freshman year of high school.

What’s your favorite thing about being part of the Yale Baseball team?
The guys I get to play with. We always say it’s like a family, and as cliché as that may sound, it really is.

What’s the best advice you’ve received from a parent/coach/mentor?
The best advice I have ever received was, “It’s the little things.” In a baseball context its trivial like making all the routine plays, but it also spills over into real life, because even the small kindnesses you do can make a large difference.

If you had to choose between losing your sense of sight or your sense of sound, which one would you choose? Why?
I suppose I’d lose my sense of sound. I couldn’t really imagine going from seeing everything to not, and how could I ever hit a baseball again?

Would you consider wearing an afro for a year? Why or why not?
I guess if the price was right, I’d wear just about anything.

Describe your first crush.
My first crush was a girl in kindergarten: She wore glasses and did gymnastics. Enough said.

If you had to have one food or drink for the rest of your life, what would it be?
I could probably do sushi the rest of my life, there’s enough diversity there that I could keep finding new stuff.

What are your thoughts about the Spring Fling line-up?
The Spring Fling line-up is legit. Too bad I won’t be there to see it.

Do you know how to “dougie?”
As much as I’ve tried, I think I’ve retired from the dougie game.

What do you think about this weekend’s upcoming four-game series?
This upcoming series is huge. If we go out there and play the way we know we are capable of playing, we will put ourselves in a great position to win our division, which is just another stepping stone to where we want to be. I’m excited because I know our intensity and focus will be high and we’ll leave it all out on the field.

What will be the key in getting an Ivy League Championship this year?
The key to an Ivy Championship is execution. We talk about it every day. If we do the things we need to do—make the routine plays, get bunts down, move runners over—then we will win. Our starters throw strikes and keep us in ballgames and the hitters have done a great job creating offense against some of the better pitchers in the league. We know that we have talent and we have a huge desire to win. And when it comes down to it, it’s usually a question of who wants it more—and that’s us.

About a week ago, if you’ll remember, it was just starting to get warm and the (in)famous slugging outfielder Manny Ramirez announced his retirement from the Major Leagues. Rather than face (further) steroid-related investigation, he just up and abandoned his new Tampa Bay Rays, quitting while he was (kind of) ahead, letting his career lap up the hemlock rather than face the cruel and ugly facts.

But moreover, he made it so that we didn’t need to know about it. Suffice it to say (and even I, a Yankee fan, feel this way), no one really wants to know what goes on behind the scenes of our country’s favorite pastime—it’s normal to be able to play 182 straight games of baseball a year, traveling from town to town on red eye flights without sleeping, right? So Manny made a sacrifice, in other words, wiping our slate clean for a new baseball covenant, a new spring, and a cool new outfielder—Sam Fuld, from Durham, NH, makes about 1/15th of the guy who plays next to him—a salary that, I can only guess, doesn’t leave much in the way of a steroid/amphetamine/batcork budget.

Now, I’m not saying that Manny Ramirez is the Pascal Lamb or anything (See: 1. His bank account, and 2. the fact that he is still living), but there is something—I’m not sure what—about this apparent harmony. I’ve said elsewhere in this section that the world and sports have a mirrored relationship. And the good folks over at the Vatican would have to agree; Pope Benedict is a “ardent” supporter of Bayern München—ardent, a word used to describe John the Baptist’s devotion to the big man JC, team captain, just saying. FYI: They do have a national team—no, not Italy, but Vatican City—which consists largely of the Swiss Guard, and, according to Wikipedia, members of the papal council.

But when that team plays, I’d bet they at least play in an Italian stadium; maybe they borrow A.S. Roma’s Olympic Stadium, which, like the all the burghs and castles that once dotted Europe still has some sort of moat. And it is a necessary moat. The seating arrangement follows strict political procedure and decorum. Palm trees never grew in Rome—like most rituals of Christianity, it is at this point thoroughly obscure. So what lends perhaps the most continuity to this institution is its tradition of getting a whole bunch of people together and yelling, which it still does.

And don’t think this sort of thing would work in the Yale Bowl; it represents a totally different aesthetic—one that opens itself to the world like America does its loins. Built in 1914, it had, like Americans themselves, a more-is-more aesthetic coupled with a mangled sense of continuity with the demos-or-whatever-it-is-coliseum-or-someshit, you know, the Greeks. But what we did get right was the wearing skimpy clothing, oiling ourselves up, and playing the part.

What I’m saying is now that God is dead, or something, it is nice to see that our little athletic rituals are wrapped up in a story that seems to have some meaning. My basketball team, the Portland Blazers, are losing, dying, if you will. And you will. But my Yankees, they’re just starting up again. Again, the buds are reminding me of that delicious segue from basketball to baseball, from winter sport to spring sport. Or maybe it’s the other way around­—sports remind me of a spring, that is, make a spring, in the sense of a rebirth, possible again. Thank you sports (section) for putting meaning back into my life. Manny’s seat remains empty for Elijah. And this year, as the Sun and the Earth tilt themselves gravitationally to that equinoctial point, I can understand them as just two balls.

Celtics vs. Knicks
This has probably been the most anticipated series of the first round, and the one that has generated the most excitement so far. Coming into the series, the sheer history of pitting New York against Boston sent spines shivering. Not to mention the mere fact that New York had finally made it back to the playoffs was cause for excitement. And the Celtics were seeking revenge for their defeat in the finals last year. Add to this New York’s new “Big Three” of Carmelo Anthony, Amare Stoudemire and Chauncey Billups making their playoff debut against Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, and Ray Allen, the original Big Three of the Celtics (and the newly dominant Rajon Rondo). This shaped up as a series for the ages. It hasn’t disappointed so far. First there is the Ray Allen winning three-point shot in Game One. Then, two of New York’s three stars went down, leaving ‘Melo to a superhuman 42 point, 17 rebound effort in Game Two which almost lifted the Knicks to victory. Tthe first two games have been thrillers for all (and heartbreakers for Knicks fans). Don’t turn this series off. It promises to keep delivering thrills night after night.

Prediction: The Knicks will keep putting up a tough fight, but won’t be able to overcome their injuries and the Celtics’ experience. Celtics in 6.

Magic vs. Hawks
This series is a rematch of what was a total blowout last year, when the Magic destroyed the Hawks, beating them by an NBA record 25.3 points per game en route to sweeping them 4-0 in the second round. This year, the Hawks had the upper hand, winning the season series 3-1. They carried that momentum into this series, winning the first game before falling 88-82 in the second. The key to this series, though, has and will continue to be the play of Dwight Howard. The just-named NBA defensive player of the year is not only a beast on the boards and on D, he’s a scoring machine, scoring 46 and 33 points in the first two games of the series. So unless they find some kryptonite, Joe Johnson, Josh Smith, Al Horford and company will be hard-pressed to contain Superman in this series.

Prediction: Dwight Howard is just too dominant for the Hawks to keep fighting him off. Magic in 7.

Spurs vs. Grizzlies
There were probably very few people out there who thought that this series would be anything other than a cakewalk. On one side stand the San Antonio Spurs: a dynasty of a franchise, coached by Greg Popovich, one of the best coaches in the game, with Tim Duncan, Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili leading the charge. And on the other side are the Memphis Grizzlies: a team that had never won a playoff game, even back when they were in Vancouver, a team that’s without one of their leaders, Rudy Gay, a team that practically traded away Pau Gasol for a box of peanuts. But thanks to the efforts of Zach Randolph, who was just awarded a four-year extension, Mike Conley, and one of those peanuts, Pau’s little brother Marc, the Grizzlies shocked the world by winning Game One, and even with the return of Ginobili from injury, the Spurs only beat the Grizz by six points in Game Two. Although it’s highly unlikely that the Grizzlies can keep this up, you have to give them a hand for the fight that’s in this bear.

Prediction: Riding the momentum, Memphis will win one more at home, but the Spurs will have their way eventually. Spurs in 6.

Lakers vs. Hornets
The Lakers entered this season as favorites to make their back-to back championships into a three-peat. Despite going through some rough patches, they remain the team to beat, led this season by the emergence of Lamar Odom as sixth man of the year. The Hornets, meanwhile, have been in disarray. Between the NBA taking control of the financially troubled team, the rumors swirling around Chris Paul’s eventual departure to New York, and David West’s season-ending injury, the Hornets have not had an easy year, to say the least. Nonetheless, they beat the defending champs in Game 1 behind a superhuman effort from Chris Paul before falling 87-78 in Game Two. These Hornets will buzz around, but it just doesn’t seem that they have enough sting in them to take down the ultra-talented and experienced Lakers.

Prediction: Kobe’s gotta be pretty pissed that he got stung by the Hornets once. It won’t happen again. Lakers in 5.

Thunder vs. Nuggets
A very intriguing matchup between two excellent young teams. The Denver Nuggets have been on a tear since trading Carmelo Anthony, having won 19 of their final 25 games to reach 50 wins on the season, while the Oklahoma City Thunder, along with one of the most promising young contenders with Kevin Durant, the league’s leading scorer, have been bolstered by their acquisition of Kendrick Perkins for Jeff Green in a hotly-debated deadline deal with Boston. This series is filled with some of the best young talent in the league: Players ranging from Durant to point guards Russell Westbrook, Ty Lawson, Raymond Felton, and Danilo Galinari, Nene, and everyone’s favorite tattooed man, Chris Anderson. In a series that has pundits split, Oklahoma City defended their home court to go up 2-0.

Predictions: Although the Nuggets may be a better team with ’Melo gone, they don’t have anyone to put the team on his shoulders and win a close game in the fourth quarter. Oklahoma City Thunder in 5.

Bulls vs. Pacers
Remember in the summer when rumors swirled that Dwayne Wade would head to the Bulls, maybe bringing along Lebron James or Chris Bosh? Well, the Bulls emerged from the summer without any of the “Big Three,” but with their own special weapon: Derrick Rose. Rose is the frontrunner to win the MVP award this year after averaging 25 points, 7.7 assists, and 4.1 rebounds per game this season. Led by Rose, Carlos Boozer, Joakim Noah and Luol Deng, Chicago gained the top spot in the East and is penciled in by many to make it all the way to the finals. The Pacers, who squeaked into the playoffs as the eighth seed, have been giving the Bulls all they can handle in this series so far, though.

Prediction: The Pacers have kept it close in every game so far. But they just can’t stop the Running of the Bulls. Bulls in 4.

Heat vs. 76ers
Rarely has a team been more talked about coming into a season than the Heat were this year. After the controversy of the decision, and Lebron, Wade, and Bosh bringing their collective talents to South Beach, the world was divided into 2 camps: Miami fans, and Heat haters. After stumbling early in the season, the Heat eventually managed to gel and earn the second seed in the East. The 76ers have vastly improved, despite Evan Turner not turning out to be the franchise savior he was expected to be out of Ohio State. The 76ers have put up a tough fight against the Heat, but have dropped all of the first three games.

Prediction: All of the Heat-haters out there will have their moment to rejoice when Philly takes Game Four at home, but then Lebron, Wade and Bosh will win the first of what we must accept will probably be many playoff series. Heat in 5.

Mavericks vs. Trail Blazers
When the Mavs drew the Trail Blazers, many thought this series would be ripe for what might be one of the few upsets of the first round. The Mavs might be on their last legs as a contender, with Dirk Nowitzki and Jason Kidd getting older, while the Blazers, with the addition of Gerald Wallace, are an athletic, dangerous team, especially if Brandon Roy can get back on track.

Predictions: The Blazers aren’t going to roll over and die. They’ll fight back, but the veteran Mavs may be too much to overcome. Mavericks in 7.

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So there you have it. A look at all the first round series in this year’s NBA playoffs. But the beauty of sports? Nobody knows what will actually happen until the final buzzer sounds.

But then something happened this year, and by some weird process I don’t understand (I know—you thought the Herald Editors knew everything there is to know about sports, but we are human) the Knicks got three or four good basketball players to come and play for them. Carmelo Anthony and Amare Stoudamire, are, as far as I can tell, superstars. I mean, to put things in perspective, before that, it was Danilo Galinari. Before that: I don’t even know—Marbury? Allan Houston? 

So: The Knicks got kind of good, and got really talked about, really rooted for by people who may have let their New York basketball fanship slack in recent years (guilty). And we’ve been winning. 

But as we enter the playoffs this week, for some reason it seems obvious to everyone that the Knicks don’t stand a chance. And I agree. And here’s why: because they’re too comfortable being kind of good, too comfortable being talked about. 

I want to draw a comparison with the Yankees. For all their pomp and grandeur, I don’t think their Bronx baseball neighbors have the same problem. In fact, I want to take as the fulcrum of this article my favorite sports fact—metaphor: the Yankees have no names on the back of their jerseys. I want to posit self-effacement as a model for success in sports. In other words: that the Knicks are doing well, making a name for themselves—this is the only thing in their way. 

Yes, it’s a paradox. But the Knicks need to embrace it. Here is my twisted, unsportsmanly logic: the Knicks, who can’t play defense, are scoring too much, and yielding too much possession to the opposing team. So my advice would be to score less. 

But since I am no expert I turned to the king of making success out of self-effacement, filmmaker Woody Allen. I Googled his production company, found their number, and called. I spoke to a man who referred me to Woody’s secretary via email. Not sure that this would be an effective avenue for contacting Woody, I asked the man on the phone his name, which he refused to give me. Then I asked if he had an opinion on the Knicks’ chances this year, which, if he had one, he also refused to give. Add to this that I got no response from the email I then sent, and here we have an organization that practices self-effacement to a t, unwilling to offer an opinion they are so unsure of themselves. Woody Allen, like his near-namesake Allan Houston, may be good at the point guard. The point is: the Knicks’ first round loss may be their first step in the new right direction.

For the first group—of which I am a proud member—Augusta National Golf Club is Heaven on Earth, and Jim Nantz its celestial emcee. To us, an ugly green jacket is the most beautiful prize in the world.

And the second group—they still don’t give a shit. “Golf isn’t a sport,” a lot of them say, “It’s a skill.” Not this again, I think to myself. “I mean, it’s so easy,” others claim. “You just hit a ball around the grass.” Yeah. Whatever. And then, some come with this: “Golf is so damn boring to watch.”

WOAH. Timeout. Fall back.

To this last bunch of haters: I refer you to Sunday’s final round. Then talk to me. I’ll admit, I’m biased. I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn’t have some weird addiction to sports. When I was little, I memorized box scores; in grade school, I collected baseball bobbleheads; by junior high, I was betting on everything from Big Sky basketball (Montana State v. Eastern Washington, anyone?) to the Super Bowl coin flip (seriously, always take the NFC— they’ve won 14 (!) years in a row). In other words, I’ve wasted a ton of time—and lost a lot of money—caring about sports a little too much.

So I love watching sports on TV. Until two weeks ago, I’d watch any sport, any team, anytime. Now, I watch any sport, any team, anytime—except for Butler basketball. And of all sports—to play and to watch and to follow and to bet—golf may just be my favorite.

So I’m biased, writing about the Masters. But hear me out. And ask yourself two questions: 1. “Do I like Greek tragedy, white jumpsuits, post-sex scandal redemption, the South, TV, or golf?” and 2. “Do I enjoy day drinking?”

If you answered yes to the first, then the Masters might be for you. If you can answer yes to the second, then the Masters is definitely for you. If you answered no to both—stop reading. Stop wasting your time. Don’t hear me out.

In all seriousness, the final round of the Masters is as close as it gets to a one-size-fits-all TV event. Every year, without fail, there are heartbreaking failures and shocking successes, as big name favorites like Tiger and Phil battle no-name Cinderella underdogs (Charl who? Bo Van what?). And surely there is no better backdrop than Augusta National: as treacherous in play as it is pristine in sight, the hallowed course might very well be, as a pro once put it, “where God hangs out.” Plus the Tournament is an American tradition, with international appeal as well (just ask my readers from Northern Ireland, Australia, Korea, Italy, South Africa, England, Argentina and Spain). Put simply, the Masters makes for compelling drama and pleasant entertainment—and last Sunday’s telecast did not disappoint.

Let’s review the state of affairs going into the final round:

1. Atop the leaderboard was 21-year old phenom Rory McIlroy, clear of the field by four shots. That’s a serious lead at a course as tough as Augusta. There was no way he could lose, the way he
was playing.

2. Three Australians—Jason Day, Adam Scott and Geoff Ogilvy—found themselves in the top 10, four, five and six strokes back, respectively. Playing under the long and odious shadow of Greg Norman (more on him later), each vied to be their country’s first-ever Masters champion.

3. Tiger Woods, a four-time Masters winner, and in search of his first Major championship since rehab and divorce, lurked seven strokes back. After struggling in Saturday’s third round, ESPN’s Gene Wojciechowski wrote in his column what everyone thought in their heads: “Tiger is close, but not green jacket close.” How (almost) wrong he was.

And so the stage was set.

For four and a half hours Sunday afternoon, everything happened, and everything unhappened. Some surged up the leaderboard, collapsing soon thereafter. Those at the top of the leaderboard—well, they fell apart too. Strikes followed by shanks. Birdies, then bogies, doubles and triples. It was that sort of day.

Let’s start with our frontrunner, Northern Ireland’s last best hope—young Rory. Teeing off in the last group of the day, 42 minutes into CBS’s sensational coverage (56 minutes of golf every hour, and only four minutes of commercials!), McIlroy was paired with fan favorite and Argentinean hero, Angel Cabrera. Better known as “El Pato,” or “The Duck,” Cabrera is an overweight chain smoker, and an absolute beast on the golf course. A good pairing for McIlroy, by all estimates.

McIlroy was off his game to start, but it didn’t matter. He began the day four strokes ahead—again, a serious lead—and after nine holes, his lead remained intact. El Pato was close, as were the trio from down under. Still, barring a meltdown of epic proportions, the green jacket, a paycheck of $1.44 million and a place in sporting lore would all be McIlroy’s.

You know what’s coming next.

Augusta’s 10th hole—innocently nicknamed “Camellia”—is historically the course’s most difficult: the fairway is full of funky slopes, and its green is remarkably slick. Unfortunately for McIlroy, neither of these obstacles really factored in on Sunday. Or to put it more precisely: by the time they did factor in, it no longer mattered.

Somehow, someway, McIlroy’s tee shot came to rest where no pro or member had ever been before, over 70 yards to the left of the fairway, on someone’s lawn. It took the CBS camera crew a good 10 seconds to find his ball; even Jim Nantz, the voice of the Masters for 22 years, was, paradoxically, lost for words. “Off the beaten track” is a gross understatement.

McIlroy’s 10th hole must have been catastrophic to play, because it was absolutely tragic to watch. It was compelling TV drama, yes. But it was that sad sort of drama, the kind you can’t possibly miss, even though it makes you want to cringe and turn away, hoping everything will miraculously work itself out. It was the Jersey Shore of professional sports.

And for McIlroy, things didn’t work out. He took a triple bogey seven on the hole, and fell further. McIlroy bogied 11. He double bogied 12. He splashed his drive into Rae’s Creek on 13. Speaking after the round about his long, sad walk down the 13th hole: “I realized I didn’t have a chance.”

Nothing truer could have been said. You don’t recover from the triple bogey on 10—not at Augusta, at least. Just ask Greg Norman, nicknamed “The Shark,” wearer-of-ridiculous-hats. Remember I mentioned him earlier? Well, he took a six-stroke lead into the final round of the 1996 Masters, only to collapse, like McIlroy, at the back nine’s beginning. There went a Masters championship for Norman, and for Australia (by the way, not one of the Aussies—not Day, Scott nor Ogilvy—won this year either).

After his water ball on 13, CBS stopped broadcasting McIlroy’s shots, not out of pity, but because he was no longer relevant. I don’t pity McIlroy; sports is sports; shit happens; life goes on. Unlike Norman, who was twice McIlroy’s age when he fell apart in 1996, Rory will have plenty more chances at Augusta. Nine times out of ten he would have won last Sunday. He’ll make it happen, eventually. But for now, he’s irrelevant.

Then there’s Tiger. He’s always relevant. Winning or losing, on the course or off, we care—a lot. And on Sunday, when McIlroy went shank, shank, shank, Tiger went strike, strike, strike, transporting millions to his glory days past, pre-soap opera Tiger, circa 1999.

Birdies on two, three, six and seven were stellar. His eagle on eight was legendary: a perfect drive, perfect three-wood approach, perfect eight-foot putt. A vintage Tiger fist pump, and he was tied for the lead, for the moment.

Unfortunately for dreamers everywhere, Tiger came up short in the end. Seven shots is a massive deficit to overcome, especially with so many top-notch golfers playing behind him. But the result doesn’t matter. That’s the point about golf: nobody really cares who wins or loses; it’s about what happens over the span of 18 unique and dangerous holes. Last Sunday, Tiger was Rory’s antithesis: he was brilliant where McIlroy crashed, and brought cheers when Rory shed tears. TV drama at its best.

My “first group” of readers, the “Christmas in April” folks, you already know all of this.

So to my “second group” of “haters” (if any of you made it this far): I urge you, give the Masters a chance. Mix a few drinks, find a comfy couch and a big screen TV, and give the final round a chance. You’ll see Rory, you’ll see Tiger, you’ll see this year’s champion defend his title after stringing together one of the most incredible and unlikely back nine comebacks in all of golf history…

Wait. You don’t even know his name.

Whatever. Get into it.

s part. For shame, UConn, for shame.

Most likely to have adamantium-cast pistons for legs: Kate Grace, SY ’12

Have you seen this girl run? Pardon us, we mean, have you ever seen this girl FLY? HOT DAY-UM. At the past Yale-Harvard-Princeton meet, we had the pleasure of seeing the magic that is Kate Grace PWN allegedly all-star runners and make them look like droopy-eyed armless children. The armless part is a bit of stretch, but actually, all the other girls she ran against in the one-mile run looked as if they were going to keel over, but Kate just put her hands on her hips and shrugged that shit off. No big deal, SHE HAD JUST SET A NEW TRACK RECORD. We were so impressed we decided that Kate Grace A) is not human B) breathes in the broken dreams of the runners she buries in her dust and C) could win a game of Quidditch without a broom.

Most low-key hard-core sport at Yale: Fencing
Admittedly, we don’t know very much about the personality of Yale’s fencing team, but since we assume they share our affinity for blades, sharp things, and shiny objects, let it be known that Yale Herald Sports <3s the Yale Fencing team. Seriously, these athletes don’t have positions like forward or midfielder; they have WEAPONS. Yale Herald Sports <3s weapons. Maybe they’ll give us some tips on “How to cut a bitch” later. We wonder if a saber can fit in our jeggings…

Most seemingly interminable season: Sailing
We have friends on the Co-Ed Sailing team at Yale and we never quite understood when the Sailing season started/ended. We never really noticed because it seemed like the Sailing team was always zipping around some body of water. But know that we thought of it, and we decided to look that shit up. Sure enough, THAT SHIT DOESN’T END. They start in the beginning of September and go until beginning of May. That type of schedule would SEVERELY interfere with our weekly viewings of American Idol, NCIS, and Pawn Stars. That’s not a sacrifice we’re willing to make.

Most unfortunately-named athletic event: Blue Leadership Ball
Reports indicate that attendees were left wanting more.
­

1. See the Northern Lights
2. Go to my sister’s wedding
3. Live without a cell phone for a whole year

2. What is the best advice you’ve gotten from a coach?

My dad is a college football coach, and one time when we were out to dinner I was complaining about how tough my workouts were and how tired I was from doing two-a-days all summer. He said, “Emily, the Bible says, ‘Beat your body and make it your slave,’” and then went back to his dinner. This is the only time I can remember him ever quoting the Bible.

3. What’s your favorite TV show and why?

The Buried Life! Its the show about four guys who drive around in a van and do cool shit. It’s basically my dream.

4. What’s the most beautiful thing about rowing?

Absolutely it is the glimmers of perfection that can be achieved on occasion on some early morning on the water, when the sun is coming up and warming your face, glittering on the water, the boat is gliding just like a magic carpet, and all you can hear is the sharp, loud, clean sound of the blades working the boat.

5. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?

One bite
6. If you had to eat one food and drink one drink for the rest of your life, what would they be?

Marinated grilled flank steak and ice cold water. Classic.

7. Describe your feelings the morning of a regatta/race.
I usually wake up and feel tired. Then I feel brain dead for a while. Then I start to get pretty nervous around two hours before the race, and over think everything and size up the competition. Then around an hour before, I pull it together, the nervousness turns into alertness and I try to manipulate my mind to focus and execute the task at hand.

8. What’s the best part about being a part of the Women’s Crew team?

The best part about being with this team is the family that I’m a part of. It’s incredible to have a group of girls who will always support me and always listen to my dumb babble. Especially in college, while transitioning from home life to the real world, it’s invaluable to have people in your life that will be honest with you no matter what, and tell it like it is. I am convinced that it is the strongest community that I will ever have the blessing to be a part of, besides my real family, and I hope that I can really appreciate it while I’m here.

New Haven is a city that defines itself by the exquisite: the beaver population may have been decimated when the city was settled by the first few waves of European immigrants, but the pelts they provided to early Dutch settlers surely would have won gold.

New Haven is a city with character. With the renewal of the Department of Environmental Protection’s ban on taking herring from Connecticut rivers, we are looking forward to a healthy alewife and blueback population in the West, Mill and Quinnipiac rivers for 2018.
Once I saw a woman cross-country skiing down Prospect Hill. I think that speaks volumes about the city’s vibrant history. Further, East Rock Park would be a prime location for the slalom, both regular and grand.

Our detractors will point to the humid continental climate of New Haven as a strike against us, but I hope that the secret ballot voting system to be employed in Durban this July will correct any bias or negative advertising.
I can imagine another Canal St. Connector—one where a series of pneumatic tubes shuttle tourists from food truck to food truck. And, after all, we’ve got the David S. Ingalls Rink for leisure-skating.

I’d like to pause now to view the promotional video put together by the Office of the Comptroller.
As you saw in the video, New Haven is a city that likes to have fun. Historic Crown Street is home to some of the best clubs in the metropolitan area—tourists will enjoy the Olympic special at Hula Hanks offered year round, Olympics or no Olympics, $3.99, ladies drink free—as well as a small brick building that claims to have been the first to slap meat onto bread and call it a sandwich. Unfortunately, they can’t
afford ketchup.

Please consider our Olympic bid as a historic opportunity for both of us—we hope that the commemorative plaque we’ve included (‘New Haven: a city of Elms and Olympics!’) gives you a taste for what might be hanging on both of our office walls some day.
I’d like to think that our theocratic forebears are smiling down on us from their cloudy heights. Go New Haven. Merci.

There is a need, however, to write about Mandi’s life. About the type of person she was, about where she came from, and about what she became. About how her story inspired others to look beyond themselves and to help others. About what her story can teach each one of us. About how one soul can touch so many others. We need to know Mandi, and her life. And maybe, in discovering Mandi, we can somehow find ourselves.
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Harry Rosenholz, the former Yale hockey coach who recruited Mandi to Yale, recalls, “When she first got to Yale, she barely spoke to anyone, including her roommate.” It is amazing, considering the scope of Mandi Schwartz’s story, that there are more people in Calhoun College than in Wilcox, Sask., where Mandi was born and raised. Part of why she had and has such influence on people, perhaps, is because of this smallness, this inner focus. Her former coach spoke in amazement to this quality: “I don’t know if it’s the cold Saskatchewan winter or the small community she grew up in that formed this inner strength. She had inner strength, inner glow and fortitude.” But Mandi grew to become far more than a shy girl from Saskatchewan. “The real story,” says Rosenholtz, “is how a very, very shy person, from a small town of 300 people, came to Yale, and ended up having the kind of devoted, committed following that Mandi Schwartz did.”

As is the case for many Canadians, hockey was in Mandi’s blood. “Her truest passion was hockey,” says Calhoun master Jonathan Holloway. “The thing you have to understand about Mandi is that she felt most free when she was on the ice. This is where her personality came out and really shined. This is what she lived for in so many ways”, says Rosenholtz. Mandi was always a standout hockey player. Before coming to Yale, she played for her high school team, the Notre Dame Hounds, a powerhouse hockey school in Wilcox. She was not the biggest, the strongest, or the most talented, but she was the hardest worker. She would be the first on the ice at every practice, and served as a role model for the rest of the team. At Yale, she played in 73 consecutive games, scored 28 points, and earned ECAC Hockey All-Academic Honors every season.

But Mandi wasn’t just a hockey player. Mandi was the girl who showed up at a freshman hockey player’s room on the first day of Yale so that she would feel welcome.  She was the girl who, when the Yale team visited Niagara Falls on a cold, miserable day, and all the other kids wanted to get back on the warm bus, said, “I just can’t believe I’ve been blessed enough to go see Niagara Falls.” She was the girl who friends, teammates and coaches alike describe as passionate, caring, soft-spoken, hard-working, unassuming, humble, and selfless. “The values she stands for are the hard work, dedication, caring for one another. Those are things she embodies that we only hope to mirror,” says Samantha MacLean, DC ’11. Sam Rubin, ’JE ’95, Assistant Director of Yale Sports Publicity, describes Mandi thusly: “The type of daughter you would want to have, the type of sister you’d want to have, the type of friend you would want to have.”

In Dec. 2008, the middle of her junior year, the diagnosis came. When the team came to the rink for practice on the day she found out, Coach Witt told everyone to gather for a meeting. The team learned that Mandi had leukemia, and they went directly from practice to Mandi’s room and started packing her stuff up. Initially, the team struggled to cope. “It’s not like the movies when things like this happen. It’s real life, everyone deals with it differently, and has to find a way to cope,” says Hilary Witt, the former Yale Women’s Hockey coach.
But her teammates were confident that Mandi could overcome anything thrown her way. “We all knew that Mandi was going to win this battle, because she was the hardest worker and the strongest person,” says one of Mandi’s teammates, Lili
Rudis, MC ’11.

On Mandi’s Facebook page, under her favorite quotes, she wrote, “Struggle and Emerge”—her high school’s motto. And that’s precisely what she did. After almost a year at home struggling with chemotherapy, the cancer went into remission. She emerged back at Yale on Jan. 8, 2010. Instead of being bitter, Mandi came back even more positive and friendly than before. “She came back, and she was so funny. She’d drop one-liners and was just so funny,” says Mandi’s former linemate, Aleca Hughes, BK ’12. And then, in April, disaster struck again. Mandi found out that her cancer had returned, and had to leave school for the second time.

This time, her team understood that in order to beat the cancer once and for all, Mandi would need a bone marrow or stem cell donor for a transplant. They wasted no time in starting to help the girl who cared only for others. “You have to give the team credit. Instead of feeling bad for themselves, they tried to do whatever they could to help Mandi,” says Witt.

The team helped organize a bone marrow drive last spring. Rubin concedes that finding a match was “like finding a needle in a haystack. But if you have enough people looking, you can find that needle.”  Though the fight was tough, everyone involved knew that if Mandi wouldn’t give up, neither would they. “She kept fighting, so we knew that we needed to keep fighting,” says Rubin. Teammates, friends, and strangers in both the United States and Canada organized marrow drives. “You feel like you’re in a family when you’re a hockey player in Canada. In the hockey world, a family member got sick,” says Witt.

Her story got picked up by the Associated Press and ESPN, where an editor “understood you don’t just write about this story yourself—you tell other people. This was the type of story you could print, put on the air, and it could save somebody’s life. And it’s not too often you come across story like that,” says Rubin. From the grassroots effort, the world began to take notice. “People would hear her, would come up with some way to help, just do it, and sometimes we never heard about it. I definitely would not want any of this to come across as if we were doing as individuals something extraordinary. We’re ordinary people. And through Mandi, we realized how much ordinary people can accomplish when they work together,” says Rubin.

People like Lexy Adams, BR ’13, from Lancaster, Penn., who, thanks to Mandi and the bone marrow drive last spring, found out that she was a match and ended up donating bone marrow over winter break to an anonymous recipient she may never meet. Although Adams never met Mandi, “We shared the athlete bond. When I heard about how she was diagnosed her sophomore year, I couldn’t imagine going through that this year,” says Adams. “Her story just blows my mind with how passionate she was about her team and Yale. I wouldn’t have known about it [the bone marrow drive]. I wouldn’t have done it without her.” Reflecting on Mandi, Adams echoes a sentiment that countless supporters have posted on Facebook walls and online message boards in support of Mandi: “I feel like I knew her even though I never met her.”

And then there were people like me. I never knew Mandi. I know a number of her friends and teammates, but I was never fortunate enough to meet her. But when I heard her story, I reacted just like countless others did. I guess what struck me might have been the fact that we seemed so similar—two hockey-loving Canadian kids who somehow found their way to Yale. But more than that, it was the idea that a classmate of mine was suffering and that there was something I could do to try and help.  So when I was home at the beginning of the summer, I did my best to take up Mandi’s cause. I got in touch with doctors and hospitals, and eventually succeeding in getting an OB/GYN at one of Toronto’s largest hospitals to distribute flyers with information about donating cord blood. As Rubin puts it, “She showed us how important and also how simple it is just to help a fellow human being.”
***
Yet despite the best efforts of countless people, the cancer would not be defeated, and the disease finally took Mandi this past Sunday. No death is ever easy to deal with. But Mandi’s is particularly difficult to come to terms with because of her story. How hard she struggled. How unlikely it seemed that this would ever happen to her, of all people. “She was so full of life and so healthy. After hard practices, we’d always just gorge ourselves in the dining hall. Mandi would make the healthiest sandwich, sprouts popping out everywhere. I think it’s hard because she did everything right. She stayed healthy, she ate healthy, she took care of her body, didn’t abuse it,” says Rudis.

How will Mandi be remembered? She will be remembered as the sweet young woman from Wilcox, Saskatchewan, who ended up at Yale and inspired so many people. Rosenholtz thinks that what was truly special about Mandi was the way “she captured all of our hearts. It’s because she was so true and such a good person. Spend ten minutes with Mandi, and it would change your life. I’ve been touched by an angel, and I’m not alone. I know that a lot of other people were too.”

Plans are well under way to start a foundation in Mandi’s honor—something she was really excited about—with the hope that one day, “It’ll be a huge non-profit supporting awareness. Hopefully, it will be big enough to support bone marrow donation, umbilical cord donations. It’s definitely going to be awesome,” says Hughes.

Mandi will be remembered when the Yale Campus participates in Relay for Life, a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society on Apr. 15-16. She’ll be remembered when the Mandi Schwartz Bone Marrow Drive occurs on April 21, where maybe a match can be found for some other girl fighting cancer. “As tough as that’s going to be, we know how much that will mean for her family, and how much it would have meant for her to see a huge turnout on that day,” says Rubin. “She was such a fun-loving person, and I think she was truly humbled and honored by how many people were following her story. By giving back, by also being a loving person, those are the ways to honor her,” says Hughes.

Perhaps Rosenholtz puts everything in perspective best: “There’s this kid that came from Wilcox, Saskatchewan, to Yale, and left this mark that’s as great as some of the great minds and the great people who have ever taught at Yale. Maybe people don’t realize it yet, but they’re going to. I think it’s just an amazing journey.”

And though Mandi’s life is over, her journey is not. Thanks to the efforts of all those who became a part of her struggle, she will live on. She will live on in the lives she touched. She will live on in the blood of the transplant recipients for whom her bone marrow drive found matches, in the minds of those who were inspired by her story, in the hearts of her mother, Carol, father, Rick, brothers, Jaden and Rylan, and fiancée, Kaylem Prefontaine. She will live on in me. She will live on in you.

As soon as Title IX was implemented, it was met with resistance from the NCAA, which claimed that the law was illegal. Many universities argued that the “three-pronged” test of compliance to Title IX would create a legal environment wherein the universities would have to fulfill quotas. Their rhetoric was that male sports programs would suffer cuts under the law.

And this resentment is still very much present on college campuses today. People on the inside of sports like Men’s Wrestling and Gymnastics worry that many small men’s sports are being eliminated, when in reality small women’s sports are being eliminated also: what causes this is a lack of interest in most cases, not funding. Yet many critics of Title IX attribute this to the law, and not to the evident dwindling in participation.

On top of that, according to CBS News, many detractors worry that with funds earmarked for women’s sports, programs would be created for which there is no demand. CBS cites a rowing team near the riverless campus of the University of Arizona with no male counterpart. But this has nothing to do with budget cuts for men’s programs.

ESPN columnist Jemele Hill notes that one reason why many men’s programs get cut is because revenue generating programs—think Albama Crimson Tide football—are a strain on athletic budgets; they overspend. In a recent forum on the subject for ESPN, the panelists make clear that Title IX, for all its detractors, does little to combat gender inequality: “When you look at the statistics for salary, participation, teams, revenue, money spent, or anything women still trail significantly in every category.”

Recently the New York Times reported on collegiate wrestling, noting that regardless of issues of funding, successful women’s athletics struggle to be recognized as such. Despite Vermont’s Rachel Hale becoming the first girl in Vermont to win a state wrestling title, and the third girl in the country to win a state wrestling championship competing with boys, the state is reluctant to even create women’s programs, let alone sustain them financially.

As Yale students take legal action, it’s worth noting that the history of the law has something to do, coincidentally and not coincidentally, with sports.