(EDITOR'S NOTE: Sonoma State associate head men's basketball coach Rich Shayewitz will be blogging from the East Coast this weekend while the Seawolves are in New York to take on NCAA Division I St. John's University in Queens, N.Y. on Saturday.)
COS COB, N.Y. -- It's 9:35 p.m. Eastern Time and I have just returned to my hotel room to get some rest. I turn on the TV and change the channel to TNT. I figured I would be able to catch the end of one of the night's NBA games. Instead, I catch the tip off of the San Antonio Spurs vs. Oklahoma Thunder game, which is starting at 6:35 p.m. on the West Coast. So, now my options are to get caught up watching this game until midnight or recap our first crazy day in New York.
As you may or may not know, we are in New York to take on the Red Storm of St. John's University. The game was originally scheduled for tonight (Thursday), but because of Hurricane Sandy, the game was postponed and rescheduled for this Saturday. With all the uncertainties of the airlines and the condition of New York, we still marched on and made the trip.
The trip started this morning at 3:00 a.m. Pacific Time. Because we had such a big group to re-book onto a flight, we had to take the first flight we could get everyone on. After hours, and I mean hours, of wait time on Delta Airlines' reservation hotline, I was forced to book the first flight out -- 6:15 a.m. out of San Francisco International Airport.
Coach Fuscaldo, myself, and 11 players hop on the bus in Rohnert Park and make it to airport by 4:30 a.m. Upon checking in and getting through security, we claim our spot at Gate 45 to wait for our plane.
By the way, if you hate waiting in security lines at the airport, I suggest that you fly out at 6:15 a.m. The line moves fast.
At this hour, there were two looks on the face of our players. The first look was of pure exhaustion. These guys had either got just few hours rest or chose to not rest at all. It was obvious. The look on the other guy's faces was fear. I had overheard a few conversations on Wednesday about the fear of flying as well as the fear of the condition of the city. In addition, for one of the guys, this was his first time on an airplane. I spent the morning lightening the mood to ensure that all our guys boarded the plane. Believe me, I was worried about one or two of them missing the flight intentionally.
The flight was smooth. An anticipated sold-out flight turned out to be half empty, leaving our guys with the freedom to sit where they wanted and stretching out their long legs. This made the flight so much better for our big players. You and I could never understand what it is like for someone that size to sit in a middle seat for five hours. I was thankful for that.
We land at John F. Kennedy Airport at 2:30 p.m. New York time. We deplane and walk to baggage claim. Picture a room the size of your bedroom as a kid. Add a baggage carousal, 220 people, some of which are in wheel chairs, and others that have already retrieved their bags, but feel that they are entitled to stand in the only path to and from the carousal. Add the stench of old cheese. Apparently, Hurricane Sandy left a layer of water in that area and the odorific carpet was drying.
After weaving in and out of the crowded room with our bags, we head outside to catch the tram to the rental car area. It was about 52 degrees outside. There is something weird about the cold on the East Coast. It's so much more piecing than 52 degrees in Sonoma County. The bus stop sat on the corner where three different roads merged into one. As we wait for our bus, we hear nothing but horns honking and slow moving traffic. Our bus approaches the curb and all 13 of us position ourselves to be first on. The bus stops, swings it doors open and it's packed to the brim. Before I can move, a New York lady looks at me and says in her kindest New York accent, “We're full.” She looks at the bus driver and says, “Close the door.” I squeeze myself onto the bus while Coach Fuscaldo and just two of our players get on the bus from the rear doors. We leave nine of our guys at the bus stop, weave our way back into the madness they call the road, and start our trek to the rental car terminal.
Delta Airlines lives in Terminal 1 at JFK Airport. Little did I know that our bus had to stop at Terminals 2 through 8 before dropping us off at our destination. At every stop, just two people got off and 10 people tried to squeeze in. It was a long 35 minutes before we arrived at the rental car terminal. But to my credit, I did make friends with that New York lady, who didn't want me on her bus in the first place. She also informed me that the city was running out of gasoline. Yes, I said the city was running out of gasoline. With so many home left without power, people need gasoline for their power generators. Another guy chimed in saying that he waited an hour and a half in line for gas and when he got to the pump, they ran out.
So, just the four of us walk into the rental car place. I call the guys we left behind to see if they had hopped onto a bus. They tell me that six of them had made it onto a bus and that there were still three guys waiting. As I hang up my cell phone, a guy walks up to me and looks me up and down. He notices that we are all dressed in SSU sweatshirts. He says to me, “Sonoma State?” I enthusiastically answer, “Yup!” At this point, I was anticipating a question or two about out team that usually ends with him wishing us good luck. Instead, he quickly yells, “ You guys should've stayed in California. Go Johnnies.” The expression “Go Johnnies” is one of the ways fans root for the St. Johns Red Storm. I smile in appreciation of his passion for his school.
Finally, we get the rental vans and get our entire group back together. Our destination is Cos Cob, Connecticut, where we will stay a few nights. Cos Cob is a small suburb of Greenwich where Coach Fuscaldo grew up and where most of his family remains. In a short 30-mile drive to Connecticut, I saw numerous near crashes, four bridge tollbooths, Citi Field, where the New York Mets play, and almost witnessed Coach Fuscaldo's mini van get crushed by two high-speed tractor-trailers. To say New York drivers are aggressive is an understatement.
This being my 17th season with Coach Fuscaldo, I have heard thousands of stories about Cos Cob, Connecticut. Some of Coach's stories are so outrageous that I sometime doubted that there was such a place. I snapped a photo of the Cos Cob sign to show to all the SSU basketball alums that in fact Cos Cob is real.
Cos Cob is a beautiful place. I love it when the leaves change colors. The buildings are made of brick and you can tell they have some age. We stop and eat at Chicken Joe's. Chicken Joe's is a sandwich and wraps place recommended by Coach Fuscaldo's older and wiser brother, Milo. The problem with Chicken Joe's is that it's just a walk up and order-style restaurant with no seating. Putting our team in that tiny restaurant was like packing sardines.
After eating, we check in to our hotel for the night. It was a LONG day. We have not seen very much of the backlash from Hurricane Sandy, but I would anticipate we see some tomorrow as we head back into New York City. We practice at St. John's tomorrow afternoon and hope to get a little sight seeing in. I can tell that our young men are eager to get on the court and into the city.
Til tomorrow, Good night!
