Correction Appended

The Real World: for some it’s a pretty terrible reality television show on MTV, for others its life after Cornell, for others it’s the state of being they realize when they’re not heavily intoxicated after a long night at Johnny O’s. But regardless, the Real World is coming, and none of us can stop it. (Unless, that is, you are Hiro Nakamura).

Lynah Rink is small enough that someone leading a cheer in Section E can be identified and personally complimented by a discerning fan in Section B in the hallway in between periods. That’s probably the greatest thing about Lynah. So when it was announced that the Big Red was to embrace the Big Apple and battle Boston University at Madison Square Garden in a 2007 debut, we all had big expectations.

Driving back to Ithaca from Brown University (where we saw Emma Watson!), it is painful not to second guess what might have been Friday night against Yale. We can only imagine the team feels the same way.

When two of the worst teams in football play each other, and no one cares, does it make a sound?

Probably not, and that’s why such a matchup would likely be scheduled in hangover buffer zone — 1 p.m. on Sunday — and would not appear on television outside of the local markets. It’s just not a “big game,” in any sense of the term.

There are a lot of things I hear about through the media grapevine that don’t surprise me.

See: Alex Rodriguez allegedly owning a painting of himself depicted as a centaur. See: Manny Ramirez testing positive for a female fertility drug. See: Sammy Sosa claiming a cosmetic cream caused his skin tone to lighten by about three shades.

Andre Agassi using crystal meth and lying about his positive drug test to the ATP, now that surprised me. The fact that he actually admitted to it, doubly so.

As a baseball fan, it would seem like there could be nothing better than rooting for the Yankees. Yankee fans get to cheer on a team that is full of all-stars, enters almost every season as a championship contender and earns a playoff spot as a virtual birthright. The life of luxury resulted in another championship season in 2009. Despite the consistent domination that Yankee fans are able to enjoy, I’m far from envious of their situation.

There is a surprising number of ways to get into Cornell. You can get in early decision, you can get in regular decision, or you can get in off the waitlist. You can get in as a guaranteed transfer, or just transfer in.

Watching Cornell hockey over the last few years was essentially a two-period experience. Most of the time, you could watch the first 40 minutes of hockey and know whether Cornell would win or lose. As seen in Saturday’s win over Harvard, this may no longer be true.

Since the start of the 2002-03 season, Cornell boasts an astonishing 115-4-7 record when leading after two periods. Last season, Cornell was 17-1-0 when leading after two periods, with the single loss coming in the final minute against Princeton at Lynah. (For some comparison, the New York Yankees were 71-2 this season when leading after six innings.)

“The New York Yankees are world champions!” I have waited my entire life to hear those fateful words. Okay, maybe not. Sure, it was only nine years since the previous Pinstripe parade through the Canyon of Heroes, but I was a mere lad of 13 years old. I thought the Yankees won every year. My first baseball memory is of my father waking me up on a school night to watch Charlie Hayes squeeze the final out of the 1996 World Series. Despite a bump in the road when the Yanks lost in the 1997 playoffs, it was not until a villainous Luis Gonzalez had the nerve to flare a hit up the middle in the 2001 World Series that I understood what it felt like to lose in October.

It’s a sensation unlike any other. Primordial in the way it overcomes and envelopes you; individual in its invocation of emotion, yet communal in its context. It’s physical in the way it stirs you, yet mental in the way it makes your mind race through memory and anecdote. It’s not fear, nor excitement; it’s not quite anxiety, nor happiness. It is truly unique. It’s a sort of recognition; a recognition of greatness. The sensation and anticipation that you are about to witness something great in front of your very eyes.

The opening lick of James Hetfield’s guitar. The quiet tapping of Lars Ulrich on the high-hat. Fifty-five thousand people rise to their feet as a steady roar fills the stadium. The rhythm builds as Kirk Hammett’s electric lead comes in.

Exit light; enter night.