The artsy, older girlfriend of the emo guitarist I had a crush on who lived on the second floor of my residence hall and I got into an argument one day back my senior year of college at Binghamton University. We were in a friend’s car, and we were all about to go our separate ways after a Sunday afternoon brunch; I, to a Bearcats men’s basketball game, artsy girlfriend to a poetry reading, and the rest of the group to study – which meant watch cable TV with books open on their laps, the number one symptom of senioritis.
As the car prepared to turn into the gym parking lot, artsy girlfriend said to us all, filled with self-importance, “I wish people wouldn’t go to the basketball games. Binghamton doesn’t need sports.”
I took the bait. “Oh, of course we do. It puts the university on the map to the general public.”
“I didn’t hear of Binghamton through sports, ” huffed artsy girlfriend.
“Well, neither did I, but we also live in New York State. What about those in other parts of the country? They don’t know Bingo from Adam.”
“Well,” she pointed to me. “I don’t want those people, people that only find out about colleges because of their basketball teams, to come to my university. They don’t contribute anything.”