Well, I'm back from the media hospitality suite, where I had a couple of beers.

Last night's game wasn't supposed to turn out that way.

I was all set to regale you with the story of how my wife, who got her undergraduate degree at what was then known as Memphis State, was going to be 100 percent behind the Zags on Saturday.

Oh, well. Rats.

Thanks for reading my blog. Maybe we can do it again sometime.

Before I go, I want to say a word about one of my travel companions.

John Blanchette knew I was apprehensive about filing my story from the Oakland Arena last night. (On previous occasions I had gone back to the hotel to write. But there wasn't time after the UCLA incident, er, game.)

So on a night when he was under the gun to produce one of his most important columns of the year, he stopped to make sure my laptop connection to the S-R had worked out all right.

It's true, isn't it?

There's nothing like a great teammate.

Go Zags.

So I get on an elevator at my hotel and see a guy I haven't seen in almost 25 years.

I first met Dave Woloshin (no idea how I remember) when he was sharing a huge house in Memphis with two women, one of whom I dated for a time. I'd say their set-up was a "Three's Company" kind of thing, but I never watched that show so I'm not sure what that might imply.

I think the three of them were house-sitting for a wealthy family temporarily abroad.

Dave does sports radio in Memphis. I worked for the paper there when I knew him.

My fondest memory of him is seeing him dancing like a wild man with his housemates to a Huey Lewis & the News song. (The music was so loud, no one heard the doorbell, so I let myself in and happened on to the scene.)

The woman I was seeing back then was in TV news. She was really cute. But once when we were in Washington, D.C., together, I got the distinct impression the Vietnam Memorial bored her.

As I remember it, we broke up soon after that.

Her version might sound different.

Neither Dave nor I mentioned the possibility of a GU vs. Memphis game Saturday.

No one had to say it.

First things first.

That guy touting Oakland's diversity might actually have something there.

I just spent some time people-watching from a wooden bench in front of the massive Ronald Dellums Federal Building. And in observing workers heading off to lunch, I saw dozens of groups of men and women. These pairs, trios and quartets included what seemed like every possible racial/ethnic combination.

I'm not kidding. It was like an "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing" Coke commercial.

Pretty cool, I must say.

Downtown Oakland is home to some truly interesting architecture. But I have to report that, upon closer inspection, it would seem that the Tribune Tower looks better in the dark.

I'm sure we'll head over to the arena in time to watch the first game.

I keep thinking about all those TV sets back home that are about to be tuned to Channel 2. And about all the countless little clusters of people gathered around to watch.

Chances are, that viewing audience will include some pretty impressive diversity of its own.

Go, Zags.

Sometimes I amaze myself with my ability to think that it's all about me.

In mulling various scenarios that could complicate my deadline picture tonight after the game, I actually had the following fleeting thought: "Man, I hope there's not an earthquake."

In Salt Lake, the S-R's three press row seat assignments were all together. But here in Oakland, two are together and one is by itself.

I assume I'll occupy the singleton, as John and Steve need to be able to talk about their postgame plans.

My seat is right along one of the baselines. It's close to the floor. Really close. Richie Frahm could have made a basket from where I'll be sitting.

Here's another thing about college basketball that Mark Few knows that I, on the other hand, did not know: Apparently ESPN's Stephen A. Smith likes to be called "Stephen A."

Bradley wants to be the new old Gonzaga.

You know, the team nobody had heard of, et cetera, but now everybody loves.

Been there.

They even get '90s-esque Zags-like questions. On the media shuttle bus, I heard someone ask the guy who does Bradley games on radio where the school is located.

He didn't sound defensive when answering. (It's in Peoria, Ill.) But later, on a cell phone call, he mentioned that he couldn't believe he still gets asked that.

Hey, pal, welcome to our world.

GU certainly has fans here among the locals. But it's not a universal outpouring of love. (One theory: This is too near some of the WCC punching bags the Zags routinely work over.)

Tonight a San Francisco TV station's report on the regional included an interview with a kid who looked to be about 10. He was asked which team he wanted to see emerge from the Oakland foursome. And he launched into a pretty impressive analysis of the other three teams' chances.

But I'll have to admit I was taken aback when he stopped cold and said, "I want anybody but Gonzaga."

The midday traffic on the freeway over to the Oakland Arena reminded me that driving on I-90 back home is practically like being on a peaceful country lane compared to some of what California has to offer.

At the arena, media folks were complaining about the drink selections that came with the free lunch being served. That prompted a woman in a "Staff" polo shirt to whip out her walkie-talkie and go into damage-control mode. "Kelly, could you find out about the beverages for lunch. I'm taking a lot of heat here."

I sat with Tacoma columnist Dave Boling, who used to work at the S-R. "Let me tell you about Gonzaga fans," he said.

He proceeded to describe some pretty shabby airline-boarding etiquette back when he was leaving Salt Lake City. (People offering and accepting cuts in line for a Southwest flight.)

Before GU's practice session, a KREM cameraman and I talked about the traffic implications of Wal-Mart building on the South Hill. (I think his name was Dan. Seemed like a good guy.) It struck me as sort of an odd discussion to be taking place here in Oakland.

Several hundred fans scattered around the big arena watched the Zags amble out onto the court and start shooting.

That's what today's practice was -- shooting. There wasn't much running. Jut a little quick-cut stuff.

At first, it's sort of neat to be really close to Spokane's athletic heroes. But after a while, watching a basketball practice is, well, watching a basketball practice.

One thing that was fun, though, was to keep my gaze fixed on the hoop and see it when five or six balls were being shot virtually simultaneously. These kids are so good that every once in a while there would be this rapid-sequence swish-swish-swish-swish-swish thing that was a sight to behold.

A big white "GONZAGA" was illuminated in eight spots around the electronic message board rimming an upper deck inside the arena.

As a service to you, the reader of this blog, I eavesdropped on the players during practice. But almost none of the dry humor and sarcasm would make sense out of context. These are conversations that started months ago.

One kid talked about the dark seats providing a good shooting background. Another deadpanned that he planned to pop a cap on a teammate's ass.

The players and coaches left the floor to a smattering of applause. And then as they were about to pass through the walkway leading to their lockerroom, the "Adam!" "Adam!" shouts began.

Morrison spent about 10 minutes signing autographs on everything from shirts and basketballs to homemade signs and magazines with him on the cover.

Some of the signature-seekers looked perfectly innocent and sincere. But a few struck me as likely eBay marketers.

The star forward appeared to say little during all this.

I followed some of the other reporters into the lockerroom. "Hey, Sliceman," said assistant coach Leon Rice.

We shook hands. He told me he read my column. And, remembering that his name had been mentioned in connection with some head coaching vacancies, I told him I followed his career opportunities.

In the dressing room, a cluster of reporters, cameras and lights faced a seated Morrison in one corner. And elsewhere throughout the room, other one-on-one interviews took place at the same time.

The players seemed utterly matter-of-fact about it all. Not one of them appeared to be the slightest bit dazzled.

Outside, on the court, UCLA was going through its own shooting drills.

Like the Zags, they seemed well aware that none of today's baskets count.

I was talking with Oakland's special events coordinator this morning and he told me that, according to Census data, this city is America's most diverse.

We didn't really get into just precisely how that was being defined. (One thought: the most diverse assortment of sirens outside a hotel room window in the middle of the night.)

But I went out and walked around downtown for about 90 minutes. And I find that I can almost believe his claim.

Heading over to the arena in a little bit to pick up credentials and look important. I promise that my next post will have something to do with basketball.

Several Channel 4 people here, including a woman I once tried to fix up with an S-R colleague.

Don't ask.

I went in to the office for an hour or so this morning, and several people asked me how I thought it would go for the Zags Thursday.

As if I actually know anything.

But that's not the craziest thing I heard today. A reader - Norma S. - who checked out my NCAA tourney columns in the paper last week, e-mailed me that she has decided the Zags won because I am their lucky charm. "Now do the same for the Thursday night game," she wrote.

Um, OK. Will do.

We arrived in Oakland after sunset.
My first time here. Been to San Francisco, but never Oakland.

First impressions...
Until a couple of days ago, I didn't know Oakland had its own airport. But now that I've seen said airport, I can see why Oakland might try to keep it a secret.

Drove by the arena where the Zags will play Thursday. Looks big.

On our way downtown, I saw the Tribune Tower. I've seen many pictures of it over the years. And, as someone fortunate enough to work in a cool newspaper building, I feel qualified to say it definitely has class.

Of course, I know nothing about the newspaper itself or if it even occupies the tower building these days.

I still have images from Salt Lake City swimming around in my head. I've been trying to remember if CBS begins game coverage in time to include the introduction of the starting lineups.

Maybe I'm just a ridiculous softie. But hearing two of the GU starters identified as "from Spokane, Washington" sends a jolt through me.

One reason John and Steve enjoy traveling with Brian is the way he gets annoyed whenever airline gate agents let TV crews have special-favor early boarding. He can't stand it and makes his feelings known.

Speaking of Brian, he told me a charming story about his day. On the way to the airport, he had stopped at a mall to buy some shoes. He went into a restroom and saw a uniformed food court employee on his hands and knees in a stall, throwing up with gusto.

The guy then got up and left the restroom without washing his hands.

What's that got to do with the Zags? Nothing, I suppose. But shouldn't we all be concerned about the sad state of food-service hygiene?

For the second Tuesday in a row, as I was getting ready to hit the road, the neighbor's cat snuck into my house. She's not unreasonable. She can be coaxed back out with a treat. But I'm thinking maybe I ought to consider writing an inspirational book called "Tuesdays With Furry."

At the Oakland airport, a tall guy from KREM got on the shuttle to the car rental area. And a woman shouted "Sten!"

She said she was from Coeur d'Alene and watched him all the time. He was pretty nice to her.

When we were checking into the downtown Marriott, a woman came up behind me and started talking to herself. I gingerly tried engaging her, but she didn't have time to be conversing with someone here on Earth.

Steve was standing in front of me and did a fine impression of John Belushi's "Animal House" trick of saying something disguised as a cough.

"Blogit," he coughed.

But my impression of Oakland shot up not long ago when the hotel's building engineer helped me with a computer connection issue. His name is E.J. and he refused a tip.

I have a plan for some reporting I want to do tomorrow for a column I'll write for Thursday's paper. Wish me luck.

When I was a little kid in the '60s, I had a short period of being a big fan of the Dayton (Ohio) Flyers basketball team. I watched their games on TV. A guy named Don May was the star forward.

Well, one of those years, they upset North Carolina in a semi-final game and made it to the NCAA championship game. They lost to UCLA.

But there was a big difference between that long-ago UCLA team and the admittedly tough Bruins squad the Zags will face. That '60s team had a guy named Lew Alcindor.

We're back in Spokane for a little more than 24 hours. Then it's on to California tomorrow afternoon.

We were supposed to fly from Salt Lake City to Seattle and then on to Spokane.

But this morning in Salt Lake there was a problem with an engine de-icing valve, so the plane crawled back to the concourse. (No, I don't really understand what a de-icing valve is. But it sounds like something you'd like to have working.)

Plan B had us going to Boise and then on to Spokane, which is what happened. We were lucky to get seats.

Before we left Salt Lake, we saw KHQ sports guy John Fritz emerge from a jetway looking frustrated. His scheduled flight to Oakland had come back to its gate because of mechanical problems. "We're in hell," said Fritz.

No John, Utah.

The airline quickly announced it had found a new plane for the Oakland folks. So I think they ended up OK.

Before we boarded our flight to Boise, I visited with GU student and fellow traveler Justin Brown. (His gray "Gonzaga" sweatshirt tipped me off that we might have something to talk about.)

A senior computer engineering major from Richland, he had enjoyed the games, of course.

He seemed like a nice kid. His favorite player is J.P. Batista.

Brown wasn't sure he could swing getting to Oakland. But he was mulling a few possibilities. "Might road-trip it," he said.

He really wants to soak in the 2006 NCAA run. "Especially since this is my senior year."

In any event, the flight-home complications hadn't dampened his Zags-high mood. "You've just got to roll with it," he said.

I'll try to remember that.

Next stop: Oakland.

First, let me make one thing clear.

I'm not going to complain about the travel arrangements. Our hotel here in Salt Lake, the Grand America, is first rate. And I understand that there are only so many seats on nonstop flights between here and Spokane.

Besides, the truth is, I'm just happy to be along for the ride.

But the fact of the matter is, we're stuck here in Utah until Monday morning.

Perhaps I can use this time to reflect on the week to come.

It was author Gertrude Stein who famously said of Oakland, "There is no THERE there."

But as I've never read a word of anything she wrote, I have to turn to more familiar material for insights on that overshadowed city. And so I've been thinking of Tom Wolfe's sprawling 1998 novel "A Man in Full."

The depictions of Oakland in that book paint a picture of a dank, hopeless urban underbelly.

I can't wait to get there.

Something else I've been thinking about. Several years ago, John Blanchette told me that he had a sort of unusual perspective on big-deal out-of-town sports events involving Spokane area teams. That is, while he almost invariably got to attend the games themselves, he missed out on getting to experience the community buzz because, well, he was away at the Rose Bowl or whatever.

This morning, I know a little bit about what he meant.

If I were home, I would go to the grocery store, probably twice. It's one of my Sunday routines.

And the checker would ask, "Did you watch the game?"

I'll bet that's happening all over the Inland Northwest this morning.

I've got a song stuck in my head. It's one the GU Pep Band plays (really well) at games.

Orignally recorded a few years ago by a group called The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, its title is "The Impression That I Get."

It includes the following lyrics:

"I've never had to knock on wood.
"But I know someone who has.
"Which makes me wonder if I could."

Talk to you later.

Everything you've ever heard, assumed or imagined about staid, culturally conservative Utah is challenged by the scene at the downtown Salt Lake City Denny's in the wee hours of Saturday night/Sunday morning.

So I had the same thought I'm sure everyone else did.

If GU can zoom past a supposedly decent team when not hitting on all cylinders, imagine the possibilities if they put it all together.

Erroll Knight's leaping ability is astonishing.

Congratulations to Coach Few and the lads. Making it to the Sweet 16 is nothing to giggle at.

I visited for a brief moment tonight with GU president Father Robert Spitzer. I was reminded that I sometimes think that he and my S-R friend and colleague Doug Floyd resemble separated-at-birth twins. (Maybe I'm not the first to make this observation.)

UCLA coach Ben Howland has Spokane connections. I'm sure John or Steve will note that in the days to come.

I'm tired and need to not be looking at a computer screen for awhile. But I'll update this blog Sunday.

Oh, by the way. I decided to not yell anything in the direction of the CBS microphones. I didn't want to fnd myself in the position of having to explain to my editors why I had my NCAA credentials revoked.

"You said WHAT on national TV?"

Right now I have one question: Will I be home in Spokane long enough to take a few things to the dry cleaners and get them back before going to Oakland?

We're going to head over to the arena in about an hour, to get there before the start of the Montana game.

I've been thinking about what I'll write tonight for tomorrow's paper. I have a tentative idea, which I just tried to explain to photographer Brian Plonka on the phone.

I'm not sure we were on the same page. But I know Brian will figure it out and make it work.

My deadline will be a little bit more of a crunch tonight. But still baby stuff compared to what the sports guys face.

1. Out of loyalty to home and the fact that I can be easily confused about these things, I have essentially continued to operate on Pacific time while here.

2. You know that uphill stretch of Grand Boulevard between Sacred Heart and St. John's Cathedral? Well, that fitness-test slope angle is quite similar to the one you encounter here when walking up to the state capitol.

The capitol is undergoing extensive exterior renovation.

3. I'm not seeing all of the print media coverage of GU, of course. But I was all set to declare that the Zags had put the Lilac City on the map in one very specific way.

It appeared to me that, at least in sports sections, "Spokane" tended to be gaining on "Spokane, Wash."

But then at breakfast this morning, I opened The Salt Lake Tribune and saw a column headlined "Zags face great expectations."

Yep. You guessed it. We were back to "Spokane, Wash."

Oh, well. I think some writers don't want to grant Spokane "stand-alone" status because they love the whole image of the team that supposedly came out of nowhere a few years ago.

And then there's always the fact that a lot of people are utter dopes when it comes to geography and do not know where Spokane is.

Mark Few said J.P. Batista is the finest soul he has ever known.

"Soul" was his choice of words, and it's not for me to interpret it. But I think you get the idea.

Long ago and far away, I dated an Indiana grad. She was a good person. She referred to herself as "corn fed."

But there's something I learned from that relationship. And it could make you sound well-informed tomorrow when discussing GU's second-round game against the Hoosiers.

It's Indiana University, not the University of Indiana. IU, not U of I.

I have Cal vs. NC State on in the other part of my hotel room, so I'm saying this qualifies as NCAA coverage.

Received an unsigned e-mail from one hilariously hostile reader who wondered if the last sports event I covered was a pie-eating contest. Not bad.

Anyway, that got me to thinking. Have I ever covered a pie-eating contest? I don't think so.

That's almost sad. I mean, I've been working for daily newspapers for 30 years. And I've covered quite a few soft-news events in my day. But never a pie-eating contest.

Maybe I should alert Features Editor Pia Hansen to be on the lookout for just such an assignment for me. Or not.

On a friendlier note, S-R colleague Dave Trimmer (Go, Griz) suggested I yell "Spokane Rocks!" in the direction of the CBS microphones tomorrow.

Photographer Brian Plonka and I conducted a "How 'bout them Zags?" man-on-the-street poll at lunchtime today. Look for our findings tomorrow.

In other news, many of Montana's fans are still walking around wearing a slightly dazed look.

Got an e-mail this morning from my friend Bob Curry in Pullman.

He agreed with something I wrote for today's print edition about being able to feel the tide shift in a game.

"The momentum thing, oh my God, yes!!!" he wrote. "I was waiting for it, and when it started I was whooping and hollering. I am sure I scared the cat."

Bob's willingness to be enthusiastic about GU's success confirms something I had already suspected: He's a pretty classy guy.

You see, Bob is an X Man. He graduated from Xavier in 1970 with a B.S. in communications arts.

He knows more than a little about television production and he wasn't totally thrilled with the NCAA network last night. "Do you know how many frigging times CBS cut away and gave us parts of some East coast game? Even missed some Zags scoring."

Hmmmm. So that's what prompted that distant yelling I heard coming from the north.

I got to witness the Adam Morrison Factor tonight.

It's something to see.

Everybody knows he can electrify a GU crowd. But what he did tonight was something else.

The audience for Thursday's games down here in Salt Lake City was made up of fans of eight different schools plus a lot of free-agent locals. And you can usually count on a big chunk of that uncommitted vote going to the underdogs -- Xavier, in this case.

But at the end, Morrison turned the fans at the University of Utah's Huntsman Center into a Zags crowd. It was as if he waved a wand in front of the assembled throng and muttered some Bulldog-power incantation.

I was there. I heard it. I felt it.

Star power, I guess.

Well, that and some big plays.

I've never had a better seat for an in-demand sports event. Riding shotgun with Bergum and Blanchette tonight, we were a bounce pass from the action.

I think our seats were better than the one filled by Sports Illustrated's Rick Reilly.

How good were they? We were slightly above and directly behind the CBS broadcast crew. Literally.

If I had yelled something during a lull, it would have been heard across the nation.

I assume I'll have the same seat for Saturday's game. So give it some thought.

What should I yell?

"Free Spokane!"

"Eastern Washington doesn't really get that much rain!"

I agree. Needs work.

There's a story on the front page of The Salt Lake Tribune this morning headlined "Gonzaga feels right at home on U. court."

It offers a rundown of various GU-Utah links...John Stockton, the McCarthey brothers, et cetera.

Just yesterday, I heard Mark Few throw cold water on any notion that the University of Utah's court would be like a home away from home for the Zags. But hey, that didn't really fit in the theme of the Tribune piece.

Anyway, I'm thinking of testing this idea that Salt Lake City is a hotbed of affection for Gonzaga. I have some becoming Zags apparel that I'm thinking of parading around in at Temple Square and elsewhere on Friday - assuming GU wins today.

Stay tuned.

Full disclosure...yes, this is essentially stealing an idea from myself. Some of you might recall when I spent a few days in Seattle walking around wearing a pink button that said "I Know Spokane - Ask Me!"

Ah, yes. Good times.

It has been fun to see how many sportswriters from other papers know and like John and Steve. I'd call it a brotherhood, but there are a few sisters, too.

But the guy who made me laugh (well, not literally) was a reporter I overheard talking to his editor over his cell phone.

The writer was all sing-song friendly.

"Game capsule? Yep. Five keys? Will do."

Then, the moment he disconnected from the call, the reporter called his editor a very bad name.