Tonight the Cal Bears men's basketball team beat Stanford at Maple Pavilion for the first time since 1993, when one Jason Kidd was their freshman point guard. And I didn't get to see the game, even though I could have watched it on my father-in-law's satellite television. The reason I didn't get to see it, though, is that I was sitting in the hospital for the third day running in order to make him feel less bored and lonely. I was sitting watching a football game in which I had no rooting interest at the start and even less by the end, since LSU, a team from my least favorite conference, was beating the shit out of Notre Dame, a team I've always found extremely annoying. But it was worth it, because he has shared his home with me many, many times, because he tells me stories he tells no one else, and because he always calls me to tell me when the Bears are going to be on so I can go watch the game with him. As soon as it became 100% certain that the Fighting Irish would not be making a miraculous comeback, he switched on ESPN so we could watch the sports news ticker at the bottom of the screen. After a few minutes, it cycled back around to college basketball, eventually getting to the only game I cared about. Cal was leading 66-63 with six seconds left. I crossed my fingers, which I've previously only thought of as a figure of speech, and waited with him for the score to repeat. It never did, for some reason. But when I got out to the car, turned my mobile phone on, and found the final score online, I let out a little shout of glee. More importantly, it looks like my father-in-law will be coming home tomorrow or the following morning, which would be the occasion for a much throatier roar.