There’s an excitement that swirls in the air as we walk across campus to the Joyce Center for the first round of the NCAA Division I women’s college basketball tournament. Busloads of out-of-town fans for the opposing team—the Minnesota Golden Gophers—crowd the entrance.

Our first stop after getting through the security checkpoint is the restroom. Two middle-aged women do not pass up an opportunity to go to the bathroom. Next, we travel through the tunnel and onto the edge of the basketball court, walking in front of the Gopher Pep Band to our seats in section 10. We have center court seats in the Notre Dame gold section. Sweet!

We show our ticket stubs to the usher, and he escorts us up to our seats in row 9. I ask him where I can get a program.

“The NCAA didn’t give us any,” he says. But I’m looking all around, and everyone has a program. So I ask the nice looking African American man a few rows in front of me where he got his program.

“At the table by the door where they’re selling t-shirts,” he points in the direction of the Gopher Pep Band and the tunnel. I look at Marsha, grin, and bounce down the concrete steps to the floor.

The Pep Band is blasting some tune I’ve heard before but can’t name. I duck under trombone slides and dodge the Gopher mascot who’s pimping for a photo-op. When I get to the souvenir stand, I don’t see any programs, but I get in line anyway. As I near the table, I eye a small stack in front of the cash register. Everyone else is busy selecting one of twenty different NCAA women’s college basketball shirts ranging from $25-100. All I want is an $8 program.

A seam opens in the queue, and I fill it.

“Who’s next,” the lady says.

“I am,” I yell, handing her $20 for a program. She’s wearing one of the special edition t-shirts for the tournament along with several buttons and a baseball cap with the Notre Dame logo in the front. It takes here several minutes to return with my program. She hands it to me, and I look at her.

“Oh,” she says, “I owe you change. You gave me a ten, right?”

“No,” I remind her, “it was a twenty.”

She counts out twelve one-dollar bills and hands them to me. I stuff the change into my pocket and push my way out of the queue back toward the tunnel. The smell of popcorn, hotdogs, nacho cheese floods my olfactory senses.

“I’ll take a diet coke, a bottle of water, two soft pretzels with salt and yellow mustard, and a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups,” I order.

“That’ll be $15,” the concession stand attendant says. I give her ten ones and a five. It’s always better to give exact change. Even so, she has to count it three times before she gives me my food.

I hear the horn blow from inside the arena. Warm-ups are over, and the game is about to begin. I rush back through the tunnel, across the floor, behind the basketball goal, and under the trombones. The Gopher makes a pass for my Reese’s Peanut Butter cups but I step between him and a photographer just in time. He gets his photo-op, and I save the candy for later. I jog up the concrete stairs to our seats.

“I found the programs,” I confess.

“I see that,” she says.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the playing of the National Anthem by the University of Minnesota Golden Gophers Pep Band,” the announcer quakes.

I look around for the American Flag. It’s hanging high up in the rafters of the arena. I decide to focus on the players as they stand in parallel lines facing center court. Some put their hands over their left breasts, others stand at attention, hands clasped behind their backs. Some sing along, or at least move their lips, some seem entranced. I'm humming something completely different in my head:

O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
And there's a magic in the sound of their name

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave
Here come the Irish of Notre Dame¹¹

The fans erupt in cheers and applause while the Pep Band blurts out the final notes.

As I turn to sit down, I notice for the first time how dirty the seats are, and the floor, and the chipped paint on the railing. This place is a dump, a far cry from the opulence of the Basilica.  But as I’m browsing the program during the announcing of the teams, coaches and starting line-ups, I see that the Joyce Center arena is scheduled for a face-lift this summer. It will be completed in time for next year’s tournament. Good. The women deserve a nicer place to play basketball, with a JumboTron I hope.

The players take the court for the tip-off. Minnesota gains possession and scores early and often. I watch the back and forth for a few minutes then scan the crowd. The place is more than half empty. Across the railing in the second half of the gold section, there is a group of 60s-something women all sporting lime green Notre Dame t-shirts and short, spiked haircuts. Most of them are overweight and graying.

I nudge Marsha in their direction and proclaim, “That will be us in another twenty years.”

She smiles and turns back to the game. I let my thoughts dance toward retirement and our plans of buying an RV to trek around the country following women’s sports.

The game doesn’t get exciting until late in the second half when Notre Dame pulls within two points of the Gophers. They’ve been trailing most of the game and playing without one of their key guards, Lindsay Schrader, who’s sidelined with a back injury. But what really hurts Notre Dame is the Gopher’s proficiency at making the 3-point shot. Even so, we keep hoping that the luck of the Irish will win out. It doesn’t.

In the post-game interview, Notre Dame’s coach of 22 years, Muffet McGraw, apologies to the fans for losing to the Minnesota Golden Gophers.

“It was a fantastic crowd out there today,” she says, “and we didn't give them their money's worth.”

I wouldn’t go that far, Muffet. It was definitely worth the $13.50 a piece to watch the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame play basketball in person and live on ESPN. Hell, it cost us a whole lot more than the price of the ticket to get here, and I still think it was worth it.

As we leave the Joyce Center arena, we walk through the mini-museum for Notre Dame sports memorabilia. Above the display cases and encircling the room are the names of every monogram winner of every varsity sport since 1898. I search for a few recognizable names among the more than 6,500 engraved: Ruth Riley and Megan Duffy (basketball), Mariel Zagunis (fencing).¹²

It's hard to pick out the women surrounded by so many men. Yet, these few have definitely left their mark in the past 37 years since Title IX and paved the way for future Fighting Irish women of Notre Dame.