I was getting hammered at David Wells' perfect game.

It was a Sunday, one week before my college graduation. The next day our Senior Week started, five days of drinking and debauchery, immorality and immaturity. Pretty much a continuation of the previous four years.

Some of my Yankees fan friends (Chris, now MSDW's most ardent Barry Bonds fan, doesn't count as a Yankees fan since at the time he didn't know who Kevin Maas was) suggested making the trip to the Bronx for the game. This was May 1998. By the day of the game, the Yankees were 28-9 and 3.5 games up on the Sox. The Yankees were clearly the class of major league baseball. The Sox would win 92 games that season and finish 22 games out. Getting tickets the day of the game was easy; no Yankees fans were going early in the season because everyone knew that the real games wouldn't start until October. We ended up with seats in one of the last rows of the tier reserved.

This is what I remember about the first six innings of that game: Nothing. I pretty much concentrated on drinking Miller Lites and trying to explain to my Yankees fan friends why Nomar Garciaparra was clearly superior to Derek Jeter.

It wasn't until after the sixth inning that we all had a collective "Holy Shit" moment. And then we did four things the rest of the game:

1. Stood and cheered
2. Held it in
3. Called our friends that had passed up the chance to come to the game and made sure that they realized that they were missing out on the 15th perfect game in major league history.
4. Kept on calling our friends that had passed up the chance to come to the game just to be certain that they truly realized what they were missing. We were considerate like that.

When you're a college senior and your college life is on its last legs, you always wonder how you can go out in style. Most of the standard answers are potentially life-threatening or against the Geneva Convention.

But kicking off the final week of college by watching the 15th perfect game in major league history- both legal and historic. One week later, I would sitting at graduation, trash bag in my pocket because I was pretty sure that I was going to throw-up after a week of "excitement," dreaming about a career in the poorly paid biweekly newspaper/blog industry. Remember kids, dreams do come true.