I spent much of my night out after the game wallowing in the existential nightmare that is Federal Hill, sharing anecdotes about NYC lunacy with kids who graduated from Gilman one, two and three years after me. At one point, I was told that I owe it to myself to finish college. At another, that I totally belong in NYC, but that I just had to take care to run with the right crowd. And at yet another juncture, I ran into an old football coach (prickish metrosexual weirdo who was featured on the 2005 edition of the Bachelorette). "Staying out of trouble?", he asks.