On another day maybe the opening sentence here reads: "Congrats to UCLA quarterback Ben Olson, dressed in jeans and jersey, for successfully running onto the field for Senior Salute and not getting hurt."
Or maybe it starts with the ref's announcement that the timeout charged to the Trojans for wearing their home colors in the Rose Bowl and UCLA's timeout to support the move "will run concurrently."
If only O.J. Simpson could be here to explain to folks the difference between concurrently and consecutively.
There's always the game to write about or maybe a colorful description of the testosterone showdown between teams at midfield to exaggerate the impact on the outcome.
But it really isn't much of a game, the score even more lopsided in the Trojans' favor if USC's kicker doesn't strike out while trying to make a field goal.
Just another Saturday of football as it turns out, here today, gone tomorrow and back again next year unless you're friends of Bruin Steph.
Then nothing anymore is just taken for granted.
LOT H at the Rose Bowl, a tailgate city for UCLA fans, rows and rows of cars, tents and hibachis.
And in the middle of it all, an empty chair, save adornments, the bear, baseball cap and picture of Stephanie Rios.
One week, like most every week when the Bruins are playing at home, Bruin Steph is here tailgating, the center of attention, Happy Hour on Thursday before the game and always dinner on Sunday with friends.
It's a Sunday almost two months ago, a Sunday seemingly like all the others except for a headache that can't be shaken, a 911 call, a trip to the hospital and then a call by officials to beef up hospital security to handle all the people who show up to check on her.
"There are so many people the hospital staff wants to know if she's some kind of movie star," Stephani Healy says.
No, she's just everybody's friend, a woman who never knew her father, 14 years old when her mother dies, and adopting one family after another as her own.
If she takes on all their last names, it reads like a telephone book.
"She's my sister," Frances DiVita Jones says. "You don't have to be blood to be family."
Bruin Steph is also a day-care worker, 45 years old, and she dies. Just like that.
She never recovers from a brain aneurysm, Deacon Frank Guzman telling the overflow crowd at her funeral service a few days later, "She was always the first one to the party, and now the first in heaven."
