Irene Wigington can pinpoint the day she divorced the College World Series.
For years, male fans had downed adult beverages at one of the three bars within shouting distance of Wigington's house. The longtime Rosenblatt-area homeowner had watched them stagger past her home and heed the call of nature behind some trees in a grassy vacant lot across Atlas Street.
That was bad enough. But then one day Wigington watched a group of women go the men one better. They actually relieved themselves right on Atlas Street.
How angry did this make her? Two years later, she can't talk about it without using exclamation points.
“They don't even go behind the cars! They were right at the curb! And I'm thinking, ‘Oh, my gosh, what has this thing become?'” Wigington said.
Contrary to popular opinion, not everyone who lives around Rosenblatt Stadium adores the College World Series, say nine area homeowners interviewed in the past week.
Many neighbors enjoy interacting with out-of-state fans, but they have grown weary of the traffic jams, the late-night parties, the trash left behind.
And here's the honest-to-goodness, non-Chamber of Commerce approved truth: Some people who live around the stadium currently hosting the CWS won't shed any tears when it moves three miles north next summer.
“I compare the World Series to a large wild animal, maybe a bear or a lion, wandering into the neighborhood,” said Jim Krance, who lives on 16th Street. “It's kind of interesting and kind of exciting, but you are darned happy to see it go.”
Neighbors on all sides of the debate agree that the majority of Omahans living near Rosenblatt support the College World Series and are sad to see it depart, along with the doomed 62-year-old stadium.
But you can find two or three homeowners per block who dissent from that prevailing view.
The dissenters aren't hard to pinpoint, neighbors say. They put up iron fences around carefully manicured yards, instead of selling lawn parking like so many Rosenblatt-area residents do.
They post “Beware of Dog” signs.
And sometimes they simply lock up and leave — two residents said they knew neighbors who planned annual summer vacations to coincide with the CWS.
Several people fingered as CWS humbugs won't talk about why.
“What I have to say won't go over very well,” said one woman.
Those who will talk say their frustration starts with the most basic of civic complaints: too many cars, not enough pavement.
“Look at this street,” said Rich Lambrecht, the cousin of an area homeowner, as he stood looking down 14th Street just west of Rosenblatt, two days before the series started.
“You can barely get two cars by each other. Can you imagine trying to get out of here when 10,000 people or whatever are trying to get in?”
Tom Lovgren, who also lives on 14th Street, says he and his wife stock up on groceries before the series starts so they don't have to leave at all during the games. Others agree they feel trapped inside their homes by the gridlock outside.
The second complaint: too much alcohol, not enough courtesy.
Nearly every Rosenblatt neighbor, even those who dislike the CWS, has stories about the kindness of the strangers who show up for college baseball every June.
Lovgren, for example, can tell stories about one longtime fan who delivered boxes of cookies to his door as a thank-you for letting him park in his yard. A Stanford fan once handed Lovgren an autographed baseball, signed by every member of the team, and told him to give it to his grandson.
“You just cannot believe people like that, people that nice,” Lovgren said.
But for every saint there are three sinners, residents say. People who wander into the front yards, yell and scream deep into the night, drop empty beer bottles and worse.
About five years ago, Lambrecht says, his cousin found a young man and woman consummating their love for the College World Series in his back yard.
Krance says people have set up card tables near his front door and partied until daybreak. Try sleeping through that, he says.
“Some people basically treat your property like public property,” Krance said. “You just have to basically grin and bear it.”
And that's exactly what the World Series Humbugs say they will do.
They will grit their teeth when they have to fight CWS traffic on 13th Street to get home from work. They will complain to their spouses after they pick fan litter off their driveways.
And they will give you a short, sarcastic laugh, like Wigington does, if you try to wax poetic and nostalgic about the College World Series at Rosenblatt Stadium.
“I've always loved the CWS. I know it's good for Omaha,” Wigington said. “But to tell you the truth, I'm kind of glad it's going downtown. Other people can have the headache.”
Contact the writer:
444-1064, matthew.hansen@owh.com
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