Calling the game.

If you know anything about Syracuse University, and as a proud alumni I do, you know the school pumps out a plethora of sports broadcasters.

I'm not sure how a skill like color commentating a baseball game joined the ranks of chemical engineering or pulmonary surgery as a legitimate field of collegial study, but apparently it has.

If you get anywhere near a football or basketball game this fall, you're likely to hear from one of my fellow Orangemen: Bob Costas, Marv Albert, Dick Stockton, Mike Tirico, Sean McDonough and many many more. Truth is, you can't throw a bocci ball and NOT hit an SU sportscaster.

You're also likely to hear one, probably more, of these esteemed graduates refer to the school on the hill, just east of lovely Route 81 and south of the picturesque carrier Circle, as "the Harvard of Central New York."

(momentary pause to wipe the coffee off my computer screen, as every time I hear that phrase my body convulses and I am thrown into an involuntary spit-take)

I've never been too Harvard.

Never taken a class at Harvard.

And don't know anyone who has.

Although years ago, Rob Schwartz and I did work for two guys who were show runners for THE SIMPSONS. They were actual Harvard Lampoon fellows. I could tell from the way their noses arched to the sky when I told them I had gone to Syracuse, that my school was nothing like theirs.

And oddly enough, I would not begrudge them their well-earned snobbery.

Harvard is a school of unmatched scholarly rigor. Their reputation is worldwide. Admittance there is impossible.

To get in to Harvard, you need a track record of community service. You must demonstrate character and an unblemished moral code. Most of all, in order to keep pace with the demanding schedule and grueling work load you must have an aptitude and a voracious appetite for learning.

To get into Syracuse, you simply needed to show the tuition check would clear.