After the lengthy post-game parking lot celebration, we took the shuttle bus back to downtown Pasadena and then boarded the train for downtown. We thought we were going straight to my friend's rented house in Long Beach, but unfortunately we misunderstood the service map and the train service ended in downtown. We left the station and were left wandering through a mostly-deserted downtown area with no idea how we were going to get home.
At that point, a police car pulled up next to us and he flashed his sirens. He got out of the car with his flashlight, and scanned us up and down. He then said the following:
"Excuse me, I need your assistance. We are currently searching for a dangerous perpetrator. He's a large African-American wearing burnt orange like you, and he just stole our national championship."
He wouldn't give us a ride, but he did tell us where we could catch a cab. It was expensive as hell, but none of us cared.
The next morning, I got up really early and bought seven different newspapers and some coffee. I read all of the sports pages on the deserted beach and finally understood the meaning of the word "zen."