Pizza Awesome

By November 27, 1998, things were looking mighty fine for the Longhorns. Ricky was on his way to break Tony Dorsett’s record and claim the Heisman Trophy, and red-shirt freshman Major Applewhite was king of the quarterbacks. Mack Brown was on top of the world – he was set to win 9 games in his first season with Texas. After the Mackovic era (4 wins in ’97?!), the burnt-orange-blooded were desperate for some good news.

That fateful (day-after) Thanksgiving, the Longhorn faithful made their way to Darrell K Royal-Memorial Stadium looking to beat the Aggies.

I had spent the week before that standing in line for football tickets for my parents, sister and her husband at the time. We’ll call him “Holloway.” The ticket-getting process wasn’t quite yet refined. Probably because it had been many years since people wanted to go to games. So I sat, stood and slumped in the ramps of the stadium for two days. Classes be damned (don’t worry, I would later fail out) I was going to get tickets to that game.

It was in those ramps that I realized for the first time how awesome Mack Brown was. As Mack and company delivered slice after slice of pizza to the waiting weary, we knew we were destined to love him. It was two days later that I sent him an email thanking him for Mr. Gatti's finest, and three days later when he responded back from his blackberry saying I could repay him by cheering like crazy for the boys as they beat A&M. Say what you want about Mack, but in the years since I’ve never heard of a fan coming away from an interaction with him who didn’t feel the same way I do. Mack Brown is Pizza Awesome.

With tickets secured, my family trekked to Austin for the game. They weren’t great tickets, mind you. On the 20 yard line of lower deck (pre-Godzilla-Tron) it wasn’t really easy to see the game. But no one grumbled for too long. It was somewhere in the first quarter that Ricky broke the record, on that very 20 yard line. Suddenly we had the best seats in the house.

Bear in mind that Holloway was hungover out of his mind. I’m not sure how he was functioning. What I do know is that at one point during the game he went to get everyone cokes and waters and dropped them all as he walked back into the stadium. I personally would have said “screw it, get your own damn soda,” but as a testament to his character Holloway went back inside to get more. It wasn’t until much later that we learned the reason he took 45 minutes to get refreshments is because he had to do it twice.

Somewhere around yard 45 of Ricky's dazzling 60-yard touchdown sprint to break the record, the Longhorns went CRAZY! It was Ricky's time, but it was ours too. We were finally back on the scene. Years of patiently outwaiting arrogant coaches with little talent were done. In the moments after the record was broken, the game stopped, and a two minute Ricky-highlight-reel played while the horns chanted “Heis-man…Heis-man” and Tony Dorsett jumped up and down like a maniac. It was a good day for the Horns. We all knew the little golden trophy man was coming home and that greatness for the Longhorns was just around the corner.

It only took one year for Mack to convince the Horn fans to "Come Early, Be Loud, Stay Late & Wear Orange," and it only took that one year for Mack to convince us that Texas would soon again be awesome. Pizza Awesome.

The President

Over the last seven months, I’ve complained at least 877 times about drunk people not knowing what I was dressed as last Halloween. What I thought was a pretty recognizable Big Bird costume looked to the over-served like a duck, a chicken, sponge-bob and my personal favorite, a chicken nugget.

Somehow, in my lamentations I forgot that I was once that person. I was once the person who, after ample libation was unable to articulate that I did indeed understand the costume but the words were a little bumbled coming out.

In 2009 I went on one of my favorite road trips ever. My first trip to Stillwater was a memorable one, filled with good tailgate friends and great memories. Kacie and I, upon arriving in town the morning of the Texas / Oklahoma State game, went first to Eskimo Joe’s. Immediately disappointed by the atmosphere, we headed across the street to a bar called George’s Stables, henceforth referred to as “The Stables.”

It was Halloween and the CATI crew was already pretty rowdy, and frankly, quite sure they owned the bar. The jukebox had been hijacked and the guys could not get enough of those $1.25 beers. Kacie and I walked in and immediately felt at home.

The day had begun. Patio, inside, bathroom line…it didn’t matter. We owned the joint. As the day wore on we owned it more.

As game time drew nearer there were more characters out and about. Being Halloween, there were people in costumes roaming the streets and bars, along with the general game-day crew.

Additionally, as game time drew nearer, there were less and less sober people in our crew…Kacie and I realized we were not going to make the drive back to Dallas. Two of our friends, we’ll call them “Scotch” and “Dustin” offered to put us up in their motel room. They were staying at the mighty fine “Circle D” up the road, across the street from the Papa John’s.

Once this had been decided, I went into full on drunk mode. Just before heading over to the stadium for the game, we saw the best costume of the day: Four guys in suits with ear-talky things escorting a dude in a suit with a Richard Nixon head on. While the secret service dutifully escorted him around, Mr. Nixon got lots of attention and applause.

Irritated secret service agent.

Being the picture whore that I am, I decided I needed a picture with Mr. Nixon and the secret service. So I did what any drunken person would do and started screaming for his attention. Sort of. Never has a chicken nugget been more embarrassed that I was when I yelled his name:

“JIMMY!” I called desperately to Richard Nixon as he walked by. “JIMMY!!!” I KNEW he was Richard Nixon. I KNEW he was not a crook. I just could not articulate the fact, and my beer soaked vocal chords were certain that I did not want to yell “Richard.” The shots and beer KNEW I wanted to yell “JIMMY”. As in Carter.

Dick and his M-I-B slowed as they walked away…only one of the agents bothered to look at me (in disbelief, one hand still to his earpiece) as they disappeared around the fence.

The day deteriorated. The Longhorns beat the Cowboys, but not until Dustin had offered my dad some whiskey soaked coke and Kacie had to muscle and obese man out of her seat. I also continued my reign of horrifying poor Major Applewhite by screaming that I loved him as he escorted the team into the tunnel.

Back at “The Stables” we continued to own the bar. Kacie and I patiently waited while Scotch and Dustin wound down enough to go back to the Circle D. I’m fuzzy on the details, but Dustin somehow knew Scotch was at Papa John’s and repeatedly kept calling there to ask for him. For some reason they repeatedly kept handing the phone to Scotch. Also, someone ended up on a stranger’s bike and leaving it in the bed of another stranger’s truck…but, I guess on the upside, at least he didn’t drink and drive.

Kacie, Scotch, Dustin and I settled in for the night. I think I brushed my teeth with vodka in order to avoid having to use the Circle D water.

That night I dreamed of Jimmy Carter and Richard Nixon, playing football while Major Applewhite brought them Papa John’s pizza.

The Coldest Day Ever

In 2008 we journeyed to Lawrence, Kansas for the Texas/KU game. None of us had been to Lawrence before. Additionally, none of us had ever been that cold before.

That morning, after a long drive in the rental car, Kacie and I finally arrived at our first destination of the weekend: Johnny’s Tavern.

The day started out cold, but as it was only November and the game was during the day, we assumed it would warm up a little. Still, we are not chance takers (aside from the risks of life and health we would later take at the America’s Best Value Inn) so we bundled up in our down (burnt orange, I might add) jackets and wore multiple layers of clothing. We bundled scarves, hats and gloves into our purses and headed out to tailgate.

At Johnny’s we met up with Debra and her boyfriend at the time, and spent a good few hours watching other football games, being ribbed by Jayhawks and drinking to keep warm. Until that day, I never really understood why hobos were always drunk. Now I do.

Somehow, we ended up on the Johnny Bus, which took loads of drunken football fans to the stadium. The bus had stripper poles on it, which we clung to for dear life as it weaved its way to campus. Thank God for the Johnny Bus. The bus dropped us off with explicit instructions on where it would pick us up after the game. We took notes, knowing all too well what it was like to be wearing burnt orange without transport in a rival college town, and headed to the stadium.

Those Jayhawks certainly tried their best to keep a bunch of out of shape Longhorns out of Memorial Stadium. In the half mile trek inside we went up and down at least 6 steep little hills. Between the cold air and the unexpected cardio, I felt as though my lungs were filled with blood from my poor, overworked heart.

Did I mention the temperature was dropping? Apparently I hadn’t gotten the memo from Jack Frost that Kansas was the new Siberia. Had I been aware of the pending 21 degree wind chill, I would have worn 6 pairs of long underwear underneath my meager jersey, long sleeved tee and ski jacket. Luckily our Horns were prepared on the field, having flown in heated benches rented from Notre Dame just for the occasion!

Kacie and I settled into our own, non heated seats (careful to move around as to not get stuck to them, a la Christmas Story) and quickly realized the breeze was not helping the frostbite situation. We did our best to cover most of our exposed skin, but still felt a very real fear of freezing to death.

Kacie was the first to spot our savior…which came in the form of hot chocolate. Throughout the game, we took turns going into the tunnels to fill our newly acquired KU mugs with the sweet, sweet nectar of the Eskimos. The concession stand would not refill the mugs, so in order to get a full serving you had to purchase two small Styrofoam cups then pour them into the mug. Luckily I have the smartest sister in the world, who realized we could just bring the mugs down with us, immediately dump the contents of the cups into them and snap the lids on right there. This saved us from the treacherous walk so many had to make up the stairs of the stadium while desperately trying to protect the liquid gold in the Styrofoam cups using defunct, frozen phalanges.

On one of these trips to the fountain of warmth, I ran into Debra. She was looking a little blue and the lips and clutching a pair of gloves. “I’m going to put them on my feet,” she explained. I eyeballed her skeptically as she lumbered off to the bathroom, but could not be distracted from my hot chocolate gathering mission for long.

Near the peak of my sugar high...

What happened in the next three hours (besides an amazing Longhorn victory) can only be described as a sugar high. A sugar high resembling an acid trip. Kacie and I were giggling like children, and snuggling with strangers to keep warm. At some point a balloon hat in the vague formation of Bevo floated into my hands, and I put it on my head. I then proceeded to hit the deck ghetto-style when I stepped on it…it popped defenselessly under the blocks of ice my feet had become.

After singing the “Eyes of Texas” we anxiously trekked back to the “bus stop”. After what seemed like hours, the Johnny Bus came and took us back. Not a moment too soon, as the freezing temperatures had us eyeballing one another, sizing each other up to decide who we would eat first. Yeah, I saw the movie “Alive.”

Back at the bar, Debra and her man headed out while Kacie and I played pool with some locals. When we were exhausted enough, we headed out to the car to go to the hotel. It’s a good thing we called to get a late check-in, because we proceeded to sit in the rental car for the next 45 minutes with the hopes it would thaw out, desperately pushing buttons and eventually clearing enough frost from the windows and mirrors to navigate the streets of Lawrence.

After a frightful journey in the zamboni, we arrived at our second destination of the day: America’s Best Value Inn.

There are many things wrong with the name of this destination. I hesitate to call it a motel without using the pejorative “roach”, but for the purposes of this story, we will call it one.

First off, it’s not the “best” anything. It is the second worst lodging I have encountered on the road. It was dirty, poorly lit and not particularly cheap, knocking out the “value” portion of its name. Still, I guess I can’t call the America’s Best Value Inn a complete liar: it was, indeed, in America.

When we entered the “lobby” to check in, the first thing we saw was that the teller was behind bulletproof glass. We tried to joke with him about it, until we noticed a bullet mark and realized he wasn’t laughing. I did a mental over/under on how many times the bulletproofing had come in handy – the odds weren’t good.

All checked in, we dragged our luggage and selves (slightly thawed) up a narrow staircase and into a dark hallway. We located our room, which was just past the defunct vending machines and rusty water fountain. Once inside, we realized just how bad it was. We actually had the discussion that we were not going to bathe there, as we would just come out dirtier than when we went in.

In my infinite brilliancy, I had packed a set of sheets for this particular trip. While no one had actually made fun of me for doing this, when I told Kacie and Debra ahead of time, they weren’t particularly supportive and kind of “pah’d” the idea. I did not let the naysayers stop me. Lucky for Kacie, she reaped the rewards as my roommate that night. After uncovering an unknown stain running down the side of my mattress, I decided I couldn’t bear to let her get bed bugs, so she huddled in the top sheet in one bed and I huddled in the flat sheet on the other bed, both of us wrapped up like…well, bugs. At least we both got to use a pillowcase. And neither of us ended up with lice.

This sleeping experience prompted me to buy us both a “Dreamie.” A Dreamie is basically a sleeping bag made out of a sheet with a hole for a pillow, so you can sleep in disgusting bedding without it actually touching you. We got to use them last year in Grand Junction, Kansas (what is up with gross motels in Kansas?!) and found them quite handy, the only downfall being that they attract all the static in the room. I find this a small price to pay in exchange for not getting Gonorrhea from a motel bed.

Needless to say, in the morning we dressed and exited the room as quickly as possible in an effort to not be shot or see the roaches as they scurried into dark corners.

Rock Chalk Jayhawk…next time I’m sleeping in the car.