High Plains Drifter

So What Else, Nate? A Column About Sports and Other Things

(This piece was originally posted to a column discussing sports, specifically boxing, entitled: So What Else, Nate? by Nate Collins, out of San Francisco. This column appears from the Archives, November 23, 2003.)

1.) Vegas Baby Vegas!

My flight from Oakland is scheduled for 8:05 A.M. on Halloween. My younger brother Jordan is a junior at Texas Tech University which is in the West Texas town of Lubbock. Football was not a big deal at my alma mater and was abruptly cancelled after my freshman year. I’m a rabid sports fan but have never been to a big time college football game so I’m flying out to Lubbock to visit my brother and watch the Red Raiders take on the Colorado Buffalos. I’m flying on Southwest and everyone is in costume. The masked person who gives me my boarding pass is dressed up as some sort of ghoul and is covered in fake blood, which is disconcerting. One of the stewardesses is wearing an orange and black t-shirt that says, “I don’t do costumes.” There is a guy with scrap paper and assorted clutter taped all over him. When asked what his costume is he says, “I’m a mess.”

I have a one-hour layover in Las Vegas. I’ve never been to Vegas and know I need to come to terms with it somehow. Today I won’t have enough time. My Dad went to Lost Wages, Nevada all the time. His favorite line about Vegas was to say he was going there on business. When people asked what kind, he always said he was there on “monkey business.” Deplaning, a lanky guy about 6′6″ tall walks by me. He’s dressed in the long, flowing black robes of a priest but is wearing white and gold Adidas shell toe sneakers. His cell phone rings and I hear him say, “I’m in fucking Vegas, baby and I’m here to party my ass off! We’re staying at the Bellagio and then going straight to the Venetian.” I look at my watch and it’s 9:23 A.M.

In the airport I can hear the mechanized blips of video poker and the ping of coins from the slot machines before I can even see them. There are game show themed slot machines and some mechanically shout “Wheel…of…Fortune!” just like on television. I see a sign that says, “Nevada law prohibits any persons under the age of 21 to play or loiter near slot machines.” Now what’s the harm in loitering? Slots are everywhere but not in the bathroom. There are slots conveniently located in the smoker’s lounge and people puff and play in deep concentration.

I make the decidedly un-Vegas move of paying seven dollars for a sweet roll and orange juice. I’m sure there are buffets in this town where I could fill up for less money. I grab a discarded newspaper and learn that Tony Danza is performing in town and Peaches and Herb are at the Orleans.

With the time change, my plane lands at Lubbock International Airport at 2:15 P.M. I’m not sure where the International comes from here. Maybe there is a flight to Laredo, Mexico once a week that they hang their hat on. The airport is tiny and has only seven gates.

The defining physical characteristic of West Texas is its flatness. When I ask someone who works at a car rental agency how to get to downtown — instead of telling me something like “Take Loop 82 and exit on Slide,” she merely points at a few skyscrapers off in the distance. When I ask for directions to campus, she points at a cluster of buildings miles away and off to the right. Willie Nelson says you can see a mile in any direction in Lubbock and if you stand on a stool, you can see two. In contrast, when my brother came to visit San Francisco last year, we took the underground BART train from the airport and got off at Montgomery in the middle of the downtown Financial District. He was thrown initially by all the skyscrapers and hills and his head was on a swivel.

Jordan arrives to pick me up. My baby brother is growing a beard which throws me. He calls it his winter coat since it’s starting to get cold. He’s also drinking a Dr. Thunder. “D.T.” is Wal-Mart’s generic version of Dr. Pepper. I remember being a poor student and having to drink cheap beer, but I’m worried my brother can’t afford to pick up brand-name cola. I make a mental note to help him out while I’m here.

West Texas is windy and Lubbock is surrounded by farms and when the wind blows from a certain direction, the entire campus smells like manure. Today is one of those days and when we arrive at the three-bedroom house my brother shares with two friends, I get out of the car and it smells awful.

We head over to the open house at SBC Jones Stadium where the game will be played tomorrow. They have done $84 million worth of renovations in the last few years and have added 46 luxury boxes and 1,070 club level seats. Some of the suites are open and they get progressively bigger and more ornate as we walk from the athletic director’s to the president’s and finally to the chancellor’s suite where even the bathrooms are palatial. The population of Lubbock is around 200,000 and there are no professional sports franchises (except for minor league hockey), so residents live and die with the collegiate football and basketball teams. The facility is beautiful and the Colorado team is down on the field going through their pre-game walkthrough.

I can’t get good barbeque in California, so Jordan and I head to Whistlin’ Dixie. We order a brick of onion rings for an appetizer, and the buffet which consists of brisket, hot links, chicken, pulled pork, etc. My only complaint is with the baked beans which are very bland. Leaving, I read a news clipping describing how former President George Bush used Whistlin’ Dixie to cater state dinners.

Lubbock is not really near anything. The closest big city is Dallas which is a five hour drive. Ruidoso, New Mexico is three hours away and offers bad skiing and gambling. The typical border town of Acuna, Mexico is five hours away with underage drinking and hopelessly depraved sex shows.

The landscape is dotted with oil wells, and nearby Midland boasted more millionaires per square foot than anywhere in the country back in the boom time early 80’s. Lubbock is pretty conservative and there are more churches per square foot than in any part of the country. Texas Tech is more liberal, so there is some friction. Locals have an ambivalent attitude towards the students. Tech is the largest employer in town and the University’s direct economic impact on the local economy is estimated to be more than $350 million annually. The football and basketball teams alone bring in over $18 million a year, but the locals are often bothered by rowdy party animal students. Almost all businesses utilize Tech in their advertising. I hear the fight song in the background of a bank commercial and see row after row of black and red cars in an ad for a new auto dealership.

In preparation for my visit, my brother has procured a 30 pack of Milwaukee’s Best Light. This set him back the paltry sum of $11.95. Similarly priced Keystone Light has a billboard ad campaign aimed at underage college students with slogans like “Who’s house is this? Who cares?” and “I think he’s passed out. Grab a Sharpie.” The tag line to the ads is “Parties Happen.” Milwaukee’s Best, a.k.a. the Beast, gives me a brutal headache, so I offer to buy the house some good beer and name-brand cola.

Not only is the Texas Tech campus dry, but the sale of alcohol is prohibited in the entire county of Lubbock. For most college students, beer is as close as the nearest corner store. But Tech students plan their entire evening around the inevitable trip to the Strip. It’s an ordeal and you have to get on the highway. There are liquor stores galore right outside the county line which is about fifteen miles outside of town. You pass a sign that says “You are now leaving Lubbock County” and the first liquor store is less than 400 yards away. The stores are all lit up with garish neon lights, and since the highway is not illuminated, they rise up like a beacon in the night and are visible from miles away. The liquor stores are in the middle of nowhere with nothing else around and have names like Pinkie’s, Raiderland Discount Warehouse, Austin’s Korner and Double T. They are cavernous beer barns with cases of beer stacked to the ceiling. One establishment has a huge sign that says “It’s time to party with Doc’s at Tech,” so I buy a case of good imported beer and a 30 pack of Miller Lite.

On the way home we pass Club Luxor, Lubbock’s only gay bar. They have a lavender neon sign, and the X is made up of two rainbow cross bars. It’s 8:00 P.M. on a Friday night and four cars are parked outside.

We stop at the Hastings parking lot across from Jones Stadium. Colorado does not travel that well and this parking lot would already be full of RV’s and tailgaters for a big rivalry game like Texas A&M. As it is, we count 14 RV’s. Some trucks lug huge smokers and are already slow smoking brisket.

2) Brand New Slang = Jodys wear Jorts

Back home I hang out, drink beer, watch pro basketball and play beer pong with my brother and some of his friends. I spot a vile contraption at my brother’s bedside. It says “Floppy Flask — A Superior Beverage Device” on the side. There is about an ounce of brown liquid inside. Jordan explains that you fill the clear plastic bladder with what is typically cheap whiskey like Early Times or Kentucky Beau. Then you use the straps to tie the bladder around your waist like a fanny pack that you stuff in your pants. There is a small spout so you can surreptitiously pour the libations into your Coke or Sprite at concerts or football games. I’m uncomfortable drinking from anything nestled so close to my nether regions so I tell him to keep the Floppy Flask on hold.

When my brother’s friends talk, their language is practically indecipherable to me at times. For example, they call arm pit sweat stains “speakers.” This can be amended by degrees. For example, a young lady who doesn’t sweat but perspires may have “tweeters” and a fat guy after an intramural basketball game may be rocking “12 inch woofers.”

A “Chad” is a certain type of guy. I’m told there are fraternities at Tech composed almost entirely of Chads. They bleach their tips and use product in their hair. They work out a lot and are buff. They are tan and shop at Abercrombie and Fitch. A dead giveaway is a barbed wire tattoo on the arm. Tech’s quarterback B.J. Symons is a Heisman Trophy candidate, but he bleaches his hair and may have some Chad tendencies. Incidentally, Symons was seen at a party three weeks before the season started when the team was in the middle of conditioning practices with a bladder of Franzia wine torn out of the box on each shoulder, filling up anyone who needed it. This is worrisome.

Someone from the country is a “Jody.” This is because my brother’s friends maintain that one in five people from the country are named Jody — regardless of whether they are male or female. “Jorts” are an abbreviated name for jean shorts. Jorts are an essential part of the Jody uniform, along with sleeveless shirts of any kind. My brother’s roommate Brett had just finished a nightmare round of golf at a par 3 course overrun with beer-drinking Jody’s wearing creased Wrangler jeans who would whip it out and piss anywhere, not even bothering to find a tree.

It’s parent’s weekend and we go to a house party. Parents veer in one of two directions during these functions. My mom is an exemplar of one type. She has a few glasses of wine and is in bed by 10:30 P.M. The more combustible type tries to keep up with their offspring drink for drink and relive their glory days. This party is peppered with elders of this sort. I hear funny stories about chasing girls back in the 60’s and deer lease hi-jinks. One dad showed up to a blind double date at a sorority house with his best friend and they were both in wheel chairs.

My brother’s friend Pete cryptically punches in a number and hands me his cell phone. I freeze up and don’t know what to say. The phone rings and rings and suddenly I’ve got “The Round Mound of Rebound” Charles Barkley’s voice mail. For once, I need a cell phone. I can’t have him call me back home in San Francisco because I won’t be there for a few days. I’m at a loss. It’s 1:00 A.M. where I am and maybe later wherever Chuck is. I contemplate congratulating him for hanging more than 50 points on my Golden State Warriors during a series clinching playoff game a few years ago. Or that dunk with the Sixers when he bulldogged his way to the rim starting around the foul line. Ultimately, I hang up. Maybe the whole thing is a hoax. The story goes that a friend of a friend got a hold of ESPN analyst Kirk Herbstreit’s cell phone at a bar when he was in Austin for College Gameday when Texas played Kansas State, and that Herbstreit had Sir Charles on speed dial. Who knows?

We get home after 2:00 A.M. My brother’s roommate Bennett is passed out on his bed on top of his covers with the door open and the lights on. The overalls that were part of his Halloween costume are halfway off. He is using a pair of blue jeans for a pillow and still has a dip in. College is pretty great. Our hysterical laughing wakes him up and he and my brother are soon talking shit about PlayStation college football video games. Everyone’s senses are distorted but my brother’s Michigan State squad throws to wideout Charles Rogers constantly and manages to best Bennett’s Matt LoVecchio-led Indiana squad by a touchdown.

3.) Sittin’ on Dubs

We all sleep in and then turn on the Nebraska/Texas football game. We go to the Rooftop Café where my chicken fried steak, eggs, hash browns and toast are less than six dollars. I may move to Lubbock. It’s a great day of college football. We set up a second TV in the living room and channel surf between the Notre Dame/Florida State, OU/Oklahoma State, and Florida/Georgia game.

My brother estimates his eclectic neighborhood is made up of half Hispanic families. One quarter is students. And the remaining quarter is evenly split between black and white families. He has regaled me with stories of his Big Pimpin’ ice cream man who I’m determined to see. I can hear the bass boom a block away and grab my camera but am too late as he rolls by. Jordan and I jump in his Accord and give chase. We drive up 23rd and then 24th street to no avail. Finally, he stops and we catch up. I start snapping pictures. A man is buying a Drumstick for his kid and sees me; he is saying, “We ghetto fabulous.” He repeats himself for emphasis and stops on each syllable, “We be get-toe fab-you-LUSS!”

Jordan baits the proprietor and asks, “Are those 20 inch rims?” The wheels are silver and gold and shine so bright that they are hard to look at.

“Nope,” he replies. “We rollin’ on twenty two’s.”

The ice cream truck has a boomin’ system and two huge woofers in the back. Depending on his mood, the music alternates between the traditional ice cream man jingle and contemporary hip hop like Ludacris or Houston’s own Mike Jones.

I keep snapping pictures. There is a handmade sign in the window that says, “DRANKS — 75 cents.” I order a cherry limeade Popsicle.

He asks where I’m from. I reply, “I’m from San Francisco. We don’t have ice cream trucks — let alone ones that have been fully customized.”

He lights up. He has huge gold fronts and what I assume are his initials carved into his two front teeth. “I’m gonna get a new paint job and more bass in the back and then start taking this baby to car shows across the country. I’ll be in San Fran soon enough. We world wide.” Jordan buys an ice cream concoction with bubble gum in it and we watch Mr. Major Bling Bling drive off.

4.) Another Rowdy Red Raider Game Day

The Colorado Buffaloes are well coached and have good talent but are underachieving and have a record of 3-5. Texas Tech is 5-3 and a 14.5 point favorite. Following Tech can be an infuriating experience for its fans. They have the number one ranked offense in the country. They split four wide, throw the ball sixty five times a game and dare teams to stop them. Conversely, there are 117 Division One football teams and Tech’s defense ranks 117th. Their games are frequently roller coaster rides. The over/under for this game is 85 points which is pretty unheard of.

Tech Head Coach Mike Leach is a mad offensive genius and disciple of Oklahoma Coach Bob Stoops. Admittedly, he takes a hands off approach to the defense and delegates much of the authority to his assistants. I talk to a former walk-on linebacker who says it’s like there are two head coaches and that he hardly dealt with Leach at all.

The game is at 6:00 P.M. and we head over to Raidergate, the University sanctioned tailgate party, after 4:00 P.M. We arrive too late to hear the band Blue October play, but they are signing autographs and selling merchandise. Campus is dry but officials look the other way during Raidergate. Although, no kegs are allowed. We drink beer out of the back of a truck. We walk around, taking in the scene and I meet more of my brother’s friends.

Jordan’s friend Pete is in constant cell phone contact with his bookie. He’s asking me for advice which is probably a bad sign. I’m poor and conservative by nature but lived vicariously through friends who bet in college. My friend Dell and I would pore over the Dallas Morning News Sports Page Weekend Football Preview on road trips to Austin. When he won we’d be high on the hog and Dell would buy my beer and Sonic burgers. When he lost, which was often, it would be deflating for me and a devastating kick in the groin for Dell. I try to dissuade Pete or at least push him towards the N.F.L. where there are only thirty-two teams to keep track of. He says he’s been getting killed betting the N.F.L., and I get sucked in. Pretty soon he’s back on the phone and I’m giddy. We’re hitching our wagon to big Jared Lorenzen and the Kentucky Wildcats and discussing the over/under minutiae of the Oregon/Washington late game.

We have ten dollar seats in the second deck. My brother runs into his friend Ally who is a student senator. We make elaborate plans and have to enter the stadium through a separate gate but she says she can get us into the Student Government Association section of seats. This is, no doubt, highly illegal and probably violates all sorts of statutes and edicts. Maybe she is currying political favor with my brother and will expect him to deliver a block of his fraternity brother’s votes when election time rolls around or something nefarious like that. Regardless, the seats are great and we are about twenty rows up on the 40 yard line.

I’m alarmed to see a sign entering the stadium stating that alcohol sales are prohibited inside. I’m thirty years old and think of drinking beer as a pretty inalienable right. I’m rethinking my rash dismissal of the Floppy Flask which would come in handy now.

As the story goes, in the late 80’s, an ESPN football announcer said during a Texas Tech football game that “All people know how to do in Lubbock is make tortillas.” This raised their ire and ever since then Red Raider fans throw tortillas on the field after Tech scores. There are signs all over the stadium urging fans not to throw any objects on the field and Tech is sometimes penalized for unsportsmanlike conduct. My brother says if you leave a tortilla out in the sun for a day to dry out then you can chuck it a mile like a frisbee.

The stadium is full and a sea of red. The announced attendance is 52,980 people. Tech QB B.J. Symons throws four first quarter interceptions and Tech quickly trails 14-0.

The most compelling Tech player to me is flanker Wes Welker. I see loads of people in the crowd wearing his #27 jersey. He’s a 5′9″ 190 lb. white guy who returns punts and is fearless. He’s elusive. He can stop instantly and then accelerate back into a sprint just as quickly. He holds Texas Tech’s record for all-purpose yards and is closing in on Ricky Williams’ Big 12 mark. They get the ball to him in a variety of ways: shovel passes, screens, reverses or chucking the ball downfield.

When he drops back to return a punt, all the students chant “Wes! Wes!” over and over while he raises his arms and exhorts them to get even louder. With six minutes left in the 2nd quarter Welker returns a punt 58 yards to put Tech on the board and get the crowd into the game. This is his eighth career punt return for a touchdown, which sets a new NCAA record. He would say later that he was afraid of being pushed out on the left sideline so he cut all the way across the field and beat everyone to the right corner of the endzone.

Welker breaks another punt return with twelve minutes left in the 3rd quarter, although he is stopped from scoring. For the rest of the game and amidst a sea of boos, the Buffs will punt the ball away from Welker and out of bounds. Finally, he plays possum and trudges off the line, baiting the cornerback before cutting left and flying towards the endzone on a 17 yard over the shoulder touchdown catch.

Symons ends up with five interceptions and one lost fumble, but Tech’s defense makes some stops and the Red Raiders win 26-21. We fight crowds while exiting and go out for cheesesteaks.

5.) Favorite Sons

We sleep in and go to Josie’s for Mexican food which is our first sub-par meal. The place is pretty crowded and our waitress is hopelessly in the weeds. She gets our order all wrong so my chorizo and egg breakfast burrito shows up with potato and eggs in it and my barbacoa one doesn’t have sour cream in it.

Men’s Basketball Coach “The General” Bob Knight is revered in Lubbock. During basketball games he enters the arena last after all the players and right before the tip-off. He has a security detail and strides purposefully across the court. He gets a boisterous standing ovation. It’s pretty dramatic.

Lubbock’s other favorite son is Buddy Holly. Growing up, I thought of my parents as decidedly uncool but they had all his old records and I used to slide around in my socks on hardwood floors, dancing to “Peggy Sue” as a little kid. It’s almost fifty years old, but Holly’s music still holds up today. He wrote great pop songs. There is a busy thoroughfare in Lubbock named after Buddy Holly and there’s a mural of him and the Crickets in the Depot District. My brother has a recording of rock group Pearl Jam performing live in Lubbock and when the crowd recognizes the first few bars of Holly’s “Every Day” then they go bananas.

Jordan and I kill time Sunday afternoon at a bar called Crickets. They have seventy five beers on tap and fifty in the bottle. They have a great, eclectic juke box. Our songs come right up so we load up on Willie Nelson, O.A.R., the Beastie Boys, Weezer and Buddy Holly.

With Lubbock in my rearview mirror I have a layover in Phoenix, Arizona. There was a NASCAR race in Phoenix and the airport is overrun with Jody’s covered in all manner of corporate, brand name insignia who have been out at the track drinking all day. I loiter outside the Fox Sports Bar, not wanting to order anything but trying to find out the Cowboys/Redskins score. I get back to Oakland and it’s raining.

Back home to San Francisco and it’s raining even harder.

(Photos Via: Bamboo52NYC, Tripcart, Almost Athletes, Floppy Flask, NBC Sports, Ariel PayoPay, Zennie 2005, TTU.edu, Go Retro)

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Posted by Nate Collins on August 25 2010. Filed under So What Else Nate. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry