On the End of the Dark Horse: Closing Time, for the Last Time

It's November 19th, 2004.  I'm sat in the fireplace room of the World Famous Dark Horse, passing the time before the clock strikes 9p.  My roommates and I had come from Friday night basketball band rehearsal and just kind of stuck, as you do.  But, I was not yet 21, and at 9 o'clock I would turn back into a pumpkin. The staff at the Horse were primed and ready to go around, check IDs, and kick out the underage losers, like myself.  I was ready and resigned, but adamant to stick it out till they forced me out.

Come on in, the Horse has been waiting for you.

There was a game on the TVs that night, an early-season NBA tilt, which had been drawing our attention.  It was Pacers/Pistons from Detroit; a matchup between two Eastern Conference playoff-caliber squads, who, more importantly, boasted two recent CU basketball greats -- Detroit's Chauncey Billups (*cough*) and Indiana's David Harrison.  The Pacers were going to run away with it, and I was about to hit the bricks when the dang Malice at the Palace broke out.  

Everyone started yelling and pointing; talking across each other.  As the staff went around checking IDs, amidst the chaos, they somehow forgot to check our table in the center of the room.  I was in, unintentionally slipping past curfew. It was an underage miracle! My older roommate slipped me a mug for the pitcher on the table; that one pitcher soon turning into multiple. Suddenly, a normal night at the Horse had turned into something special.  

And that was the Horse in a nutshell.  Walking through its doors was like passing through a portal of time and space into another world where sometimes the weirdest stuff would happen.  A Disney Land of beer and sports and Boulderites and random crap on the walls (and ceilings, and floors, and...); no wonder, then, that a stained glass depiction of Goofy, Donald Duck, and Mickey sat above the entrance.

Did you ever notice this?

We learned a few weeks ago that the Horse, now a whopping 50 years old, would be plowed under to make way for some modern-age complex of upper-bougie housing and urban planning.  Sure, build your little boxes or whatever, and I'm all for higher-density usage, but the Horse has to go?  The stupid McDonald's and the broke-ass, derelict, irredeemable Broker Inn gets to stay, but the Horse has to go?  

As of last week, it now sounds as if the Horse could be up for the executioner's axe in the next few weeks, with the Boulder City Attorney suddenly announcing that the building must be demolished before the end of the year. There is simply no justice in this world.

It has become apparent that the Horse is doomed for the simple fact that it's in the way.  In the way of some new development and more money.  No, the apartments-to-be are not tagged for affordable housing.  No, the grocery store is not guaranteed to stay, probably further depriving the neighborhood.  There is no morality here. The Williams family just wants to make more money, and the out-of-state, trust-fund detritus must be catered to.  So, out goes the Horse; an institution of heart, of local identity, and in comes some modern taupe and gray shrug of a plan that will mean nothing to no one in a few years.  

Ultimately, the closing of the Horse is emblematic of the continued slide of Boulder proper into cookie cutter irrelevance.  The push by outsiders and greedy shills to turn the town into something homogenic and profitable has continued, apace, to strip the town of any uniqueness or color.  Much like the football program, it's become more style than substance. Glitz, but no heart or soul.  The tourists will come for their photos and TikTok reels, but then these influencers will disappear, and we're left with... something we could get in Denver or really anywhere else.  But, at least we have great access to the same Cotopaxi, Marine Layer, Kuhl, Helly Hansen, North Face, Prana, Patagonia, et al crap you can get online?

He ran a good shop.

Boulder was long ago turned over to the tech bros and corporate diaspora.  I grant and have come to accept the post-hippie, pseudo-grungy college town that I fell in love with is gone and never coming back.  But, I wish at least *some* aspects could survive without the 'quest for more blah' getting in the way. But, kudos to the Madysons and Braylynns of tomorrow -- their parents' money will land them some swanky new digs at the corner of 30th and US 36.

Once the (literal) dust settles, and the development is in place, there's rumors and half-promises that the Horse will ride again, placed on the ground floor of one of the apartment buildings.  I'm sure that a burger bar named the "Dark Horse" may, one day, take root in the area, but it will not be the same.  Hell, maybe they'll even scatter a few of the pieces of memorabilia across the joint, but the soul will be missing.  That smell of stale beer, mild disinfectant, and aging wood will be gone, the prices will double, and no one will be interested.  The term "enshitification" comes to mind.

It's just a damn shame.

I want to do *something*, if only just to jot down some thoughts and memories.  And so here they are, insufficient but earnest. You will have your own, and I welcome them. If you care about the place even a little bit, I hope you get the opportunity to say good bye to it in the coming days it has left.  

--

My first memory of the Horse is of the... stuff.  The encroaching floatsam and jetsam of bygone Americana shoved in, around, and through every nook and cranny of the place.  Posters and playbills from early film and stage history; rusty implements and tools from all eras; props from productions across the spectrum; a license plate from seemingly every state, province, and territory on the continent; books from anywhere and everywhere, including the 1929 Portland phone directory; a giant damn metal ship placed precariously over the fireplace room entrance; stained glass spotted next to crude drawings; a rube goldberg-esque contraption behind the back bar that I could never quite figure out; random photos and street signs from God knows where; a pregnant mannequin set up next to a giant plaster cowboy hat; wagon wheels and sleds galore; countless taxidermy of quality ranging from 'good' to 'that's just a rubber rhino head'; and, let's not forget, a not-insignificant amount of mid-20th Century smut lacquered into the bars and plastered into the back corners.  And that only covers about 2% of what you can find in there.  I made a point of spotting something new every visit, and I never came away failing in that mission.

Anything and everything.

That you could get lost in the Horse, winding through its floors and corridors, spotting this and that and whatnot, was essential to the charm. It was overwhelming, in a good way.  It confronted you with a warm embrace of wood and antiques and character from the moment you crossed the threshold, making it entirely unique from anywhere else I've encountered.

My second memory is of the food.  The burgers have been and always will remain iconic.  The wings, all three-joints of them, are unlike anyone else's wings (the combo sauce of honey mustard, bbq, and standard wing sauce was the best). And, yes, they did have Rocky Mountain Oysters ready to go in the fryer.  There's rumors of salads and steaks on the menu, but I just never understood the point -- the burgers are *right there*.  Most importantly, the pricing was always honest and affordable.  In hippy, crunchy, overly-expensive Boulder, you could come in and find some of the best short-order burgers around at a reasonable price.  It's why, even though it was a bar-forward burger bar, there was never a shortage of families with kids running around -- where else can you feed your family on the cheap these days?  That's not to mention their Starving Student special (a regular burger, fries, and a small soda or beer for only a few bucks), which was essentially the best meal deal around, and kept those poor undergrad sods fed and sated during cold winter study nights. 

The *best* burgers, no lies told.

In my mind, there was a definitive hierarchy of the Horse's burger options; your mileage may very:

• S/GOAT-tier:
• Jiffy Burger - the King of the Horse Burgers.  Peanut butter, provolone, and bacon.  At first glance, you wonder why, and then, after one taste, you never doubt again.  Secret, off-menu hack: add on a fried egg, over easy, and be sure to check your cholesterol in the morning.
• Royale Burger - Low key, my more recent go-to.  The added onion ring and bbq sauce make this a monster that's hard to beat.
• A/Really Frickin' Good-tier:
• Fried Egg and Ham Burger - I liked mine runny; afforded an opportunity to dip the fries in left over yolk.
• Hickory Bacon Burger - just a really solid improvement on the standard burgers.
• Avocado Burger - No, not guacamole, a whole-ass slice of avocado.  Really leaning into the Colorado vibe with this one.
• B/That's a Dope Burger-tier
• Original/Cheese Burgers - You can't go wrong.  
• Chipotle Burger - Never as spicy as I would've hoped, but a nice change of pace.
• Blues Burger - When I wanted one of these, it never disappointed.
• Swiss and Shrooms - Not really my style, but I can recognize game.
• C/Solid, but Just What Are We Doing-tier:
• Patty Melt - I just don't get patty melts, but this is a really good version of one.
• Sourdough Burger - The individual components are all there, but I just never jibed with it.

Regardless of your order, you used to have to place it directly at the kitchen window... except during a weekday when they had table service.  (Yes, table service -- going to the Horse and getting table service is like seeing your schlubby drunk uncle show up to an event pressed into a suit with slicked-back hair.  You know it's him, but you have questions).  Then, someone on the kitchen line would scream your name into the microphone -- the speakers were ancient and poorly mixed, so you could never quite understand them over the din of a packed bar on a Friday night.  The trick, then, was to come up with a "Horse name" that was uniquely identifiable across the hum; some of them in my friends group were "Trixie," "Turd Ferguson," "Squiggly, "The Rear Admiral," and the "(Butt) Punisher."  And woe to him who didn't come and grab their food when called.  "Henry, I know it's a common name, but your food is ready," or, "TODD, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, COME PICK UP YOUR FOOD BEFORE WE THROW IT OUT!"  It was a whole deal, and I loved it.

My third memory, hazy as it is, is of the drinks.  Nothing special, in all the right ways.  Beer, and plenty of it. But, not in a "you'll get Coors and like it" faux-blue collar asshole way, but in a "we got some options, but it is what it is" kind of way.  Happy hour drink specials that made sense, pours that were generous, but not too generous, and bartenders who knew both you and how to keep you happy.  Given its proximity, it was the best place to go before and after a basketball game to catch a drink.  My favorite was always a double bourbon on the rocks (Bulleit, preferred), before braving the 10 min walk to the arena -- to me, that *is* Colorado Basketball.

God, I'm gonna miss this place before games

My final memory is of the vibe.  It felt like capital-B Boulder in there.  From the bathroom doors to some of the goofy, Sink-esque art, to the food and drink, and, finally, to the people who joined in the revelry.  There was an honesty and decency that came with the decidedly dishonest and indecent behavior seen therein. I'd call it democratic.  Barflys and lushes, scholars and vagabonds, families and loners, preps and goths, sports fans and knitters, the well off and the working poor.  They all mingled in the same space, ate the same food, drank the same beer.  In a town that has come to really lean into drawing lines around caste and class, the Horse was anything except that. 

There was trike night, where you could see 20-somethings risk life and limb for minimal prizes; open night mic, where you'd be pleasantly surprised to hear some quality music every now and then; there was the Anniversary Crawfish Boils; and there were friendly faces you saw time and time again, drinking the same beer, and telling the same stale anecdotes they had been doing for years.  

Choose wisely, soberly.

Then, there are the stories. You will have your own, and I cannot do even a fraction of mine justice. But I can't help but flash back to the Stanford fan who was struggling to come to terms with the bar back on an order, before finally settling on a glass of unnamed red wine and scoffing (with a Silicon Valley air) "I guess I'm just used to a country club pour"; the bartender immediately shot back "It's a $5 glass of wine!"  Or my Uncle, walking in after avoiding Boulder for over a decade only to say "oh, they have TVs now!" Or my friends having their anniversary party in the upper room, or my other friends having their wedding rehearsal there.  Or the trio of students rehearsing a western-themed skit on the impact of irresponsible lithium mining in the upper connecting corridor.  Or, the bartenders getting frustrated with someone who kept calling the landline, before finally shouting back, "there's no Ben here, we're a business, stop calling."  Or, finally, me sitting at the back bar, enjoying my first meal in a restaurant post-COVID, just thinking how happy I was to to be anywhere, speaking with anyone.

--

This hurts. I'm not going to pretend it doesn't.  There were more than a few tears when I passed through the other night. Losing the Horse is like losing a friend, like losing Boulder itself.  We lose a little of ourselves when these institutions that we love go away, only to be replaced by bland nothingness.  I miss dearly Liquormart, Tulagi's, Cosmos on the Hill (really, the Hill in general), Old Cs, the Walrus, the OG Gondolier, and the old Daily Camera building.  I take waning comfort that the Village Coffee Shop, the Sundowner, the Buff, McGuckins, Into the Wind, Trident, the Boulder Book Store, the Pearl St Pub, and Mustard's Last Stand somehow survive.  But the Horse was something else, something apart.  Some special that stood out among a herd of special places.  It was 1 of 1, never to be duplicated.

Closing time.

In a way, it's kind of like the Casa Bonita in Lakewood.  A place of memory that took on a life of its own well past what should've been a sell-by date. Unlike that story, however, there was no mega-millionaire cartoonists around with the drive to save the Horse from the Williams' family bulldozer.  No documentary to be made. No Cartman statue to take over pride of place in the rebuild.  Just the finality of a closing date that's coming far too soon.

In the end, there are moments you hope you remember on your death bed.  Maybe it's something from your childhood, or time spent with your parents, or your first kiss. Of those moments, when my time comes, I hope to remember a random Sunday, sat at the end of the front bar at the Horse with two of my best friends, drinking, laughing, and watching the Bears lose. I think that would be fitting. Just.  A memory of a time and place lost, but not forgotten.

I'll miss you, Dark Horse; you were loved.

Glory, Glory Colorado

"... some so subtle you might not have even noticed... but your brain did." -- Mr Plinkett.

Memory is a funny thing.  We exist in a world of five senses, so our memories do, too.  A brief smell can unearth a childhood memory of a camping trip.  The taste of a favorite dessert can take you back to grandma's kitchen.  A flash of color can help recall that weird shirt you wore on your first date (you moron). A touch of your mother's hand can remind you of the value of family.  We value the practical because it grounds us in reality; it sets the terms of how we interact with the world.

Sound is just as important.  What we hear, even if unintentionally consumed, becomes entwined with our sense of place.  Any filmmaker worth their salt will talk about how the audio, the backing music, can almost do as much for a scene as perfect cinematography or the sharpest script.

And so, you may not have noticed "Glory, Glory Colorado" before, but your brain has.  

Seriously, close your eyes.  Think back to your first football game.  What do you hear?

Every time Ralphie runs, the Black and Gold faithful have heard the tune.  With every plunge into the endzone, Buff fans of all ilks and creeds, regardless of the current football coach, have celebrated to that tune.  Time's good, time's bad, the song is played.  It's been played at the Cotton Bowl, the Orange Bowl, the Fiesta Bowl, even the damn Blockbuster Bowl. It punctuated all 6 of Chris Brown's scores in 2001 against Nebraska.  It rang out when the Buffs claimed #1 in Miami.

As with all things, a song is only as important as the things it represents.  Lyrics, music, et al.  To me, "Glory, Glory Colorado" represents Boulder.  It represents Folsom Field.  It represents fall Saturdays in the greatest venue in all of sports.  And it represents something impermeable to the ravages of time -- the undying version of my 20-year-old self that still exists somewhere out there in the ether.

Your mileage may vary.  You may not have any active concept of that song, what it means, when it's played, or why it's important. Regardless of your opinion or preconceived notions, all of this has been called into question, recently.  First by the football coach, then the fanbase at large, then the national media.  It's all led many to ask questions. What is "Glory, Glory Colorado?"  Why is there such a kerfuffle over when and if it is played at football games?  Why should I care?

Well, you came to the right place.  I have some answers.

Today, I'll try to add some missing context to this discussion.  I'll talk about the University of Colorado's school songs (plural), when they're played, and the meaning and history behind each of them.  I'll talk about what exactly the marching band was told they could play, and what they were told they couldn't ahead of the season opener.  Then I'll talk about why I believe this discussion is important.

Some of this is researched history, thankfully researched by others. Walt Blankenship, in particular, has spent countless hours and his own money to research the hows and whys of the Golden Buffalo Marching Band, and the history of the school songs they play. I had the opportunity to speak with him last night on his findings (any errors in passing along his information are my own). Some of this is oral tradition, passed down by Walt and others.  Some of this is hearsay, especially the part about what went down before the NDSU game, which can easily be ignored.  And some of this is a personal experience, respectfully earned.  As such, my history professors would blanche at the fluctuating level of research and lack of sourcing herein.  So, take this as more of an opinion piece than any true tract of history.  

I'm also diving headlong into some minutiae here. If you want a TLDR, you've come to the wrong place.  Others, better equipped to be concise and pithy, may be more your speed.

In the end, I'm not trying to speak for Buff fans everywhere, for the band, or for anyone else.  I'm only, as ever, trying to speak for me, myself, and I.  

Enter at your own risk.

On the persistence of physical media

I beg your indulgence as I work through something here.  It may be triggering for some; read or don't read as you see fit.  I make no apologies.

The All-Time Pac-12 Team

The Pac-12.  The league of bright lights and no truck stops.  The only league that ever mattered.

I loved this league.  It was perfect in the most deeply flawed ways. Others, closer to coasts with more television sets and media execs, with schedules friendlier to those unwilling to stay up late, drew the headlines, but it was the Pac that came with the narratives.  I would compare the more successful conferences out east to a paint-by-numbers prime-time network drama with a nearly unlimited budget, and the Pac-12 to the web-only series run on a shoestring, but which told a much better story.  There were hubris-ridden coaches with outsized egos and outrageous personalities; heroes and villains could be found at every turn on the court, with many players eager to lean into the pantomime; the worst officiating in the country kept all the plates spinning, adding comedic value to every game; an entire program was built on the back of nepotism for the better part of a decade, and no one seemed to find that strange; every 'name' program loved to find ways to trip over themselves when competing for titles; hell, the FBI even showed up at one point for a Keystone Cops-eque cameo.  Night in, night out, the league delivered, even if it was just Bill Walton bellowing to no one about how close he's been to an active volcano.  At least we'll always have the 2021 Tournament...

With the 13th, and final, season of league play about to start next week, I thought it appropriate to give the Pac-12 a sendoff.  Herein, I'll name and honor those who warmed the gyms of the West, celebrating a 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Team of all-time greats (10 each, presented in alphabetical order, with a coach).  Afterward, I'll dump my list, throwing out the remaining Honorable Mentions, before concluding with a team... less deserving of acclaim.  

Consider these the final Rumblin' Awards (as always, a strictly black-tie affair). 

I'm sure others will do this in the coming months.  However, my methodology will probably not mirror theirs - only years in the Pac-12 are considered, and I *mean* the Pac-12.  Anything prior to the 2011-2012 season doesn't count, and won't be considered (keep this in mind, particularly for all-time stat discussions and "years played" notations).  Further, I weigh longevity and consistency heavily.  A single, great season (like from, say, Deandre Ayton), without additional context, means less to me than a guy who bossed the league for multiple years.  This is about guys who *impacted* the league, and who spring to mind when I think back on the conference that was, not just the guys with the most talent.

Without further adieu, click below for the list...

An Attempt at Stage 3

In previous months, I told myself the death of the Pac-12 couldn't happen (Stage One).  Later, I raged against that death and (my perception of) its implications for the Colorado Men's Basketball program (Stage Two). I guess what's left now is to move on to Stage Three and start bargaining my way through this, so...

Last weekend, I stated that Colorado stepping into the 2024 iteration of the BigXII will be dead on arrival. But, is it? What if I'm dead wrong? What if the long-term prospects of the program lean more towards thriving, instead of suffocating? What exactly would that look like? What kind of effort would it take to survive and advance in this new reality?

To start, let's add some context about where the Buffs will slot into this new conference. Remember, it's not just about wins and losses that first season. My overall point in my previous article was regarding Colorado as a long-term prospect, rather than just how successful the individual 2024-25 squad will be. So, to better understand, I performed an extremely basic review of the final KenPom rankings for each of the 16 programs, over both the whole Tad Boyle era (now up to 13 seasons of results) and the last five campaigns. The hope here is to get a broader sense of the long-term strength of each of the programs. I'll grant that the underlying methodology is flawed, not least because we're talking about schools that are coming together from different conferences and with several layers of coaching dynamics (for example, the Huggins fiasco in Morgantown) that belie such a basic review of past success. However, it's what I've got, and at least gives us a way to start the discussion.

Off the top, Colorado doesn't fare too poorly -- 9th-best in recent years, 10th overall, and just below the top-half cut (FWIW, 4th and 5th, respectively, in the old Pac-12). As currently constituted, this level of consistent performance would be considered on the competitive fringe in a league where finishing 7th or 8th in a given year should still (most likely) guarantee you an invite into the NCAA Tournament. 

A quick glance also reveals some basic narratives about the power dynamics of this new-ish league.  Of course, Kansas, both on the hardwood and in the meeting rooms, will be the heavy hitter. But what quickly emerges is that there are only three programs -- KU, Baylor, and Arizona -- who have averaged a top-25 KP finish over the last 13 years. That is an indelible indicator of those programs' continued success over a long stretch, one that clearly sets them apart as the upper echelon of the league. But, and this may surprise some people, in recent years it has been Houston that has been the healthiest of all the programs, even beating out Kansas with an astonishing average of a 7th-place finish since 2019. Caveats for the weaker American Athletic Conference aside, the Cougars have been a monster, and deserve similar consideration to the other three declared powers. That leaves the BigXII with a clear top-four of perennial powers; those expected to succeed, who have entrenched fan bases and donor structures to support continued growth (and exploitation of NIL opportunities), and who should be expected to continue to enjoy similar success for years to come. Regardless of how the next few years go, I would expect those four programs to lead the league's narrative, barring something really weird... or some litigation. 

Extreme optimism aside, I think it would be hard to foresee a set of circumstances that would have Colorado finding a way into that top tier. So, what would a reasonable target be?  Well, it's not too far off. As noted, a top-half finish, year-in year-out, would probably be enough for the Dance. More to the point, just like in the Pac-12, routinely finishing in the top half of the league, maybe even snagging a top-four finish every four-ish years, gives you a base to build on. That would allow the program to maintain its current competitive, prideful status, and continue to justify wider fanbase interest. Say, top-50 in KenPom, which is, more or less, where CU has been in recent years. If Colorado can keep to that floor, they should consistently finish in the top-8 of the league.

The impediment here is obvious: the conference's depth. As I found in the experiment discussed above, an average BigXII team, over the last five years, was 30 slots better than an average Pac-12 team. In the former Conference of Champions, we had come to count on programs like WSU, Ore St, and Cal fielding teams that were simply not competitive. Schools you could, year after year, hope to beat both in Boulder and on the road.  In the BigXII, there are few such cupcakes, and everyone has ambition. Texas Tech, WVU, KSU, ISU, TCU, and BYU have each finished inside the KenPom top-25 at least once within the last five years -- hell, I only left Tech off the power list 'cause I'm not 100% sold that the transition from the Chris Beard era is on solid footing, but they were an overtime away from a national title in 2019. Tweeners Ok St and Cincinnati may not have been quite at that level in recent years, but they've been consistent enough to pay attention to and will project to be tough outs in league play. Even the "lower-rung" programs have the potential to be strong. We already know how annoying ASU and Utah can be, and I would expect them to try and splash some cash to find traction. That just leaves little thought of UCF -- at the very least, that 3.5 hour plane flight will be a giant pain in the ass.  Regardless of how you look at it, it'll be hard to bank wins against this group, year-in, year-out. 

So, what does Colorado need to do to maintain their place amongst this viper's nest, stay with the Texas Techs and West Virginias of the league, and forestall my earlier predictions of doom and a slide into the basement with ASU and Utah?  Well, it comes down to the basics: coaching, recruiting, and resources. 

First, coaching. It should come as no surprise, as rumors have been swirling, but many insiders have indicated that the Tad Boyle era could be coming to a close in the next few years, with the winningest coach in program history looking to retire. To be fair, the man has earned the rest, but, the transition to 'what comes next' will be critical.  

I referenced the quality of the 'job' in my previous article; that the national perception of Colorado as a potential coaching landing place, compared to its peers, places the Buffs solidly in the lower quarter of the league. To that end, even with what Tad has built in Boulder, I have doubts about how truly attractive this spot would be to a coach outside the immediate area. The quality and depth of in-state recruiting are still... *ahem* inconsistent, and resources afforded by the Athletic Department will always be a problem (I saw them on commercial flights last year, don't pretend). However, coaches will want to be in this newly evolved league; stay in this league. The combination of the desirability of coaching in the #1 basketball conference in the country and the ability to build on what Tad has constructed should be enough to overcome the ingrained challenges and still attract some quality candidates. It'll probably cost, though; the Athletic Department needs to plan on significant investment into the next staff if they want the program to stay competitive.

Now, I'm not going to start tossing out names (not even the one in Rhode Island), 'cause that wouldn't be fair and this industry changes quickly, but the candidates will most likely fall into three categories:

• Ones with institutional ties that can make for an "easy" transition.
• A few young up-and-comer types from a mid-major with a recent Tournament run.
• Veteran/Power Conference 'name' candidates that will garner national headlines.

I'm not really ready to make an argument one way or the other, but, for Colorado to survive in the BigXII, long-term, the final choice has to work. A miss-step here would be fatal, but that's not an argument to go with what is 'safe' (look at where that got Cal).  CU will need to splash some cash, bring in a coach ready to roll, and support them.

Because, of course, what happens with the coaching search will flow directly into recruiting. Tad and Co. have seen some major gains on this front in recent years, averaging a top-40 class in the last four cycles, including two in the top-25 (according to 247).  CU will need to maintain this pace, if not improve, to be a top-half player in the BigXII.  Basketball recruiting is weird, with transfers and international signees often being more important than incoming freshmen, so YoY swings don't necessarily mean as much as they would in, say, football. But, the overall picture needs to remain strong, which leads me to my final point...

Resources. Colorado needs to renew its investment in the program. Whether it be the hiring of a new coaching staff when Tad retires, increasing the in-season Operations budget to compete with their new peers (like, ensuring 100% chartered flights), encouraging and leveraging NIL opportunities, or supporting the program with new capital investments and upgraded facilities, the Athletic Department and the donor base will need to step up to the challenge. No excuses.

I always tend to look for inefficiencies. I'm particularly focused on ways the program can get better at leveraging NIL opportunities to maintain its recent recruiting success. Small things like including guaranteed NIL fund contributions in MLE tournament contracts are a nice start, but more needs to be done. I've been assured that Tad has grown more open to the prospects in this sphere, and that the program as a whole is beginning to take this aspect seriously, with major contributions to the B4L fund starting to trickle in, but this needs to be a priority in the years to come.

We also need to talk about facilities. Specifically, the practice facility is almost as old as the Tad Boyle era itself. That capital investment was supplemented in the intervening years with additional upgrades to the locker, sports medicine, and meeting rooms -- all very well done, btw -- but it's time for another push for significant upgrades. I understand the costly gamble being undertaken over at Folsom, and the strain that puts on the overall bottom line, but basketball facility upgrades have never come with the exhaustive price tags of their gridiron counterparts. Honestly, I'd start by looking at the arena itself.  Not a *new* arena, just upgrades. The floor was recently replaced, and the CUEC is already far better than it was in 2010, but more can be done to make it a place that players want to play in. If we're serious about competing in the BigXII, we'll need to *look* like we're serious.

At least we know that Colorado should be able to hit the ground running -- the Buffs are returning to the BigXII with a higher talent floor, better facilities, and greater stability than when they left. If I had to place a bet now, I would put it on at least the first season going well, with Colorado finishing in that coveted top-half grouping.  Where it goes from there will come down to the care and investment in continuing to grow the Colorado Basketball brand.  

If, and I mean if, Colorado can nail all three aspects -- the coaching change, staying strong in recruiting, and increasing resources into the program -- there is an opportunity here to stake a claim in the strongest basketball conference in the land. All of the non-Kansas programs will be scrambling for relevancy and have their own institutional burdens to try and work around. If CU can forge a consistent spot in the top half in that scramble, it could lead to a permanent paradigm shift in the quality of the program. Keep up the pace for the first five years or so, and you're in. There's still all to play for.

--

That's Stage Three dispatched.  I'll keep Stage Four between me and my bartender.  Once Stage Five hits, I'll let you know if anything publishable comes from it.

To the Death of Fun

So. Back to the Big XII. 

You may be taken aback -- Isn't moving to the BigXII a good thing?  Isn't jumping off the plummeting Pac-12 jet a good thing?  Why am I so butt-hurt about this? 

I look at it in two separate calculations. First, bailing on the Pac-12. I could talk about path to the College Football Playoff and the future potential of streaming over linear, but I'm not here to re-litigate that. The financials are undeniable, and the writing was on the wall. However, I would dispute that CU's situation would've dramatically changed having actually *waited* to see the final media rights proposal from Pac-12 Commissioner George Kliavkoff. Then, Colorado could've acted in concert with additional members of the current Pac-12, potentially leveraging bargaining power and building some options beyond, "Well, let's just go on back to our Ex."  Ultimately, Colorado held a lot of good cards in this situation; in my opinion, they just rushed to play them favoring a sure thing over the best long-term result. We threw away our conference loyalty 12 years ago, why not just do it again?

Second, why am I so damn disgusted by the prospect of heading back to the old stomping grounds? 'Cause the BigXII is what was. This move is, by definition, a step backward in history, prestige, and, in a number of ways, the level of competition (except on the men's hardwood... more on that in a second).  It takes us away from our largest out-of-state Alumni base and probably dooms us to a 2nd-tier football league in an era where only the 1st-tier will matter.  

What's more, we're heading back to a league where we will be, just as we were in the Pac-12, rival-less and set off to the side. This isn't the BigXII of 2010. No Nebraska, no Oklahoma, no Mizzou, no Texas, and no A&M. Now that the dust has settled, the resulting conference with BYU/Utah, 'Zona/ASU, KU/KSU, Cincy/WVU, and four Texas schools, who have their own thing going, leaves the remaining four randos (Colorado included) twiddling their thumbs. If you didn't like it in the Pac-12, why would a forced rivalry with, I don't know, Ok State (?) suddenly get your fancy?

But, what *really* gets my goat is the situation with the men's basketball program.  Everything Tad has built -- all the good, competitive vibes constructed over the last decade-plus -- is about to wither and die on the vine.

In case you have no idea, the BigXII, for some time, has been the deepest basketball conference in the country. It is, by leaps and bounds, stronger than the version Colorado left in 2011. Up through last season, 9 of the 10 programs could boast a deep and rich basketball tradition, Baylor and Kansas had claimed frickin' national titles in recent years, and the league had finished 1st or 2nd in KenPom each of the last 10 seasons (Over that same span, the Pac-12 averaged a 5th-place finish, sometimes finishing behind mid-major leagues). Even taking Oklahoma and Texas out of the equation, the league is replacing them with Houston (a historic regional basketball power) and Cincinnati (same).  Sure, UCF is more-or-less a dud, but BYU has been a nasty mid-major with a high upside for decades and will fit in well. Add Arizona and Utah to that mix, and this is the basketball conference of basketball conferences. A goddamn monster. Even with UCLA and USC joining the B1G, the new BigXII would stand apart, in my opinion.

Colorado, stepping into that viper's nest, is D.O.A.

Looking back on 2010-11, the combination of a good new coach and a solid veteran core helped propel Colorado on a relatively successful final BigXII campaign. From there, the Pac-12's lack of true basketball depth helped Colorado surge over the past decade, forging solid footing to become a competitive program that could hold its head high amongst rivals. Reliably upper-middle of the pack, capable of punching above their weight and making the postseason almost every year. While maybe not a 'power,' it was a program worth following for the broader fanbase. Often entertaining, it boasted good players of high character, engaged in narrative-rich fights with rival programs, and occasionally blipped onto the national spotlight. 

That level of consistent relevancy is something that hadn't been achieved over Colorado's previous four decades of play in the old Big 8/BigXII. In this newly re-designed BigXII, it'll only be worse. The second the paperwork was signed, CU immediately became the 10th-best job (depending on your view of BYU and TCU) in the conference, really only clearly more desirable than UCF.  Arizona and Utah joining the league would drop that rating down further. 12th or 13th in a 16-team jumble. Irrelevant.

Yes, I know Tad has had some nice and optimistic things to say. The KU grad may even be able to bottle up some 2010-11 magic and score some knockouts against the midwestern behemoths in his final years. Sure, maybe we'll find a way to shock the world and finish 8th for a few years, or something.  Maybe beat Arizona at home, like we've been doing.

But then, Tad will retire. Then, an Athletic Department which has never really cared about the program will be tasked with finding and supporting a replacement. Very quickly, and I mean *quickly*, this program will return to what it once was: a dusty doormat in a league where everyone else takes the sport seriously.  The funding dries up, the facilities fade, and the recruits go elsewhere. Endgame.

Now, I am a basketball fan. More than that, I am a Colorado Basketball fan. This matters to me, even if it doesn't to you. This informs my decision-making, the same as the football part may inform yours.  The death of Colorado Basketball as a competitive concern is a mortal strike against my soul.

That is why I'm pissed about this bullshit. Pissed at Mike Bohn and USC. Pissed at UCLA for going along with it. Pissed at FOX and the B1G for orchestrating it. Pissed at Colorado for jumping at the "opportunity." Pissed at everyone for smiling and patting each other on the back for turning a plate of bird shit into a plate of dog shit.

You may not care, but I'll still be there, with a handful of diehards, watching the program I love be put to the torch by Kansas, Baylor, and Arizona. And what we enjoyed over the last decade-plus will be resigned to a forgotten footnote while everyone panics over who the next football coach will be -- as it ever was.

Damn this all.

Doubt and Faith

On a cold and clear Saturday night, just a tic over two months after firing their 27th head coach, Colorado Football hired their 28th. But unlike #27, or any of the other 26 that proceeded him, the news of #28 hit BuffsNation with the positive force of an avalanche tumbling down off the high Rockies.

Deion Sanders is coming to Boulder.

Yes, *that* Deion Sanders. Prime Time, Neon Deion, Leon Sandcastle, Coach Prime. NFL Hall of Famer, football immortal, high stepper of high steppers. The man who can stand on the same commercial stage as Nick Saban and not feel out of place. The man who can pull 5-stars to Jackson State and build a conference-championship-winning juggernaut seemingly overnight. All of that. He's coming *here*.

Immediately, his arrival promises good things to come. In the era of NIL and the transfer portal, the pipeline sucking talent out and away from Folsom Field will suddenly back up with 4- and 5-star recruits and transfers. There will be national media attention, splashy documentaries, and a sudden uptick in attendance and support for the program. And, above all else, there will be winning football. In the span of a week, the Colorado Football Program has gone from dead at the line with a blown transmission to 185 mph and back in the race.

We're in for a wild ride.

It's easy to doubt. I certainly did. I doubted Rick George. I doubted the University of Colorado's financial capabilities (hell, just look at the previous post on this blog). I doubted the school's administration and its commitment to supporting athletics through transfer rule changes. I doubted the lingering attractiveness of the football program. I doubted that Coach Prime would even be interested.

I doubted.

I doubted, among other things, because of 70-3. Because of Dan Hawkins and his 2008 recruiting class. Because of Jon Embree and Eric Bieniemy running a QB sneak on 1st down in 2012; the utter collapse of the Rise into smoke and mirrors; Mel Tucker's late-night bolt to East Lansing; and Milquetoast Karl Dorrell's euthanasia-cum-football program. The list goes on and on. If "you are what your record says you are," then Colorado is a 1-11 program, 61-117 over the last 15 years with just 2 winning seasons to show for it (and I'm being kind in counting 2020). I had reasons, but I doubted.

Faith? Well, that's a lot harder. Like a muscle, you have to work on faith to build it. And it's easy to lose the strength gained if you let it lie fallow. I want to have faith again. I want to believe it will work, if only for the sake of the Boulder Community.

See, the last few years have been difficult for Boulder. I'm not saying it's been easy elsewhere -- certainly, Coach Prime would be quick to point out that Jackson, MS, where he's coming from, can barely supply clean water to the town -- but Boulder's been through some stuff. COVID lockdowns, the horror of the 2021 Table Mesa shooting, and last December's Marshall Fire. The community's been hurting. I trust in faith that this hope, this energy we're all feeling at this moment can help salve some of those emotional wounds.

Coach Prime certainly has faith, and I'm not just talking about religion. He took this job, by all accounts, sight unseen. There was no "food cart" moment of him sneaking in to try the coat on for size. He came in Saturday night to see Folsom Field and the Champions Center for the first time having already accepted the job. Sanders was eager for the opportunity to take the step to Power 5 football, leverage his advantages, and succeed. Rick George and his team sold Sanders on the vision, on the opportunity, and Prime took it on faith that Colorado could help him deliver. He has faith in his ability to perform, and he is committed.

I should take a lesson from that. Whether it's "shoot your shot," "believe in yourself," or whatever mantra you want to use, it's a powerful statement in self-belief.

I will admit, doubt still lingers inside, like a coiled snake ready to pounce. Is this too much juice too fast? Will the foundation support the weight of expectations being placed upon it? What happens two years from now, be it success or failure, if it's time to move on? Boulder has shown to struggle with the national spotlight before, is this town ready for all that's to come in the next few years?

But doubt is easy. I'm ready for the hard work of learning to have faith in Folsom Saturdays again. 

I'm ready to have faith in Coach Prime.