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...

On the 20th Anniversary of 60-59

This coming basketball season marks an important milestone in Colorado Basketball history -- the 20th anniversary of the 2002-03 team. As such, it's time to open old wounds and dig into some Big 8/XII scar tissue. 

Kansas, once, was the measuring stick by which CU men's hoops were routinely found to be inadequate. KU was, and still is, a national power, one of the true blue-bloods of the sport; comparatively, the Buffs have never been either. Their meetings reinforced that dichotomic status quo of haves and the have-nots: Kansas had, Colorado had not.

Yet, in spite of the disparity in pedigree and prestige, from Colorado's joining of the Big 8 in 1947 until their exit from the Big XII in 2011, the two played regularly. Each year, the Buffs would get two or three shots against the Jayhawks, and, most years, they'd get that measuring stick upside the back of their heads for their efforts. It became a sticking point; a hump that CU could never seem to get over. In a recent conversation, Neill Woelk (formerly of the Daily Camera, now with CUBuffs.com) even referred to them as Colorado's "white whale." ^[1]

You see, the history of Colorado v Kansas on the hardwood is not really a rivalry, in the traditional sense. More a Sisyphean reflection of the BasketBuffs' decades-long struggle with relevance, one that has only gotten more extreme with time. Let me put it this way: in his four years as a player at Kansas in the early 80s, Tad Boyle suffered more losses to Colorado (3) than the Jayhawks have experienced, all-told, from 1992 to the present (2). KU's slips against their former Big 8/XII "rivals" were already rare by the time the 90s rolled into town (they lead the overall series 124-40), but since February of 1991, the 'Squawks have gone 47-2 against the Buffs with an average margin of victory of over 18 points.

Hammer, meet nail.^[2]

The annual tilt in Boulder was, typically, the most painful, as Colorado would put up a wilful fight before succumbing in the end. What's more, a full 30-50% of the arena would be clad in red and blue, and all Buffalo faithful would have to suffer that damn chant. In the late-aughts, I myself witnessed more than a few of the season ticket holders around me swapping colors -- one week loosely cheering for CU, the next noisily rooting for the neighbor to the east. It was not uncommon for Kansas fans, including, as I found out in our conversation, Woelk's father, to hold CU season tickets simply for that one night a year when KU would come to Boulder: 

"My dad was from Kansas, moved to Colorado. He grew up a Kansas basketball fan.  Every year, I would get him tickets to the Colorado/Kansas game.  And I finally ended up buying him season tickets to CU basketball just so my dad could come to one game a year. I just remember telling him how much I hated that KU chant… he would get a huge kick out of that.”

An unfortunate reality: the Buffs weren't even the headliner in their own building.

By that measure, there are some parallels to Colorado's great rivalry on the gridiron -- their annual fracas with former national power Nebraska. As was reinforced in 2019, a lot of red suddenly appears in Folsom anytime the Huskers come to town. It's what made those games so tense -- as a Buff fan, you desperately wanted to win just to see those invaders sitting next to you look so glum. Hell, that yearning for schadenfreude is why this remains such an indelible image in the CU/NU rivalry to this day. 

With the Nubs and football, at least, Colorado has enjoyed some recent success. A breakthrough win against the Corn in 1986 helped propel the Buffs to a national title a few years later, and, since 2001, the Buffs have beaten back the red tide as many times as they've been flummoxed, going 6-6. In basketball, against frickin' Kansas, however, CU has not been nearly as successful.

So, for a school that has 62-36 metaphorically etched into the keystone of Norlin Library, it stands to reason that those two out of 49 against Kansas are worth mentioning if you care in the slightest about Colorado Basketball. 

Now, any modern CU fan worth their salt is keenly aware of the latter of the two, the Ski-for-Three madness of December 7th, 2013.^[3] What, then, of the former? What, then, of January 22nd, 2003?

If you're already familiar, it's probably because you were there. Comparatively, Askia's Miracle is easily accessible for those new to Black and Gold religion. Pac-12 Network has it on their decaying platform about a dozen times per season if you're interested in re-living that one. But, the win in '03? I dare you to try and find all but the barest of hints online. Believe me, I had looked. Unless you were willing to pay for access to the Daily Camera and Denver Post print archives (like I was), the best you could do was a few AP articles linked on the CU website and the mirrored articles on ESPN. Certainly, there were no highlights to be found online; YouTube has nothing that I could find. Even pictures from the game are difficult to come across.

How? How could one of the biggest victories in modern Colorado Basketball history get so lost in the internet shuffle?

Well, not anymore. Approaching the 20th anniversary of its birth, I lay 60-59 to rest with a full In Memoriam.  I'll cover Colorado's program history in the preceding years and the 2002-03 season's outlook; I'll review both teams' performance that year and how they stood coming into the night of January 22nd, 2003; I'll even touch on the series beef each team brought with them into the game that night; of course, I'll break down the game itself (with the help of some archival footage); and, finally, I'll wrap-up with a discussion of the aftermath. There are even endnotes and a full sources list!

So, strap in. It's a long and winding ride. Best consumed with a beer in hand...

Let's go!