I'd like to tell you all a story. It's a story about a pair of friends, let's call then 'Larry' and 'Terry' (to protect the innocent), who had planned on attending the CU/Oregon game Saturday night. Larry, specifically, had come down from the mountains with an eye towards watching Colorado football this weekend, and had lead the charge to pre-purchase tickets, make plans (including Half Fast!), and generally set their affairs in order -- they were
going to this game. I saw them off Saturday night, planning to take my own route to the stadium with the group I was sitting with. We made loose plans to meet up at the stadium and afterwards, shared a 'few'
beverages, and parted ways. This was at 5pm.
After winding my way across Boulder and up to Folsom, I headed over to the field house at about 7. Making a beeline for the nearest beer stand, I spied Larry and Terry over by a trash can, significantly more
enhanced than they were a few hours previously. Their state of affairs was a little worrisome for that early in the evening, but I noted that they had, at least, made it to Folsom in time for kickoff. We shared some drinks, quickly talked over the weather, and generally shot the shit. I assured them we'd meet up afterwards, and told them to call me.
Well, of course, the weather opened up, delaying the kickoff and spilling many of the fans to the concourses. I'm rarely comfortable in tightly crowded situations, so I left Larry and Terry to their spiraling, drunken state, and forced my way outside into the pouring rain. Warnings of lightning in the area barely registered with me, as I took in the awesome sight of Folsom bathed in light and precipitation. As the game eventually got under way, I noticed my phone was really struggling with the moisture and slammed cell towers, so I put it away, and forgot Larry and Terry were even in the stadium until the 4th Quarter. As the end result of the game became clear, I remembered to turn on my phone again, but noted that L&T hadn't called. Figuring they were already out on Pearl Street, and no longer in the mood for revelry myself, I tightened my jacket, and trudged home.
Arriving at my door, I was surprised to find the TV and lights were on. Slipping inside, I was stunned to see the passed out forms of Larry and Terry, completely dead to the world (Larry had been staying at my place while in town, and had a key). I surveyed the house, finding the kitchen faucet full on and pouring into oblivion, the doors unlocked, and discarded wet clothes strewn about. Confused, but otherwise uncaring due to the late hour, I turned off the lights, television, and faucet, locked the doors, and went to bed.
In the morning, I found out the truth. Despite being safely in the stadium at 7, neither one of them had made it to the re-scheduled kickoff. The two had gone separate ways shortly after I had talked with them, and it had all gone south from there. Larry, frightened by the lightning reports, had given up early, and took off for home. Terry, whose phone was also on the fritz and couldn't contact anyone else to sit with, took off into the night, eventually purchasing a plate of curry at Tiffin's, and stumbling back to my house.
The point, I guess, is that a football Saturday is a marathon, not a sprint. Pace yourselves, accordingly. Don't be like 'Larry & Terry.'
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Today in the bag, I'm talking the action against Oregon, a look ahead to CU's next three opponents, and the first few days of basketball practices.
Click below for the bag...