It may not look like much on the scoreboard, but a rally from a 17 point deficit to a 3 point win is pretty impressive. The swing from last year was a whopping 34 points. Big difference: no Russell Wilson for the Stinking Badgers. Not as big difference, the new and improved Taylor Martinez.
You always hear how the game is won in the trenches, usually spoken by guys who's only idea of trench warfare is the assorted 22 minutes or so from Downton Abby. If true, then the Husker front four drove the mastodons from UW even closer to extinction. Extra props to the linebackers, too. All made impressive plays, 'Zo Whaley, Sean Fisher and Will Compton stood out at key moments. Compton reminds me of a classic throwback '60's linebacker, except fast.
I think the ground game has a recipe for long term success. Wave after wave of Burkhead and Abdullah. You could see it starting to take shape in the second half. Sprinkle in a little T-Magic and this offense looks like it might be unstoppable by anyone, save themselves. Dropping 45 points a game on opponents is tough to counter.
On to the next gig. All the way to Columbus, Ohio. Lloyd and I loaded up the van with lads and began the odyssey all the way to the Arch City...wonder if that's because of Archie Griffen? I could see it. "Groping in the Dark" was booked for a place called 'The Worst Bar in Columbus'. I'm sure the competition was fierce, but that is the actual name of the place. I sought out the owner or manager or bartender who looked like he was in charge in order to get sorted out.
I wonder if Bo will have any chance to enjoy his homecoming.
Rod was a decent sort, all things considered. He only looked at us like we were noisy tourists talking too loudly in a cathedral. More tolerant than I expected. I anticipated him looking at us like enemy agents trying to slip by his border post undetected. Yes, he knew where we were from.
He came sauntering up as Nigel struggled to fit his synthesizer onto the tiny stage with all the other gear. "You know you're going to lose on Saturday, don'cha?"
Figuring that Nigel had no idea about what Rod was talking about, I intervened. "Lose at what?" I asked, putting on my best confused look. That one is easy, I'm confused a lot.
"The Buckeyes are going to destroy Nebraska, ol' Braxton will run circles around them."
"What is a Buckeye and who or What is a Braxton?", I asked, not rising to the bait.
"The Buckeyes, you know, the football team from THE Ohio State University."
I always hated that extra emphasis on 'The' that OSU players and fans coughed out.
"Braxton Miller is the quarterback that will make those Cornhumpers look silly", Rod continued.
"Oh, ok," I nodded. "You still haven't told me what a Buckeye is, though."
"Awe, hell, it's a tree. The Ohio Buckeye, a type of chestnut."
"Why name your team after a tree?"
"It's not just the team. It's the State, the people. Ohio is the Buckeye State."
Chas chimed in, "You mean like conkers?"
"What?"
"Conkers. You put the conkers, or horse chestnuts, on a bit of string and whack the hell out of them in turn, until one breaks," he explained.
Rod looked at him as if he had grown a second head, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yanks," he scoffed and went back to setting up.
I had a feeling that Chas was on to something, though. I started thinking that the game would be like a game of conkers. Each side is going to take a whack at the other until one breaks. Both offenses are just a bit better than the defenses they will face.
Nebraska was the more diverse attack, and will force OSU to play honestly all game. The main weapon is Taylor Martinez, who has been making key passes as well as plays with his running. Rex and Ameer are the best running back tandem in the B1G. Kenny, Quincey and Kyler are effective downfield weapons.
OSU has Braxton Miller. He does the same job as the entire Nebraska backfield. He is the key to the game. He is just a good enough passer to hurt the defense. He won't sit back in the pocket and pick the D apart, he'll do it while running, drawing defenders up and hitting receivers that get left open.
The band brought me out of my reverie as they sound checked with Blondie's 'One Way or Another'. Seems to fit to me. A huge dude wearing khaki shorts and an Ohio State sweatshirt ambled up to me. The shirt was so badly stretched over his massive gut, that the type 'O' looked more like an ellipse. "Are you Sam?" he wheezed.
"Yeah," I said. Who wants to know?
"Susan said to give you this," he said, pressing a folded piece of paper to my hand.
I opened it right there. It read 'Meet me at midnight at a place called Hang Over Easy -- S'
That meant I could hang out, catch the game, and still hit the meeting. Finally, a break.
I settled in to bide my time and watch the track meet that was about to unfold.
A track meet that I expect the Huskers to win, 38-35.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
New Blood on the search
I finally caught up to Non-Stop John at Brewsky's. He had notebooks, a pitcher of beer, a plate of nachos and two cell phones arrayed in front of him. He seemed to be trying to watch all 15 screens on the wall at once. Neat trick when you can manage it.
"John," I said, "Or if you prefer 'Non-Stop', I've got a couple of questions to ask you."
He motioned for me to sit, and gave me a quick glance over his shades. "You can ask. Don't know if I'll have any answers, though. And if it's betting tips, you can go away, now."
"I don't need betting tips. I've got a missing person and was told that you may have heard something about her."
John leaned back in his chair. He placed his hands behind his head in an obvious attempt at looking unconcerned. "Why are you coming to me with this?"
"I need help and I'm stumped. You came highly recommended, but if you don't want to help..."
"I'm not linked to this chick?"
"No."
"Who recommended me?"
"Preacherman."
He relaxed. "You should have said so, earlier. Preach and I go way back. What are the particulars?" he asked pulling one of his notebooks toward him.
I told him about Susan, ''Groping in the Dark" and the trip to L.A. with the tip from Mickey. I told him how Lloyd and I had taken over the management of the band and how we needed to find things to keep them busy. He nodded, took a few notes and asked a few clarifying questions. "I can connect with some people, but if it starts involving a lot of leg-work..."
"I know. If you get into this for me, I will get you my agency's standard fee for an investigator, assuming you're bonded and licensed, of course," I said, doubtfully.
"Licensed, bonded, never use it. Just in case kind of thing."
We shook on the agreement and I nodded toward the screens. "Do you think the Huskers will get their revenge, on Saturday?"
"Against the Stinking Badgers," he said like the bandito at the end of Treasure of the Sierra Madre. "If they use their speed advantage. It's not like last year where they can load up the box and dare Martinez to throw. They will have to play their defense straight-up, which means that Martinez can check down to plays that will take advantage of what the defense is showing. The speed factor comes in if Beck makes the defense run after them on every play. Tosses, pitches, screens, jailbreaks, that sort of thing. The Huskers are so deep at receiver, they can spread the field all night long, stretch them both horizontally and vertically."
"How about the ground game?"
"Nebraska has four backs, three should get a decent number of carries. I hope that Beck uses them in waves, maybe Cross comes in in short yardage situations. Burkhead is back, Abdullah has proven himself and Heard is decent, too. I don't think the Badgers defense will be able to take the pounding for a full four quarters. But that might not even matter. Nebraska has gotten off to a fast start in every game this year."
"Big question, now. Will the defense be able to handle the behemoths? They have been chasing spread-option offenses all year. Can they change it up and play a team that is committed to a ground game, especially if Montee Ball plays?"
"If Huskers do to UW what they did to Martinez, last year. Load the box with 8 defenders, dare them to pass and double team Jared Abredeis in passing situations. Half of Stave's completions went to Abredeis and he has 40% of their receiving yards for the year. They do not have the weapons they had last year. Remember last year when Wilson made the defense look silly? That guy is starting in the NFL this year. Stave is not a pro prospect, yet. The defense needs to take advantage of that difference."
"What about special teams?"
"The Huskers have had their ups and downs, I don't expect it to be a big difference maker."
"Any score predictions?" I asked
"Nebraska will get out to an early lead, putting even more pressure on the Wisconsin passing game. If Nebraska can get up by two possessions, Pooch will be pinning the ears back and turning the pass rush loose. Every possession Nebraska has with a sizable lead will be run heavy, to quicken the game and take time away from any potential come back. Hostile crowd, emotional weight to the game. I expect a 17-3 Nebraska lead to finish up as a 31-10 grab the conference by the throat game."
"One last question. Why do they call you 'Non-Stop'?"
"That," he said with a wry smile. "Is a secret."
Husk-husk and on the qb.
"John," I said, "Or if you prefer 'Non-Stop', I've got a couple of questions to ask you."
He motioned for me to sit, and gave me a quick glance over his shades. "You can ask. Don't know if I'll have any answers, though. And if it's betting tips, you can go away, now."
"I don't need betting tips. I've got a missing person and was told that you may have heard something about her."
John leaned back in his chair. He placed his hands behind his head in an obvious attempt at looking unconcerned. "Why are you coming to me with this?"
"I need help and I'm stumped. You came highly recommended, but if you don't want to help..."
"I'm not linked to this chick?"
"No."
"Who recommended me?"
"Preacherman."
He relaxed. "You should have said so, earlier. Preach and I go way back. What are the particulars?" he asked pulling one of his notebooks toward him.
I told him about Susan, ''Groping in the Dark" and the trip to L.A. with the tip from Mickey. I told him how Lloyd and I had taken over the management of the band and how we needed to find things to keep them busy. He nodded, took a few notes and asked a few clarifying questions. "I can connect with some people, but if it starts involving a lot of leg-work..."
"I know. If you get into this for me, I will get you my agency's standard fee for an investigator, assuming you're bonded and licensed, of course," I said, doubtfully.
"Licensed, bonded, never use it. Just in case kind of thing."
We shook on the agreement and I nodded toward the screens. "Do you think the Huskers will get their revenge, on Saturday?"
"Against the Stinking Badgers," he said like the bandito at the end of Treasure of the Sierra Madre. "If they use their speed advantage. It's not like last year where they can load up the box and dare Martinez to throw. They will have to play their defense straight-up, which means that Martinez can check down to plays that will take advantage of what the defense is showing. The speed factor comes in if Beck makes the defense run after them on every play. Tosses, pitches, screens, jailbreaks, that sort of thing. The Huskers are so deep at receiver, they can spread the field all night long, stretch them both horizontally and vertically."
"How about the ground game?"
"Nebraska has four backs, three should get a decent number of carries. I hope that Beck uses them in waves, maybe Cross comes in in short yardage situations. Burkhead is back, Abdullah has proven himself and Heard is decent, too. I don't think the Badgers defense will be able to take the pounding for a full four quarters. But that might not even matter. Nebraska has gotten off to a fast start in every game this year."
"Big question, now. Will the defense be able to handle the behemoths? They have been chasing spread-option offenses all year. Can they change it up and play a team that is committed to a ground game, especially if Montee Ball plays?"
"If Huskers do to UW what they did to Martinez, last year. Load the box with 8 defenders, dare them to pass and double team Jared Abredeis in passing situations. Half of Stave's completions went to Abredeis and he has 40% of their receiving yards for the year. They do not have the weapons they had last year. Remember last year when Wilson made the defense look silly? That guy is starting in the NFL this year. Stave is not a pro prospect, yet. The defense needs to take advantage of that difference."
"What about special teams?"
"The Huskers have had their ups and downs, I don't expect it to be a big difference maker."
"Any score predictions?" I asked
"Nebraska will get out to an early lead, putting even more pressure on the Wisconsin passing game. If Nebraska can get up by two possessions, Pooch will be pinning the ears back and turning the pass rush loose. Every possession Nebraska has with a sizable lead will be run heavy, to quicken the game and take time away from any potential come back. Hostile crowd, emotional weight to the game. I expect a 17-3 Nebraska lead to finish up as a 31-10 grab the conference by the throat game."
"One last question. Why do they call you 'Non-Stop'?"
"That," he said with a wry smile. "Is a secret."
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
New Approaches
After Nebraska finished up and left Idaho State's money on the bedside table, we didn't learn much.
Fine, we learned a couple of things. Rex's knee looks pretty good and I am willing to bet that if he hadn't gotten hurt, he'd be at the forefront of the Heisman race, and he might just have been able to pull the game out against UCLA.
The other thing we learned is that when the ball is flipped forward on an end-around, it counts as a pass. Good to know, especially when your flipping the ball forward to the dude with the most awesome hair on the team.
Lloyd and I stashed the lads in a nice, cheap, dive hotel. They had to leave the room to get ice, and the roaches were armed, but not considered dangerous.
We started piecing together the bits of info we obtained about Susan. Mickey in La-La Land had said that she was headed for a flyover state and the lads had mentioned Chicago, in addition to gigs in Ohio, Michigan and Iowa.
"I have an Idea," Lloyd said. "What if she had scheduled gigs to follow the Huskers?"
"Go on," I told him.
"Look at it. There is no other reason to get a band all the way to L.A. and then come back. That's where you go when you want to go big time. I don't know if an '80's cover band could ever break through, but you don't leave if you want your own under assistant west coast promotions man."
"Good point. She hasn't been seen in Lincoln since she vanished, as far as we know. If your theory holds, "Groping in the Dark" should have four more gigs in Lincoln, plus the four in the places the Huskers travel to."
"Yep."
"So, where do we go to find out? The lads are no real help, since their U.S. geographic knowledge is only slightly better than your average high school senior."
"Good, old-fashioned, leg-work. We need to get the word out and see who knows what. I'm going to go see Preacherman, see if he has heard anything. You start collating the info we gather and see if a picture emerges. Talk to the lads, again, it's a long shot, but maybe one of them remembers a tiny snippet that could be a thread."
I found Preacherman at his office, well, outside the building that he claimed as his office. It had a for sale or lease sign in the window for ages, now, and I think he was essentially a squatter, but I still knew where to find him. "Preacherman, what so you know?" I asked.
"Well, look who we have, here," he said, smiling and bro-hugging me, even though he knew I wasn't armed. "To what do we owe the esteemed pleasure?"
"Just a couple of questions, favors to ask, really."
"Ask and ye shall receive...as long as it's reasonable," he chuckled deeply in the back of his throat.
"First, how do you think this hybrid 3-4 is going to work in the Big 10. Second, can I get your crew to help locate a missing person?"
Preacherman smiled a wide smile, which I usually took to mean that he knew more than he was letting on. "The 3-4 will be great against teams that want to throw the ball. It works really well in generating extra pass rush off the edges, and allows you to bring blitzers from all sorts of different angles. It can be really good against the run, if you have the defensive front that can tie up blockers and allow the linebackers to make the plays."
"Do the Huskers have the players that can do that?"
"They have been able to against lesser quality opponents. Whether it will work against even opponents who are dedicated to the run will be seen, soon."
"How about the second question?" I asked.
Preacherman smiled and nodded. "I know exactly who you need to talk to. There is a dude that seems to know what time it is at all times." Preach took out a business card and wrote an address on the back. "Go talk to this guy, if he doesn't have a lead for you, you might as well pack in the case."
I read the name on the card. "Why do they call him 'Non-Stop' John?" I asked.
Preacherman sat back, looked me right in the eye and said, "It's a secret."
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Fine, we learned a couple of things. Rex's knee looks pretty good and I am willing to bet that if he hadn't gotten hurt, he'd be at the forefront of the Heisman race, and he might just have been able to pull the game out against UCLA.
The other thing we learned is that when the ball is flipped forward on an end-around, it counts as a pass. Good to know, especially when your flipping the ball forward to the dude with the most awesome hair on the team.
Lloyd and I stashed the lads in a nice, cheap, dive hotel. They had to leave the room to get ice, and the roaches were armed, but not considered dangerous.
We started piecing together the bits of info we obtained about Susan. Mickey in La-La Land had said that she was headed for a flyover state and the lads had mentioned Chicago, in addition to gigs in Ohio, Michigan and Iowa.
"I have an Idea," Lloyd said. "What if she had scheduled gigs to follow the Huskers?"
"Go on," I told him.
"Look at it. There is no other reason to get a band all the way to L.A. and then come back. That's where you go when you want to go big time. I don't know if an '80's cover band could ever break through, but you don't leave if you want your own under assistant west coast promotions man."
"Good point. She hasn't been seen in Lincoln since she vanished, as far as we know. If your theory holds, "Groping in the Dark" should have four more gigs in Lincoln, plus the four in the places the Huskers travel to."
"Yep."
"So, where do we go to find out? The lads are no real help, since their U.S. geographic knowledge is only slightly better than your average high school senior."
"Good, old-fashioned, leg-work. We need to get the word out and see who knows what. I'm going to go see Preacherman, see if he has heard anything. You start collating the info we gather and see if a picture emerges. Talk to the lads, again, it's a long shot, but maybe one of them remembers a tiny snippet that could be a thread."
I found Preacherman at his office, well, outside the building that he claimed as his office. It had a for sale or lease sign in the window for ages, now, and I think he was essentially a squatter, but I still knew where to find him. "Preacherman, what so you know?" I asked.
"Well, look who we have, here," he said, smiling and bro-hugging me, even though he knew I wasn't armed. "To what do we owe the esteemed pleasure?"
"Just a couple of questions, favors to ask, really."
"Ask and ye shall receive...as long as it's reasonable," he chuckled deeply in the back of his throat.
"First, how do you think this hybrid 3-4 is going to work in the Big 10. Second, can I get your crew to help locate a missing person?"
Preacherman smiled a wide smile, which I usually took to mean that he knew more than he was letting on. "The 3-4 will be great against teams that want to throw the ball. It works really well in generating extra pass rush off the edges, and allows you to bring blitzers from all sorts of different angles. It can be really good against the run, if you have the defensive front that can tie up blockers and allow the linebackers to make the plays."
"Do the Huskers have the players that can do that?"
"They have been able to against lesser quality opponents. Whether it will work against even opponents who are dedicated to the run will be seen, soon."
"How about the second question?" I asked.
Preacherman smiled and nodded. "I know exactly who you need to talk to. There is a dude that seems to know what time it is at all times." Preach took out a business card and wrote an address on the back. "Go talk to this guy, if he doesn't have a lead for you, you might as well pack in the case."
I read the name on the card. "Why do they call him 'Non-Stop' John?" I asked.
Preacherman sat back, looked me right in the eye and said, "It's a secret."
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Almost back to normal.
The drive back home was loooong.
The band made a few bucks, entertained some new fans, and probably committed a couple of misdemeanors with their, ahem, followers.
But, that's the biz.
Lloyd and I were anxious to get back. We needed to see if there had been any word on Susan. We thought that maybe she had skipped ahead, if Mickey's info was worth anything. It was possible that she was anywhere from Utah to Pennsylvania. We had to narrow down the search area.
We asked the lads where they had been scheduled to play.
"Not sure, mate," said Nigel. "We know she booked several gigs in Lincoln, the L.A., deal and she said several other travel opportunities."
"Did she mention where the travel opportunities were?"
"Dunno," Chas chimed in. "Sounded right foreign to us, Ohio, Iowa, Michigan..."
"Chicago!" Derek interrupted.
"Chicago?"
"Yeah. I remember Susan telling me that she had to go to Chicago at some point to secure the venue for a gig. I remember it because it was the one place I had heard of."
"All nighter, Lloyd?" I asked.
"We can do it. If we drive in shifts and sleep when we get the chance, only stopping for gas and food, we can get home in 24 hours."
We blazed right by Las Vegas. The lads got mad. Maybe on our next vacation, I told them.
We stopped in Cedar City, Utah, for gas and packaged preservatives in snack cake and beef stick form.
As we roved through the mountains, Derek observed that the Rockies could have inspired Tolkien for the Misty Mountains.
Derek has got some depth, to him.
I started keeping an eye out for goblins and trolls. Especially around Boulder.
From Denver we swept through the plains. Lloyd and I struggling to stay awake. The coffee and five-hour energy shots hardly living up to their name.
The lads were rapt. I wondered if they expected to see the whole Sioux Nation riding out to waylay us. Nothing about America fascinates the Brits as much as the Wild West.
I promised them each a Stetson, because Stetsons are cool.
We finally rolled back into Lincoln, unloaded the gear and caught a few hours of kip time. They had a gig on that Saturday.
That Saturday turned out to be Anxiety Saturday. The Huskers played well, Taylor had an awesome game. But Bo was ill, sidelined, under the weather.
He didn't come out of the locker room. He took an ambulance ride. The press didn't know where he went or what was done. They were thwarted by privacy laws.
They don't know that you have to talk to housekeeping. Housekeeping knows all and moves like wraiths through the halls of every hospital. They are invisible, but they know and see all.
Malcolm is a junior pre-med student who pulls shifts at St. E's. He's on scholarship, but needs cash to take care of some things. He will also impart information from time to time for the right dead president; or statesman if it's really good.
For the price of a conversation with Mr. Franklin, Malcolm said that the brought Bo in, ran his EKG, ran the full cardiac panel and rayed his chest. He had some of the symptoms for a cardiac event, but the blood levels and EKG were normal. They proceeded with the G.I. cocktail, a mixture of Maalox and liquid lidocaine. Discomfort resolved. Dx papers signed and Bo was out the door.
As for this weeks game against Idaho State, get your media guides out. You will see names you have never heard before.
Rex will get about ten carries as we welcome him back. Ameer will shoulder most of the load and Braylon and Imani will get a lot of work in the second half.
I think Taylor will run the show in to one possession in the second half, then give way to BK3.
We welcome back Chase Rome to the team who settled his personal issues. I translate that as he broke up with his girlfriend from back home, just a theory, I could be wrong.
Zaire Anderson got hurt, blew up his ACL. Sadness. Time for Santos to step it up.
Final score, Huskers 63, Idaho State 10.
Getting caught up takes a lot of work,
Husk-husk and on the qb.
The band made a few bucks, entertained some new fans, and probably committed a couple of misdemeanors with their, ahem, followers.
But, that's the biz.
Lloyd and I were anxious to get back. We needed to see if there had been any word on Susan. We thought that maybe she had skipped ahead, if Mickey's info was worth anything. It was possible that she was anywhere from Utah to Pennsylvania. We had to narrow down the search area.
We asked the lads where they had been scheduled to play.
"Not sure, mate," said Nigel. "We know she booked several gigs in Lincoln, the L.A., deal and she said several other travel opportunities."
"Did she mention where the travel opportunities were?"
"Dunno," Chas chimed in. "Sounded right foreign to us, Ohio, Iowa, Michigan..."
"Chicago!" Derek interrupted.
"Chicago?"
"Yeah. I remember Susan telling me that she had to go to Chicago at some point to secure the venue for a gig. I remember it because it was the one place I had heard of."
"All nighter, Lloyd?" I asked.
"We can do it. If we drive in shifts and sleep when we get the chance, only stopping for gas and food, we can get home in 24 hours."
We blazed right by Las Vegas. The lads got mad. Maybe on our next vacation, I told them.
We stopped in Cedar City, Utah, for gas and packaged preservatives in snack cake and beef stick form.
As we roved through the mountains, Derek observed that the Rockies could have inspired Tolkien for the Misty Mountains.
Derek has got some depth, to him.
I started keeping an eye out for goblins and trolls. Especially around Boulder.
From Denver we swept through the plains. Lloyd and I struggling to stay awake. The coffee and five-hour energy shots hardly living up to their name.
The lads were rapt. I wondered if they expected to see the whole Sioux Nation riding out to waylay us. Nothing about America fascinates the Brits as much as the Wild West.
I promised them each a Stetson, because Stetsons are cool.
We finally rolled back into Lincoln, unloaded the gear and caught a few hours of kip time. They had a gig on that Saturday.
That Saturday turned out to be Anxiety Saturday. The Huskers played well, Taylor had an awesome game. But Bo was ill, sidelined, under the weather.
He didn't come out of the locker room. He took an ambulance ride. The press didn't know where he went or what was done. They were thwarted by privacy laws.
They don't know that you have to talk to housekeeping. Housekeeping knows all and moves like wraiths through the halls of every hospital. They are invisible, but they know and see all.
Malcolm is a junior pre-med student who pulls shifts at St. E's. He's on scholarship, but needs cash to take care of some things. He will also impart information from time to time for the right dead president; or statesman if it's really good.
For the price of a conversation with Mr. Franklin, Malcolm said that the brought Bo in, ran his EKG, ran the full cardiac panel and rayed his chest. He had some of the symptoms for a cardiac event, but the blood levels and EKG were normal. They proceeded with the G.I. cocktail, a mixture of Maalox and liquid lidocaine. Discomfort resolved. Dx papers signed and Bo was out the door.
As for this weeks game against Idaho State, get your media guides out. You will see names you have never heard before.
Rex will get about ten carries as we welcome him back. Ameer will shoulder most of the load and Braylon and Imani will get a lot of work in the second half.
I think Taylor will run the show in to one possession in the second half, then give way to BK3.
We welcome back Chase Rome to the team who settled his personal issues. I translate that as he broke up with his girlfriend from back home, just a theory, I could be wrong.
Zaire Anderson got hurt, blew up his ACL. Sadness. Time for Santos to step it up.
Final score, Huskers 63, Idaho State 10.
Getting caught up takes a lot of work,
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Catching up
It was too bad the team didn't rock the joint as well as the lads had. "Groping in the Dark" opened their set with 'I Ran' by flock of Seagulls. The line "I couldn't get away" reminded me too much of Ameer Abdullah. Hey, Beck. Give the kid a breather so he still has a fifth gear in the fourth quarter, all right?
The hairspray was making my eyes water, and the layers upon layers of headbands, leg warmers and gel shoes was making me feel distinctly out of place.
Wearing a fedora indoors will do that in a lot of places.
Unless you're Keef.
I had just finished explaining the rudiments of making an 'Old Fashioned' when a woman insinuated herself between me and the bar.
Not one to back down from an insinuation, I asked if I could be of assistance.
"I hear you've been looking for someone," she said.
She looked like she was auditioning for a Go-Go's cover band. Blond hair piled on top of her head like silly string in need of the bomb squad. Her tops were orange, and aqua. Velvet or velour, I can never tell without touching. Her skirt looked like a black tutu providing coverage for black and white zebra leggings.
The Converses were a nice touch, though.
"I'm not sure where you heard that," I said. "I've just been sitting here, trying to get Simon Le Bon, here to mix a decent drink. Haven't even been scoping the action."
"Eww," she said, wrinkling up her nose. "Like I'd do that. Gross. I meant I've heard that you are looking for someone named Susan."
The band had launched into 'Shout" by tears for fears.
"Maybe," I said. "What have you heard?"
"I don't know if it's the same Susan you're looking for, but a Susan got into a little scrape with a local dude named Mickey a while back."
"What did this Mickey have to do with Susan?"
"He's a booking agent for a lot of the local up and coming acts. Best advice is to stay away from him though. His percentage is a little steep, if you know what I mean."
I nodded. He was connected with the mob. Not a good situation for Susan. She probably had no idea who she was dealing with. I wasn't to sure I wanted to go nosing around, but I now had my best, and only lead.
'Hungry Like a Wolf' started up. "If I wanted to find this Mickey, where would I go?"
"There's a bar over on Redondo called Exxxplicit. He usually hangs out there in the VIP room."
"There's no way I'd get in," I said.
"No prob, bro. I'll get you in. I know people."
I thought for a minute. Was I willing to go to on to a local heavy's turf, with some girl whose name I didn't even know to start asking questions? I had no local cred, no connections and nothing to offer in exchange. I finished the Old Fashioned and made up my mind.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Trixie," she said.
Now that I had something, I felt much better about the situation.
I told Lloyd to keep an eye on the lads as we left.
We made our way through the circus freak-show that is L.A., past houses with gates over the windows. Past dealers selling dime bags to arms hanging out of limos. Past rent-boys who had gone from fresh-faced idealists seeking fame and fortune to jaded street hustlers in a few months.
Oh, yeah, I love L.A.
We made our way to Exxxplicit where two very large, very black, very scowling doormen protected the entrance like roided-out praetorian guards.
Trixie bounced up to them, "Eric," she nodded to one of the bouncers. "Eric," she glanced at the other. "Mickey has invited Mr. Hammett, here, in for a little chat."
"He in trouble?" asked left Eric.
"Oh, no. He's looking for someone."
"Ain't we all?" asked right Eric.
"There's someone out there for all of us, Eric. You just need to keep trying. Come on, now, let us in."
"Arms, up," said left Eric.
I put my arms in the air as he passed a metal detector around the usual places where one tries to hide metal things. No beeps for me.
Right Eric undid the hook and held up the velvet rope.
Trixie and I passed through a passageway. The thump of the music got progressively louder like we were descending into the chest cavity of an enormous beast. Lights and shadows contested with each other for dominance. Bodies on the dance floor flowed into one another, congealed and separated again and again. Huge video screens displayed a variety of images. One looped a woman's mouth eating a mango. One showed a single eye appearing to watch the dance floor, and would, from time to time focus on the entrance to monitor new arrivals. Several screens depicted scenes from the kind of videos you can only find in the curtained-off back rooms of locally owned rental places.
This was the big time. This place made "Our Lady" look like a poorly attended church social where the only things to eat were green bean casserole and jello with carrots in it.
Trixie guided us back to the VIP booth. Mickey was easy to spot. He lounged against the booth trying his best to look like Al Pacino in 'Scarface'. I made a bet with myself that at some point during our chat he would say, 'Say hello to my little friend'.
Trixie introduced us. She said my name and Mickey just kind of nodded at me. We slid into the booth, I was glad Trixie put herself between Mickey and I. I was a little concerned that if I came into contact with him, I might stick.
"So, I hear you're looking for this Susan, chick," he said, looking out at the crowd.
"Yeah. She came west looking to make some deals for her band and then, poof. Smoke, baby."
He nodded to the beat, rocking slightly in the booth. Drinks were set in front of us. Trixie drank. I didn't. "She might have taken some things I said the wrong way," Mickey said. "I was just trying to give her some friendly advice about how we do things around here. She kind of flipped out on me. Eric had to slap some sense into her before she really got hurt."
"Then what?"
"The last I heard she was on a plane back to one of the Flyover States. No way is she going to go big time with that act."
I left. Trixie stayed. I needed to get Lloyd and the band together for the long drive back. I felt like most of the trip was wasted. What had started out as a promising lead had run into a brick wall. I knew there was something about Mickey's story that didn't add up. Too much information and contradictions were messing with my head.
I knew exactly how the Husker defense felt. I hoped that with a trip back home and some time to adjust would help all of us.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
The hairspray was making my eyes water, and the layers upon layers of headbands, leg warmers and gel shoes was making me feel distinctly out of place.
Wearing a fedora indoors will do that in a lot of places.
Unless you're Keef.
I had just finished explaining the rudiments of making an 'Old Fashioned' when a woman insinuated herself between me and the bar.
Not one to back down from an insinuation, I asked if I could be of assistance.
"I hear you've been looking for someone," she said.
She looked like she was auditioning for a Go-Go's cover band. Blond hair piled on top of her head like silly string in need of the bomb squad. Her tops were orange, and aqua. Velvet or velour, I can never tell without touching. Her skirt looked like a black tutu providing coverage for black and white zebra leggings.
The Converses were a nice touch, though.
"I'm not sure where you heard that," I said. "I've just been sitting here, trying to get Simon Le Bon, here to mix a decent drink. Haven't even been scoping the action."
"Eww," she said, wrinkling up her nose. "Like I'd do that. Gross. I meant I've heard that you are looking for someone named Susan."
The band had launched into 'Shout" by tears for fears.
"Maybe," I said. "What have you heard?"
"I don't know if it's the same Susan you're looking for, but a Susan got into a little scrape with a local dude named Mickey a while back."
"What did this Mickey have to do with Susan?"
"He's a booking agent for a lot of the local up and coming acts. Best advice is to stay away from him though. His percentage is a little steep, if you know what I mean."
I nodded. He was connected with the mob. Not a good situation for Susan. She probably had no idea who she was dealing with. I wasn't to sure I wanted to go nosing around, but I now had my best, and only lead.
'Hungry Like a Wolf' started up. "If I wanted to find this Mickey, where would I go?"
"There's a bar over on Redondo called Exxxplicit. He usually hangs out there in the VIP room."
"There's no way I'd get in," I said.
"No prob, bro. I'll get you in. I know people."
I thought for a minute. Was I willing to go to on to a local heavy's turf, with some girl whose name I didn't even know to start asking questions? I had no local cred, no connections and nothing to offer in exchange. I finished the Old Fashioned and made up my mind.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Trixie," she said.
Now that I had something, I felt much better about the situation.
I told Lloyd to keep an eye on the lads as we left.
We made our way through the circus freak-show that is L.A., past houses with gates over the windows. Past dealers selling dime bags to arms hanging out of limos. Past rent-boys who had gone from fresh-faced idealists seeking fame and fortune to jaded street hustlers in a few months.
Oh, yeah, I love L.A.
We made our way to Exxxplicit where two very large, very black, very scowling doormen protected the entrance like roided-out praetorian guards.
Trixie bounced up to them, "Eric," she nodded to one of the bouncers. "Eric," she glanced at the other. "Mickey has invited Mr. Hammett, here, in for a little chat."
"He in trouble?" asked left Eric.
"Oh, no. He's looking for someone."
"Ain't we all?" asked right Eric.
"There's someone out there for all of us, Eric. You just need to keep trying. Come on, now, let us in."
"Arms, up," said left Eric.
I put my arms in the air as he passed a metal detector around the usual places where one tries to hide metal things. No beeps for me.
Right Eric undid the hook and held up the velvet rope.
Trixie and I passed through a passageway. The thump of the music got progressively louder like we were descending into the chest cavity of an enormous beast. Lights and shadows contested with each other for dominance. Bodies on the dance floor flowed into one another, congealed and separated again and again. Huge video screens displayed a variety of images. One looped a woman's mouth eating a mango. One showed a single eye appearing to watch the dance floor, and would, from time to time focus on the entrance to monitor new arrivals. Several screens depicted scenes from the kind of videos you can only find in the curtained-off back rooms of locally owned rental places.
This was the big time. This place made "Our Lady" look like a poorly attended church social where the only things to eat were green bean casserole and jello with carrots in it.
Trixie guided us back to the VIP booth. Mickey was easy to spot. He lounged against the booth trying his best to look like Al Pacino in 'Scarface'. I made a bet with myself that at some point during our chat he would say, 'Say hello to my little friend'.
Trixie introduced us. She said my name and Mickey just kind of nodded at me. We slid into the booth, I was glad Trixie put herself between Mickey and I. I was a little concerned that if I came into contact with him, I might stick.
"So, I hear you're looking for this Susan, chick," he said, looking out at the crowd.
"Yeah. She came west looking to make some deals for her band and then, poof. Smoke, baby."
He nodded to the beat, rocking slightly in the booth. Drinks were set in front of us. Trixie drank. I didn't. "She might have taken some things I said the wrong way," Mickey said. "I was just trying to give her some friendly advice about how we do things around here. She kind of flipped out on me. Eric had to slap some sense into her before she really got hurt."
"Then what?"
"The last I heard she was on a plane back to one of the Flyover States. No way is she going to go big time with that act."
I left. Trixie stayed. I needed to get Lloyd and the band together for the long drive back. I felt like most of the trip was wasted. What had started out as a promising lead had run into a brick wall. I knew there was something about Mickey's story that didn't add up. Too much information and contradictions were messing with my head.
I knew exactly how the Husker defense felt. I hoped that with a trip back home and some time to adjust would help all of us.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
LA Noire Shirts
Los Angeles was everything I hoped it would be. Loud, sprawling, cheap, oppressive, glittery and dismal, all wrapped in an enormous ball of confused anxiety about what it was and what if anything, existed beyond whatever borders happened to define it.
The LA of Chandler was gone, pushed aside by wave after wave of broken dreams that had dashed themselves along Hollywoods fabled shores, lured by the sirens of easy fame and success.
The LA of Ellroy still showed signs of peaking out from where it had been pushed. One still saw bits and pieces of that LA. The LA that still made appearances in scratchy newsreels shown in retro theaters and might be reflected in the eyes of the dispossessed, who may have, at one time starred alongside Joan Blondell or Joel McRea.
The LA of Jack Webb had never existed, but you could see the possibilities of the shiny, modern, just, city that yearned to stand front and center. Only wishful thinking could create a world where just the facts were enough and just a few bad apples could be turned around by a strong hand that would make everything ok.
The LA of the Rockford Files was still there, but fading down the stretch like a distance runner who had rabbitted at the start of the race and was now succumbing to the smog and the lack of training. The bodegas and dive bars; the bail bonds and badasses on the corner were in abundance. Even then, you hoped that somewhere there was a kind hearted-hero that would take on on overwhelming case that he knows deep down that he'll never get paid for.
Right now LA is somewhere between Bacchanalian city state and ultra-modern Dystopia. Read Joseph Wambaugh and Phillip K. Dick on the same night and your dreams will display 21st century Los Angeles.
It is into this city, or rather, this League of Extraordinary Contrasts that the Huskers play in, today. There have been several significant games between UCLA and Nebraska in the 'modern' era. In 1972, UCLA ended Nebraska's 32-game unbeaten streak, behind the foot of a short, fat, soccer style kicker named Efren Herrera and the passing of that dude from NCIS. In 1973, Dr. O got his first win, but that was in Lincoln. In 1983, Mike Rozier ran for 102 yards on a 6 yard scoring play that helped propel him to a Heisman. In 1984, No. 1 Nebraska destroyed 8th ranked UCLA the week before the wheels fell off at Syracuse. In 1987 Steve Taylor went 10-15 with five TD's, connecting with Tom Banderas for three of those. Banderas's kid will be a Husker next year. In 1988, Troy Aikman got his revenge, in LA, as the Huskers looked hapless and helpless against a future NFL hall of famer. Mark Blazek returned an INT for a TD in what was one of the worst officiating calls that helped Nebraska. He fell down, got up and ran to the endzone. No whistle. In 1993, Nebraska escaped LA with a 14-13 win. UCLA had scored a TD on a huge run, but a holding call negated it. In 1994, the Huskers pounded the Bruins 49-21 as the chant of 'over-rated' washed over the 13th ranked Bruins in a game that wasn't as close as the scoreboard indicated.
This week, the Huskers roll into town with some momentum, but quite possibly without the services of I-Backasaurus Rex. Taylor is returning home, kind of. Corona is East of East LA and less than 50 miles from the Rose Bowl. The kid is hot and UCLA will actually have to prepare for him. I think he has finally reached the skill level where teams can't load up eight defenders in the box and dare Taylor to pass. They have to play honestly, which will free up the running game. Ameer, Braylon and Imani look more than capable of filling in for ROAR Burkhead. Depth is a problem for the Bruins, so Beck's up-tempo offense should be yielding positive results early. UCLA might be dead weight by halftime. It was good to see so many different receivers get touches last week. With Marlowe out (it saddens me that Marlowe has to miss a game in LA), Jamaal Turner will get his opportunity to prove that his habits have improved since last year. The offense has so many weapons that there will be no way that UCLA will be able to take everything away.
On the defensive side, the Blackshirts will have to contain a mobile quarterback. UCLA runs the spread offense that Bo solved years ago. Expect to see a lot of nickle defense with only two backers, today. Today is also the debut of Mohammed Seisay, Hoping to get Huskerfan to adopt the British Paratrooper battle-cry of 'Whoa Mohammed' whenever he makes a big play. The D-line has got to make strides this week, Southern Miss had some decent players on the o-line. UCLA has some talent and scored on several big plays last week. But that was Rice.
The whole big picture thing is that this entire week lacks any really interesting games. Nebraska should win this one going away. The final score might even be a little misleading. I expect Nebraska to be able to score at least 42. I think the game will be firmly in hand when UCLA gets a couple of late scores. Going to call it a 42-24 win for Nebraska.
The rest of the B1G is similarly underwhelming.
Lloyd's Power Ratings for the B1G and this week's games.
Leaders
Ohio State -- 11, vs. Central Florida; Ohio State 45-17
Purdue -- 9, at Notre Dame, Notre Dame, 34-24
11. Wisconsin -- 7, at Oregon State, Wisconsin 31-17
Illinois -- 5, at Arizona State, ASU 28-24
Penn State -- 2, at Virginia, Cavs 28-10
Indiana -- 2, at Massachusetts, Indiana 17-14
Legends
Michigan State -- 9, at Central Michigan, MSU 27-10
10. Nebraska -- 8, at UCLA, Nebraska 42-24
Northwestern -- 5, vs. Vanderbilt, Northwestern 28-27
Iowa -- 4, vs. Iowa State, Cyclones 21-16.
13. Michigan -- 3, vs. Air Force, Michigan 35-21
Minnesota -- 3, vs. New Hampshire, Gophers 31-3
The new Top 13 isn't even involved in a whole lot of interesting games. 1. Alabama vs. Western Kentucky, 2. USC at Syracuse, 3. LSU vs. Washington, 4. Georgia vs. Missouri, 5. Oklahoma vs. Florida A&M, 6. Florida State vs. Savannah State, 7. Oregon vs. Fresno State, 8. West Virginia idle, 9. South Carolina vs. East Carolina, 12. Clemson vs. Ball State. LSU and Washington is kind of interesting. Georgia and Missouri might be intriguing to see how Georgia handles the spread. Florida State is favored by 70 1/2 over Savannah. Bet the dog, that's a big number.
Got the lads straightened out for their gig, tonight at Club 1984. Lloyd convinced them to record the shows on tour, and put out a cd, and make the songs available to download. The lads are interested and want to call it 'The Terror Wolf Incident". No idea what that means, but has a very '80's feel to it.
I need to do some leg work, find out if anyone here remembers Susan, or remembers what she might have been up to. The Lads are opening up for a band called 'Book and the Guinea Pigs'. What I really want is for the crowd to remember 'Groping in the Dark'.
Gathering up my Star Maps and list of LA contacts, ok, that's Marcus. Hopefully I can find his store. He is a quite successful new-age books and spiritually accessories store. He drives a Lexus, but keeps his orange 1968 VW bus parked out front. To the casual observer the Birkenstocks and pony tail are all they need to see to confirm his modern hippy status. Too bad they don't notice that the jeans are Diesel, the flannel shirt by Scotch and Soda, and the watch by Fossil.
Appearance is everything.
Hope I can make some headway before my gas money runs out. In LA, that could be a BIG problem.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
The LA of Chandler was gone, pushed aside by wave after wave of broken dreams that had dashed themselves along Hollywoods fabled shores, lured by the sirens of easy fame and success.
The LA of Ellroy still showed signs of peaking out from where it had been pushed. One still saw bits and pieces of that LA. The LA that still made appearances in scratchy newsreels shown in retro theaters and might be reflected in the eyes of the dispossessed, who may have, at one time starred alongside Joan Blondell or Joel McRea.
The LA of Jack Webb had never existed, but you could see the possibilities of the shiny, modern, just, city that yearned to stand front and center. Only wishful thinking could create a world where just the facts were enough and just a few bad apples could be turned around by a strong hand that would make everything ok.
The LA of the Rockford Files was still there, but fading down the stretch like a distance runner who had rabbitted at the start of the race and was now succumbing to the smog and the lack of training. The bodegas and dive bars; the bail bonds and badasses on the corner were in abundance. Even then, you hoped that somewhere there was a kind hearted-hero that would take on on overwhelming case that he knows deep down that he'll never get paid for.
Right now LA is somewhere between Bacchanalian city state and ultra-modern Dystopia. Read Joseph Wambaugh and Phillip K. Dick on the same night and your dreams will display 21st century Los Angeles.
It is into this city, or rather, this League of Extraordinary Contrasts that the Huskers play in, today. There have been several significant games between UCLA and Nebraska in the 'modern' era. In 1972, UCLA ended Nebraska's 32-game unbeaten streak, behind the foot of a short, fat, soccer style kicker named Efren Herrera and the passing of that dude from NCIS. In 1973, Dr. O got his first win, but that was in Lincoln. In 1983, Mike Rozier ran for 102 yards on a 6 yard scoring play that helped propel him to a Heisman. In 1984, No. 1 Nebraska destroyed 8th ranked UCLA the week before the wheels fell off at Syracuse. In 1987 Steve Taylor went 10-15 with five TD's, connecting with Tom Banderas for three of those. Banderas's kid will be a Husker next year. In 1988, Troy Aikman got his revenge, in LA, as the Huskers looked hapless and helpless against a future NFL hall of famer. Mark Blazek returned an INT for a TD in what was one of the worst officiating calls that helped Nebraska. He fell down, got up and ran to the endzone. No whistle. In 1993, Nebraska escaped LA with a 14-13 win. UCLA had scored a TD on a huge run, but a holding call negated it. In 1994, the Huskers pounded the Bruins 49-21 as the chant of 'over-rated' washed over the 13th ranked Bruins in a game that wasn't as close as the scoreboard indicated.
This week, the Huskers roll into town with some momentum, but quite possibly without the services of I-Backasaurus Rex. Taylor is returning home, kind of. Corona is East of East LA and less than 50 miles from the Rose Bowl. The kid is hot and UCLA will actually have to prepare for him. I think he has finally reached the skill level where teams can't load up eight defenders in the box and dare Taylor to pass. They have to play honestly, which will free up the running game. Ameer, Braylon and Imani look more than capable of filling in for ROAR Burkhead. Depth is a problem for the Bruins, so Beck's up-tempo offense should be yielding positive results early. UCLA might be dead weight by halftime. It was good to see so many different receivers get touches last week. With Marlowe out (it saddens me that Marlowe has to miss a game in LA), Jamaal Turner will get his opportunity to prove that his habits have improved since last year. The offense has so many weapons that there will be no way that UCLA will be able to take everything away.
On the defensive side, the Blackshirts will have to contain a mobile quarterback. UCLA runs the spread offense that Bo solved years ago. Expect to see a lot of nickle defense with only two backers, today. Today is also the debut of Mohammed Seisay, Hoping to get Huskerfan to adopt the British Paratrooper battle-cry of 'Whoa Mohammed' whenever he makes a big play. The D-line has got to make strides this week, Southern Miss had some decent players on the o-line. UCLA has some talent and scored on several big plays last week. But that was Rice.
The whole big picture thing is that this entire week lacks any really interesting games. Nebraska should win this one going away. The final score might even be a little misleading. I expect Nebraska to be able to score at least 42. I think the game will be firmly in hand when UCLA gets a couple of late scores. Going to call it a 42-24 win for Nebraska.
The rest of the B1G is similarly underwhelming.
Lloyd's Power Ratings for the B1G and this week's games.
Leaders
Ohio State -- 11, vs. Central Florida; Ohio State 45-17
Purdue -- 9, at Notre Dame, Notre Dame, 34-24
11. Wisconsin -- 7, at Oregon State, Wisconsin 31-17
Illinois -- 5, at Arizona State, ASU 28-24
Penn State -- 2, at Virginia, Cavs 28-10
Indiana -- 2, at Massachusetts, Indiana 17-14
Legends
Michigan State -- 9, at Central Michigan, MSU 27-10
10. Nebraska -- 8, at UCLA, Nebraska 42-24
Northwestern -- 5, vs. Vanderbilt, Northwestern 28-27
Iowa -- 4, vs. Iowa State, Cyclones 21-16.
13. Michigan -- 3, vs. Air Force, Michigan 35-21
Minnesota -- 3, vs. New Hampshire, Gophers 31-3
The new Top 13 isn't even involved in a whole lot of interesting games. 1. Alabama vs. Western Kentucky, 2. USC at Syracuse, 3. LSU vs. Washington, 4. Georgia vs. Missouri, 5. Oklahoma vs. Florida A&M, 6. Florida State vs. Savannah State, 7. Oregon vs. Fresno State, 8. West Virginia idle, 9. South Carolina vs. East Carolina, 12. Clemson vs. Ball State. LSU and Washington is kind of interesting. Georgia and Missouri might be intriguing to see how Georgia handles the spread. Florida State is favored by 70 1/2 over Savannah. Bet the dog, that's a big number.
Got the lads straightened out for their gig, tonight at Club 1984. Lloyd convinced them to record the shows on tour, and put out a cd, and make the songs available to download. The lads are interested and want to call it 'The Terror Wolf Incident". No idea what that means, but has a very '80's feel to it.
I need to do some leg work, find out if anyone here remembers Susan, or remembers what she might have been up to. The Lads are opening up for a band called 'Book and the Guinea Pigs'. What I really want is for the crowd to remember 'Groping in the Dark'.
Gathering up my Star Maps and list of LA contacts, ok, that's Marcus. Hopefully I can find his store. He is a quite successful new-age books and spiritually accessories store. He drives a Lexus, but keeps his orange 1968 VW bus parked out front. To the casual observer the Birkenstocks and pony tail are all they need to see to confirm his modern hippy status. Too bad they don't notice that the jeans are Diesel, the flannel shirt by Scotch and Soda, and the watch by Fossil.
Appearance is everything.
Hope I can make some headway before my gas money runs out. In LA, that could be a BIG problem.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Post Southern Miss
I had finally made it back to my place for some sack time. Running around with Lloyd, catching the game and trying to come up with something that slightly resembled a plan for tracking down Susan.
The game had gone better than expected. Taylor Martinez played what I like to call a STFU game. When the media, fans and opposition are all taking shots at you, you step up and through your play tell them to Shut The F*&k Up.
He did that.
And how.
He completed more than 75% of his passes. To ten different receivers. With five touchdown passes. He even pulled it down and ran, but when he had to. He kept plays alive with his feet. Of all his passes, there was only one that was really bad, and that only resulted in an incompletion.
I really expected the offense to have to wear down the Eagles in order to get untracked. The I-backasaurus Rex proved me wrong. Fourth play of the game and the Mighty Therapod scored on a 57 yard run. He did hurt his knee shortly after that, which I'm sure has Huskerfan hoping it is just a slight sprain and he'll be back to full strength for UCLA.
With Rex down, it was up to Abdullah, Heard and Cross to step it up for the running game. They did. They did it with good, old-fashioned isolations and dives. Nothing cute, nothing silly, just pound.
The receivers all stepped up, from every unit. The wide-outs caught half of the passes and two of the five touchdowns. The tight ends added nine catches and two more scores. The backs added four catches and the final touchdown, an outstanding athletic effort by Abdullah on third-and-goal that capped off the scoring.
The o-line acquitted themselves pretty well. They opened the holes they need to get the ground game going, and protected Taylor very well. Taylor got dropped for one sack, and an end around was blown up by good defense penetration. The line also got good push on short yardage situations and it was nice to see the fullback used the way he's supposed to be. Picking up that yard or two when you need it.
With the way Beck's offense operated, opposing defensive coordinators are going to have to start popping no-doze. If Taylor keeps playing at this level, defenses will have to start picking their poison on what they want to try to stop. Not ready to come out and say it, yet, but this offense is almost scary.
The defense did well enough, considering they had no game-film and no history to go on. There were a couple of plays that USM left on the field that could have been scoring plays.
Against the run the Blackshirts did pretty well. There were a few times when they guessed wrong on the zone-read, and the quarterback did some damage with his feet. The USM o-line was pretty good, and opened up some holes, they averaged almost four yards a carry. Not great for the defense, but not sky-is-falling terrible, either.
Against the pass, the 'Shirts looked pretty good. One TD and no Int's, only 15 yards passing allowed in the second half. USM wasn't trying to bomb away in the second half, but they didn't complete the passes they needed to to sustain drives.
The third-down conversion is not where "Puch" wants it, but again, is decent enough to improve upon with minor adjustments.
Will Compton has really stepped up, continuing his trend from the second half of last season. Making plays, getting the dudes fired up, showing great leadership. The Blackshirts have a force in the middle.
Special teams was almost short-bus special. Two missed field goals, a shanked punt and a kick return for touchdown. It seems to me that Maher just had a bad day. He's a proven performer and I'm sure he'll bounce back. The coverage unit will improve, too. They had better with all the times they're going to have to cover kicks if the offense keeps scoring with this frequency.
Intangibles. Very good. No false start penalties. No holding penalties. Only one 'Drive Killer' and that was an offensive pass interference call, where the receiver started blocking too early, away from the ball.
One other intangible. I'm digging the white shoes.
I had just finished reviewing the results from games around the country when there was knock at the door.
Effie was outside with four guys.
I opened the door, "Effie, Sweetheart, come on in," I said.
The five visitors piled into my rooms. "Sam," Effie said, "Meet the lads. This is the band."
Four guys, early twenties, all skinny, less than average height the big one probably topped out at 160. I was having a hard time deciding which was worse, their skin, or the miasma of ozone-killing hairspray they reeked of.
Effie turned and introduced them all in turn, there was Theo, lead vocals, Chas on bass, Dave on keyboards and Nigel on drums.
They all had kit bags and looked like they were going to stay for a while.
"Effie?" I asked.
"Don't worry," she said. I've got the van downstairs and have been arranging their next gig. They're scheduled to play someplace called Club 1984 in L.A. Susan had the contracts signed and everything."
"How Orwellian. Are they Opening for the Ministry of Love?" I asked, smirking.
"Don't be such a smart-butt. Besides, I know that's your nickname for Homeland Security."
"No, that's GeheimatStaatspolizei, but no-one gets it."
"Anyway, we are heading west, tomorrow, they just need a place to crash, 'cause we need the money for gas rather than a hotel room."
"Two things. Let me call Lloyd and see if he is in the mood for a road trip. Secondly, give me the contact info on this club. I'll do some digging around and see if I can't unearth a clue."
Effie leaned in and gave a quick peck on the cheek. Hopped and squealed a couple of times and disappeared in a flash.
I eyed the four guys. They looked like they needed food, baths and rest. Not necessarily in that order. "So, what are we going to do with you lot?" I asked.
Theo stepped forward. "Do you get football on your telly? I mean proper footy."
"Dunno", I said. "There is a channel that's showing the Arsenal and Liverpool fixture, today."
"Too right," Nigel interjected.
"On one condition, that judging from your accents, you'll only be too eager to meet."
"Whazzat, then?" asked Chas.
"We support the Gunners in this place."
Dave laughed and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo of a cannon, the Arsenal logo. "Do, you fink that's a birfmark, mate?" he asked with a huge grin.
Me and the band are going to get along just fine.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
The game had gone better than expected. Taylor Martinez played what I like to call a STFU game. When the media, fans and opposition are all taking shots at you, you step up and through your play tell them to Shut The F*&k Up.
He did that.
And how.
He completed more than 75% of his passes. To ten different receivers. With five touchdown passes. He even pulled it down and ran, but when he had to. He kept plays alive with his feet. Of all his passes, there was only one that was really bad, and that only resulted in an incompletion.
I really expected the offense to have to wear down the Eagles in order to get untracked. The I-backasaurus Rex proved me wrong. Fourth play of the game and the Mighty Therapod scored on a 57 yard run. He did hurt his knee shortly after that, which I'm sure has Huskerfan hoping it is just a slight sprain and he'll be back to full strength for UCLA.
With Rex down, it was up to Abdullah, Heard and Cross to step it up for the running game. They did. They did it with good, old-fashioned isolations and dives. Nothing cute, nothing silly, just pound.
The receivers all stepped up, from every unit. The wide-outs caught half of the passes and two of the five touchdowns. The tight ends added nine catches and two more scores. The backs added four catches and the final touchdown, an outstanding athletic effort by Abdullah on third-and-goal that capped off the scoring.
The o-line acquitted themselves pretty well. They opened the holes they need to get the ground game going, and protected Taylor very well. Taylor got dropped for one sack, and an end around was blown up by good defense penetration. The line also got good push on short yardage situations and it was nice to see the fullback used the way he's supposed to be. Picking up that yard or two when you need it.
With the way Beck's offense operated, opposing defensive coordinators are going to have to start popping no-doze. If Taylor keeps playing at this level, defenses will have to start picking their poison on what they want to try to stop. Not ready to come out and say it, yet, but this offense is almost scary.
The defense did well enough, considering they had no game-film and no history to go on. There were a couple of plays that USM left on the field that could have been scoring plays.
Against the run the Blackshirts did pretty well. There were a few times when they guessed wrong on the zone-read, and the quarterback did some damage with his feet. The USM o-line was pretty good, and opened up some holes, they averaged almost four yards a carry. Not great for the defense, but not sky-is-falling terrible, either.
Against the pass, the 'Shirts looked pretty good. One TD and no Int's, only 15 yards passing allowed in the second half. USM wasn't trying to bomb away in the second half, but they didn't complete the passes they needed to to sustain drives.
The third-down conversion is not where "Puch" wants it, but again, is decent enough to improve upon with minor adjustments.
Will Compton has really stepped up, continuing his trend from the second half of last season. Making plays, getting the dudes fired up, showing great leadership. The Blackshirts have a force in the middle.
Special teams was almost short-bus special. Two missed field goals, a shanked punt and a kick return for touchdown. It seems to me that Maher just had a bad day. He's a proven performer and I'm sure he'll bounce back. The coverage unit will improve, too. They had better with all the times they're going to have to cover kicks if the offense keeps scoring with this frequency.
Intangibles. Very good. No false start penalties. No holding penalties. Only one 'Drive Killer' and that was an offensive pass interference call, where the receiver started blocking too early, away from the ball.
One other intangible. I'm digging the white shoes.
I had just finished reviewing the results from games around the country when there was knock at the door.
Effie was outside with four guys.
I opened the door, "Effie, Sweetheart, come on in," I said.
The five visitors piled into my rooms. "Sam," Effie said, "Meet the lads. This is the band."
Four guys, early twenties, all skinny, less than average height the big one probably topped out at 160. I was having a hard time deciding which was worse, their skin, or the miasma of ozone-killing hairspray they reeked of.
Effie turned and introduced them all in turn, there was Theo, lead vocals, Chas on bass, Dave on keyboards and Nigel on drums.
They all had kit bags and looked like they were going to stay for a while.
"Effie?" I asked.
"Don't worry," she said. I've got the van downstairs and have been arranging their next gig. They're scheduled to play someplace called Club 1984 in L.A. Susan had the contracts signed and everything."
"How Orwellian. Are they Opening for the Ministry of Love?" I asked, smirking.
"Don't be such a smart-butt. Besides, I know that's your nickname for Homeland Security."
"No, that's GeheimatStaatspolizei, but no-one gets it."
"Anyway, we are heading west, tomorrow, they just need a place to crash, 'cause we need the money for gas rather than a hotel room."
"Two things. Let me call Lloyd and see if he is in the mood for a road trip. Secondly, give me the contact info on this club. I'll do some digging around and see if I can't unearth a clue."
Effie leaned in and gave a quick peck on the cheek. Hopped and squealed a couple of times and disappeared in a flash.
I eyed the four guys. They looked like they needed food, baths and rest. Not necessarily in that order. "So, what are we going to do with you lot?" I asked.
Theo stepped forward. "Do you get football on your telly? I mean proper footy."
"Dunno", I said. "There is a channel that's showing the Arsenal and Liverpool fixture, today."
"Too right," Nigel interjected.
"On one condition, that judging from your accents, you'll only be too eager to meet."
"Whazzat, then?" asked Chas.
"We support the Gunners in this place."
Dave laughed and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo of a cannon, the Arsenal logo. "Do, you fink that's a birfmark, mate?" he asked with a huge grin.
Me and the band are going to get along just fine.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Game Day Southern Miss
I had been trying to set up a meeting with the boys from the band when the phone coughed at me like an old Jaguar trying to start. That told me it was Lloyd.
"Go for Sam," I said.
"You've got to come down here and check out what I just finished."
"Where is down here, and what did you just finish?"
"I'm parked outside your building and I finished the 'Project'."
I hung up, grabbed my hat and headed downstairs. This should be good.
Lloyd had rolled out in the Mercury. The engine was running as I got in. I barely had time to settle in before he pulled out. He angled the Merc toward Campus.
"Where are we headed, Lloyd?"
"You'll see. We have to go someplace where the resonance will be strongest."
"Resonance, hm. Ok, I'll go along with whatever you've got planned. While we're making tracks, why don't you tell me how you see today's game unfolding."
"I think it will be tough, at first. Southern Miss has a fast, athletic defense, that will be well coached. I think the Huskers will have to wear them down. In order to do that, Beck will run a lot of plays that attack the edge of the defense; he'll run screens and plays out of motion looks. Get the defense to going side to side, wearing them down by having to chase all over the field."
"In the second half," he continued, "Is when we'll see I-Backasaurus Rex really take off. The play action should loosen up passes down the middle of the field. What will be a close game at the half, will look more comfortable at the final. Taylor will have a good, if not spectacular game, and as long as he doesn't throw any picks, fans will be impressed with his development."
Lloyd nosed the Merc through the crowds crossing 'O' street. Pre-game, the rare time that old, out of shape dudes could be seen out partying with 20-something girls in short-shorts and not really draw too much attention. If they did, it was usually bad. Before we turned the corner, I saw two judges, three state senators and a couple of guys who donated to the program that I imagined had giant vaults in their basements where they swam in money like Scrooge McDuck.
After a right, a few blocks straight and another right, Lloyd pulled into the parking lot behind the Stadium. He placed a hang tag around his rear-view mirror. We got out and started toward the south entrance. Lloyd shouldered a carrying bag that looked like it held about 40 pounds of gear. As we neared the entrance, a security guard approached. Lloyd certainly had become daring recently. Normally the appearance of any kind of authority would have him a nervous twitch-fest.
"Excuse me. May I help you gentlemen?" the rent-a-copper asked.
Lloyd reached into his pocket, and produced an I.D. badge of some sort. The guard took it, examined it, looked closely at Lloyd and handed the badge back. "You have a good evening coach. Are you vouching for your guest?"
"Oh yeah. He's with me. Gotta break down some film and he's the best scout I know,"
he said, but with a vaguely English accent.
The guard brightened. "Scouting, huh? To me, soccer is just 22 players chasing the ball all over the place until someone gets lucky and scores," he laughed.
Lloyd smiled right back, "You wouldn't believe how many times I hear that. It's too bad Nebraskans just can't embrace proper football."
"Just win a championship and get players like that Hope Solo and you'll get there attention," he grinned.
"S'pose you're right, lad. Have a good night." We were through.
"Give. What did that badge say?" I asked.
"Don't worry about it, just take it on authority that no-one knows or cares what the assistant soccer coach looks like. Once I'm in, I just walk around like I belong here, and nobody bothers me."
Brilliant.
We got to the doors, and Lloyd used his badge to swipe the lock. The lock released and the door popped open. I stared at Lloyd, surprise didn't even begin to cover my new appreciation for Lloyd's abilities.
"C'mon. We need to get inside," he said.
We walked down a series of corridors, and down several flights of stairs. It was like we were heading to a concrete and steel oubliette from the 20's. "Lloyd, buddy. I need to babble about the game, just to keep my head on straight. Tell me how the defense is going to do."
"They'll be fine," he said. "They will get smoked on a trick play in the first half when Southern Miss takes advantage of their unfamiliarity. The Blackshirts will settle down and dominate the second half. I bet that the Eagles will have to play all three of their quarterbacks out of necessity. I think Papuchis wants to keep the defense vanilla for a non-conference game, but I'd like to see him unveil a scheme we haven't run before, to confuse their new quarterbacks and even the field a bit. Make them coach on the fly, too."
I nodded. Lloyd opened the door to a small, dingy office that had a small sign on the door that read 'Storage Rm. 1962'. He flipped a switch and a 60-watt bulb cast a cone of light on to a steel desk in the center of the room. He closed and locked the door behind us and unshouldered the bag. He pulled out an iPad, with what appeared to be an oversized battery unit attached. A tangle of wires looped around the tablet and various components jutted out at odd angles. He flipped open the cover, touched a button and the iPad started up with an audible hum coming from the battery pack.
Lloyd touched the screen a few times and looked up at me. "Confirm today's date," he stated.
"It's after midnight. So it's September first."
"Of?"
"2012, duh. What is your deal?"
"Check it out." He turned the iPad toward me.
The screen showed a game being played. It was unmistakably the Huskers. They were wearing red and the Helvetica 'N' stood out proudly on the helmets. The other team wore white jerseys and pants with gold and green trim. Their gold helmets bore the letters B.U. in what looked like a bear track. "All right, that looks like a Nebraska-Baylor game," I said, trying to puzzle out what the big deal was.
"Narrow it down. Tap in to that wealth of Husker knowledge you have and figure it out."
The weird thing about the footage was that there was no score being shown. And there were no changes in the camera angle. I watched as Mickey Joseph handed the ball off to Leodis Flowers and him getting stuffed at the one yard line. "This is the 1990 game," I said. "But it's weird, its like you got a hold of footage one one of the cameras that filmed the game, without all the directors cuts."
"Close, but not quite. The next play is good. What yard-line would you like to see it from?"
I gave Lloyd an odd look. "Never mind yard line, give me the endzone shot."
Lloyd turned the iPad back to him, pulled up a seating chart, tapped in a number and the view changed. It now showed the north end zone. I could see names like Jones, Alexander, Maston and Dotson. I picked up the iPad and pivoted the angle to look up at where I knew the scoreboard should be. The view followed, the score read Nebraska 6, Visitors 0. It was in the fourth quarter and time was running out. I pivoted the screen back to center. The ball was snapped, Will Shields submarined Santana Dotson. Joseph handed the ball off to Flowers who leaped over the top of the pile. The crowd erupted into a massive cheer. That cheer died a premature death as the ball came squirting out of Flowers' grasp and was pounced upon by the Baylor defense.
The officials huddled and conferred. The referee looked intently at the line judge while the umpire and field judge looked around nervously, shaking their heads. The line judge pointed to the goal line and the to the ground. The officials broke their huddle and the referee moved to the center of the field. He keyed his mike, "The ruling on the field is that the ball carrier broke the plane of the endzone before losing control of the ball. Touchdown."
The crowd erupted again, the extra point was good and the Huskers took a 13-0 lead.
Lloyd shut down the iPad. "That was the final score," he said, matter-of-factly.
"What is that thing?"
"I call it my Temporal Parralex Reviewer. I can tap to any date that a a game was played on, and the Chronoton Energizer can access into the time stream and show that game, from any seat in the stadium. I can only generate so much power, so once you've selected a position, you are rooted to that spot. You can look around, but you can't move."
"That is amazing. Beyond comprehension. Do you know how much money you could make with this thing?"
"There are certain limitations, I've discovered. You have to be on the site of the event, on the date in question, and the battery pack can only run for about 2-3 hours before the overheating becomes too much. That and walking around with a small plutonium reactor isn't exactly practical for most people."
I couldn't decide whether Lloyd was pure brilliance or a mad scientist. Either way, he had a new and interesting device.
"It will be 14-10 at the half, and the Huskers will pull away for a 38-17 win," Lloyd said, blandly. "And no, it doesn't show the future."
Husk-husk and on the qb.
"Go for Sam," I said.
"You've got to come down here and check out what I just finished."
"Where is down here, and what did you just finish?"
"I'm parked outside your building and I finished the 'Project'."
I hung up, grabbed my hat and headed downstairs. This should be good.
Lloyd had rolled out in the Mercury. The engine was running as I got in. I barely had time to settle in before he pulled out. He angled the Merc toward Campus.
"Where are we headed, Lloyd?"
"You'll see. We have to go someplace where the resonance will be strongest."
"Resonance, hm. Ok, I'll go along with whatever you've got planned. While we're making tracks, why don't you tell me how you see today's game unfolding."
"I think it will be tough, at first. Southern Miss has a fast, athletic defense, that will be well coached. I think the Huskers will have to wear them down. In order to do that, Beck will run a lot of plays that attack the edge of the defense; he'll run screens and plays out of motion looks. Get the defense to going side to side, wearing them down by having to chase all over the field."
"In the second half," he continued, "Is when we'll see I-Backasaurus Rex really take off. The play action should loosen up passes down the middle of the field. What will be a close game at the half, will look more comfortable at the final. Taylor will have a good, if not spectacular game, and as long as he doesn't throw any picks, fans will be impressed with his development."
Lloyd nosed the Merc through the crowds crossing 'O' street. Pre-game, the rare time that old, out of shape dudes could be seen out partying with 20-something girls in short-shorts and not really draw too much attention. If they did, it was usually bad. Before we turned the corner, I saw two judges, three state senators and a couple of guys who donated to the program that I imagined had giant vaults in their basements where they swam in money like Scrooge McDuck.
After a right, a few blocks straight and another right, Lloyd pulled into the parking lot behind the Stadium. He placed a hang tag around his rear-view mirror. We got out and started toward the south entrance. Lloyd shouldered a carrying bag that looked like it held about 40 pounds of gear. As we neared the entrance, a security guard approached. Lloyd certainly had become daring recently. Normally the appearance of any kind of authority would have him a nervous twitch-fest.
"Excuse me. May I help you gentlemen?" the rent-a-copper asked.
Lloyd reached into his pocket, and produced an I.D. badge of some sort. The guard took it, examined it, looked closely at Lloyd and handed the badge back. "You have a good evening coach. Are you vouching for your guest?"
"Oh yeah. He's with me. Gotta break down some film and he's the best scout I know,"
he said, but with a vaguely English accent.
The guard brightened. "Scouting, huh? To me, soccer is just 22 players chasing the ball all over the place until someone gets lucky and scores," he laughed.
Lloyd smiled right back, "You wouldn't believe how many times I hear that. It's too bad Nebraskans just can't embrace proper football."
"Just win a championship and get players like that Hope Solo and you'll get there attention," he grinned.
"S'pose you're right, lad. Have a good night." We were through.
"Give. What did that badge say?" I asked.
"Don't worry about it, just take it on authority that no-one knows or cares what the assistant soccer coach looks like. Once I'm in, I just walk around like I belong here, and nobody bothers me."
Brilliant.
We got to the doors, and Lloyd used his badge to swipe the lock. The lock released and the door popped open. I stared at Lloyd, surprise didn't even begin to cover my new appreciation for Lloyd's abilities.
"C'mon. We need to get inside," he said.
We walked down a series of corridors, and down several flights of stairs. It was like we were heading to a concrete and steel oubliette from the 20's. "Lloyd, buddy. I need to babble about the game, just to keep my head on straight. Tell me how the defense is going to do."
"They'll be fine," he said. "They will get smoked on a trick play in the first half when Southern Miss takes advantage of their unfamiliarity. The Blackshirts will settle down and dominate the second half. I bet that the Eagles will have to play all three of their quarterbacks out of necessity. I think Papuchis wants to keep the defense vanilla for a non-conference game, but I'd like to see him unveil a scheme we haven't run before, to confuse their new quarterbacks and even the field a bit. Make them coach on the fly, too."
I nodded. Lloyd opened the door to a small, dingy office that had a small sign on the door that read 'Storage Rm. 1962'. He flipped a switch and a 60-watt bulb cast a cone of light on to a steel desk in the center of the room. He closed and locked the door behind us and unshouldered the bag. He pulled out an iPad, with what appeared to be an oversized battery unit attached. A tangle of wires looped around the tablet and various components jutted out at odd angles. He flipped open the cover, touched a button and the iPad started up with an audible hum coming from the battery pack.
Lloyd touched the screen a few times and looked up at me. "Confirm today's date," he stated.
"It's after midnight. So it's September first."
"Of?"
"2012, duh. What is your deal?"
"Check it out." He turned the iPad toward me.
The screen showed a game being played. It was unmistakably the Huskers. They were wearing red and the Helvetica 'N' stood out proudly on the helmets. The other team wore white jerseys and pants with gold and green trim. Their gold helmets bore the letters B.U. in what looked like a bear track. "All right, that looks like a Nebraska-Baylor game," I said, trying to puzzle out what the big deal was.
"Narrow it down. Tap in to that wealth of Husker knowledge you have and figure it out."
The weird thing about the footage was that there was no score being shown. And there were no changes in the camera angle. I watched as Mickey Joseph handed the ball off to Leodis Flowers and him getting stuffed at the one yard line. "This is the 1990 game," I said. "But it's weird, its like you got a hold of footage one one of the cameras that filmed the game, without all the directors cuts."
"Close, but not quite. The next play is good. What yard-line would you like to see it from?"
I gave Lloyd an odd look. "Never mind yard line, give me the endzone shot."
Lloyd turned the iPad back to him, pulled up a seating chart, tapped in a number and the view changed. It now showed the north end zone. I could see names like Jones, Alexander, Maston and Dotson. I picked up the iPad and pivoted the angle to look up at where I knew the scoreboard should be. The view followed, the score read Nebraska 6, Visitors 0. It was in the fourth quarter and time was running out. I pivoted the screen back to center. The ball was snapped, Will Shields submarined Santana Dotson. Joseph handed the ball off to Flowers who leaped over the top of the pile. The crowd erupted into a massive cheer. That cheer died a premature death as the ball came squirting out of Flowers' grasp and was pounced upon by the Baylor defense.
The officials huddled and conferred. The referee looked intently at the line judge while the umpire and field judge looked around nervously, shaking their heads. The line judge pointed to the goal line and the to the ground. The officials broke their huddle and the referee moved to the center of the field. He keyed his mike, "The ruling on the field is that the ball carrier broke the plane of the endzone before losing control of the ball. Touchdown."
The crowd erupted again, the extra point was good and the Huskers took a 13-0 lead.
Lloyd shut down the iPad. "That was the final score," he said, matter-of-factly.
"What is that thing?"
"I call it my Temporal Parralex Reviewer. I can tap to any date that a a game was played on, and the Chronoton Energizer can access into the time stream and show that game, from any seat in the stadium. I can only generate so much power, so once you've selected a position, you are rooted to that spot. You can look around, but you can't move."
"That is amazing. Beyond comprehension. Do you know how much money you could make with this thing?"
"There are certain limitations, I've discovered. You have to be on the site of the event, on the date in question, and the battery pack can only run for about 2-3 hours before the overheating becomes too much. That and walking around with a small plutonium reactor isn't exactly practical for most people."
I couldn't decide whether Lloyd was pure brilliance or a mad scientist. Either way, he had a new and interesting device.
"It will be 14-10 at the half, and the Huskers will pull away for a 38-17 win," Lloyd said, blandly. "And no, it doesn't show the future."
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Week one picks from Husk-husk.
Cassandra joined us at the table. 'Safety Dance' by Men Without Hats was blaring from the speakers. I couldn't quite see the stage. Perhaps that was best.
"Ive been doing your homework for you, again," she said. Made the calls that needed to be made and collated what needed to be collated."
I was trying to think if there had been any legwork that I had outsourced to her. I couldn't think of any, but I reminded myself that her legs were more than capable. I was starting to sound like Preach, I thought. "What did I forget?"
"This week's picks," she said. "I made the calls to your assortment of hoods, con-men and hucksters and got their predictions for you."
"Hey. Those are my friends," I said. "You're right about them, but still..."
"Who does LeRoix say will win in his red-neck of the woods," Lloyd asked.
"He picks Auburn Tigres two-point-oh over 12. Clemson Tigers two-point-one; 8. South Carolina Gamey Cocks over Vandy; 6. Florida State over Murray State, duh; 5. Ugas of Georgia over Buffalo not the Bills; and 3. Les Tigres of LSU over North Texas, double-duh."
"LeRoix is always so busy this time of year. What about Bubba?"
"Your mobbed up buddy down in OKC only has two picks this week. He's taking 11. West Virginia over Marshall, and of course, his beloved 4. Oklahoma-Oklahoma-Oklahoma over The West Texas town of El Paso."
"Good, good," I said. "You were able to get a hold of Marcus, out on the Left Coast?"
"Yes, sirree, I did. He says 9. Oregon Quackers over Arkansas State, and 2. University of Spoiled Children over Hawaii, the prettiest place in the country to play bad football."
"Cool. That just leaves Granny's picks from the Leaders division and we have Lloyd right here for the Legends of the B1G."
"Yep, almost done," Cassandra sighed. "Granny is going with 11. Wisconsin's Stinking Badgers over Northern Iowa; The Ohio State Buckys to beat Miami of Ohio; Purdue Boilmakers will top Eastern Kentucky; Illness will prevail over Western Michigan; The Hosers of Indiana will beat Indiana State in the Hoo-gives-a-crap bowl; and Pederasty State will hold on to beat Ohio."
"Pederasty State? Nice," I nodded. I Looked over at Lloyd. "What have you got, in the good division?"
"The Golden Rodents of Minnesota will get off to a good start, beating UNLV. The Purple Pussies of Northwestern will squeak by Syracuse. The Iowa Hackneys will Beat Northern Illinois. The Michigan State Thpartans will fall in an early season upset to Boise State. And the Other half of Michigan will be sad when 7. Wolverhampton gets Rolled over by the Crimson Elephants of 1. Alabama."
"That just leaves me with my Husker prediction for tomorrow," I said. "It seems like business here is concluded."
Preach, Cassandra and Lloyd all left me alone at the table. I was trying to finish my bourbon and figure out my next move. I supposed I should meet the guys from the band, figure out what they knew and how they were set up for funds. The down side of missing persons cases was that it meant a lot of legwork. The other big question that came up with these kinds of cases, 'what if she didn't want to be found?'
Husk-husk and on the qb.
"Ive been doing your homework for you, again," she said. Made the calls that needed to be made and collated what needed to be collated."
I was trying to think if there had been any legwork that I had outsourced to her. I couldn't think of any, but I reminded myself that her legs were more than capable. I was starting to sound like Preach, I thought. "What did I forget?"
"This week's picks," she said. "I made the calls to your assortment of hoods, con-men and hucksters and got their predictions for you."
"Hey. Those are my friends," I said. "You're right about them, but still..."
"Who does LeRoix say will win in his red-neck of the woods," Lloyd asked.
"He picks Auburn Tigres two-point-oh over 12. Clemson Tigers two-point-one; 8. South Carolina Gamey Cocks over Vandy; 6. Florida State over Murray State, duh; 5. Ugas of Georgia over Buffalo not the Bills; and 3. Les Tigres of LSU over North Texas, double-duh."
"LeRoix is always so busy this time of year. What about Bubba?"
"Your mobbed up buddy down in OKC only has two picks this week. He's taking 11. West Virginia over Marshall, and of course, his beloved 4. Oklahoma-Oklahoma-Oklahoma over The West Texas town of El Paso."
"Good, good," I said. "You were able to get a hold of Marcus, out on the Left Coast?"
"Yes, sirree, I did. He says 9. Oregon Quackers over Arkansas State, and 2. University of Spoiled Children over Hawaii, the prettiest place in the country to play bad football."
"Cool. That just leaves Granny's picks from the Leaders division and we have Lloyd right here for the Legends of the B1G."
"Yep, almost done," Cassandra sighed. "Granny is going with 11. Wisconsin's Stinking Badgers over Northern Iowa; The Ohio State Buckys to beat Miami of Ohio; Purdue Boilmakers will top Eastern Kentucky; Illness will prevail over Western Michigan; The Hosers of Indiana will beat Indiana State in the Hoo-gives-a-crap bowl; and Pederasty State will hold on to beat Ohio."
"Pederasty State? Nice," I nodded. I Looked over at Lloyd. "What have you got, in the good division?"
"The Golden Rodents of Minnesota will get off to a good start, beating UNLV. The Purple Pussies of Northwestern will squeak by Syracuse. The Iowa Hackneys will Beat Northern Illinois. The Michigan State Thpartans will fall in an early season upset to Boise State. And the Other half of Michigan will be sad when 7. Wolverhampton gets Rolled over by the Crimson Elephants of 1. Alabama."
"That just leaves me with my Husker prediction for tomorrow," I said. "It seems like business here is concluded."
Preach, Cassandra and Lloyd all left me alone at the table. I was trying to finish my bourbon and figure out my next move. I supposed I should meet the guys from the band, figure out what they knew and how they were set up for funds. The down side of missing persons cases was that it meant a lot of legwork. The other big question that came up with these kinds of cases, 'what if she didn't want to be found?'
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Blackshirts to the Front
Preacherman came strolling in to "Our Lady" wearing an old black suit, white shirt, skinny black tie, shades and and a fedora, looking like Howlin' Wolf come back to life, looking for booze, women and good times he might have missed out on when he was alive.
As if.
Somehow he made his way to the table and sat down heavily without ever removing his focus from Candide, who was performing a routine to Living Color's 'Cult of Personality' in which she removed layer after layer of newspapers.
"Preacherman," I shouted as I stood and shook his hand. "What can I get for you? From the bar, anyway."
"Aw, man. You always one step ahead of me," he chuckled in his throaty baritone. "Johnny Walker, black, would be just the thing to get me going on the topic at hand."
"That sounds good," I said. I placed the order with the waitress who sauntered away. If Preacherman's eyes hadn't been stuck in his head, they would have locked on to the waitresses six o'clock like a flying ace. "Break the 'Shirts down for me, Preach. Who are we going to see out there on Saturday?"
Preach composed himself after a congratulatory 'Mm-mm-mmmh'. I wasn't sure who or what he was congratulating. "Let's start with the d-line. That was a banged up group in the spring, but Meredith, Ankrah, Steinkuhler and Rome seem to be the guys that will start. Expect to see Jason Ankrah and Eric Martin out there a lot, too. People don't realize how banged up this unit was last year, especially after Crick got hurt. I'm not saying that Rome is better than Crick, but what I am saying is that this year's unit is better from end to end than last year's. More experience and bettwr motivated with some young guys waiting in the wings to step up if given the chance."
"All right, Preach," I said. "How in the world are we ever going to replace Lavonte David? That guy single-handedly saved at least three games, last year."
The waitress came back with Preacherman's drink. He struggled to disengage his eyes from the depths of her shirt, barely managing to get a quick glance at her face as he thanked her, before locking on again as she left.
"Engage, Maverick, engage," Lloyd said, barely looking up from a collection of parts and wires that I think was the circulatory system of his iPad.
"Just chill, baby," Preach intoned as he sipped at his JW. "We got Compton back in the middle playing defensive quarterback. Fisher is finally starting to own it and in my humble opinion, Zaire Anderson will be this year's Lavonte. I mean, c'mon. You got to love a brother with an African country for a first name. Just as long as it isn't, you know, South Africa or Niger or Libya."
Lloyd looked up a little too quickly and gave Preach a look that was half accusatory, half interrogation.
"Tell me about the D-backs, Preach," I said.
"No 'Zo Dennard this year, but this year we've got seven quality guys battling for five spots if you include the nickle. We've got Seisay and Green on the corners, with Evans and hard-hitting Stafford at the safeties. Cooper, Smith, and Jean-Baptiste are all quality defenders. This unit grew up last year and will be even better this year."
"What do you think, overall? Is this year's squad an improvement over last year's," I asked.
"Let me put it to you this way. This year the Blackshirts are better in more positions than they're worse at. They lose Crick, David and Dennard, true enough, but they have improved in the other eight. If you want me to divine the future and pick who I think will getting the most highlight time on Sportscenter, I think it will be Meredith on the line, Anderson at linebacker and Stafford in the secondary."
I nodded as I absorb the info Preacherman had dropped on me.
"One more thing," he added. "Papuchis, the new d-coordinator is actually an improvement. Papuchis has been learning the Bo system of defense for years, now and is wholly committed to making this defense work. He isn't distracted by fresh, ineligible talent."
Lloyd looked up again. "Have you noticed how relaxed Bo is this year?" he asked. "Look at the post practice interviews and press conferences. He doesn't look like he wants to perform an endoscope with the TV camera on the nearest reporter."
"What do you that means?" I asked Lloyd.
"Dunno. Watch out? I feel good about this team and I'm about to let it off the leash. That's my theory, anyway."
Good theory, Lloyd.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
As if.
Somehow he made his way to the table and sat down heavily without ever removing his focus from Candide, who was performing a routine to Living Color's 'Cult of Personality' in which she removed layer after layer of newspapers.
"Preacherman," I shouted as I stood and shook his hand. "What can I get for you? From the bar, anyway."
"Aw, man. You always one step ahead of me," he chuckled in his throaty baritone. "Johnny Walker, black, would be just the thing to get me going on the topic at hand."
"That sounds good," I said. I placed the order with the waitress who sauntered away. If Preacherman's eyes hadn't been stuck in his head, they would have locked on to the waitresses six o'clock like a flying ace. "Break the 'Shirts down for me, Preach. Who are we going to see out there on Saturday?"
Preach composed himself after a congratulatory 'Mm-mm-mmmh'. I wasn't sure who or what he was congratulating. "Let's start with the d-line. That was a banged up group in the spring, but Meredith, Ankrah, Steinkuhler and Rome seem to be the guys that will start. Expect to see Jason Ankrah and Eric Martin out there a lot, too. People don't realize how banged up this unit was last year, especially after Crick got hurt. I'm not saying that Rome is better than Crick, but what I am saying is that this year's unit is better from end to end than last year's. More experience and bettwr motivated with some young guys waiting in the wings to step up if given the chance."
"All right, Preach," I said. "How in the world are we ever going to replace Lavonte David? That guy single-handedly saved at least three games, last year."
The waitress came back with Preacherman's drink. He struggled to disengage his eyes from the depths of her shirt, barely managing to get a quick glance at her face as he thanked her, before locking on again as she left.
"Engage, Maverick, engage," Lloyd said, barely looking up from a collection of parts and wires that I think was the circulatory system of his iPad.
"Just chill, baby," Preach intoned as he sipped at his JW. "We got Compton back in the middle playing defensive quarterback. Fisher is finally starting to own it and in my humble opinion, Zaire Anderson will be this year's Lavonte. I mean, c'mon. You got to love a brother with an African country for a first name. Just as long as it isn't, you know, South Africa or Niger or Libya."
Lloyd looked up a little too quickly and gave Preach a look that was half accusatory, half interrogation.
"Tell me about the D-backs, Preach," I said.
"No 'Zo Dennard this year, but this year we've got seven quality guys battling for five spots if you include the nickle. We've got Seisay and Green on the corners, with Evans and hard-hitting Stafford at the safeties. Cooper, Smith, and Jean-Baptiste are all quality defenders. This unit grew up last year and will be even better this year."
"What do you think, overall? Is this year's squad an improvement over last year's," I asked.
"Let me put it to you this way. This year the Blackshirts are better in more positions than they're worse at. They lose Crick, David and Dennard, true enough, but they have improved in the other eight. If you want me to divine the future and pick who I think will getting the most highlight time on Sportscenter, I think it will be Meredith on the line, Anderson at linebacker and Stafford in the secondary."
I nodded as I absorb the info Preacherman had dropped on me.
"One more thing," he added. "Papuchis, the new d-coordinator is actually an improvement. Papuchis has been learning the Bo system of defense for years, now and is wholly committed to making this defense work. He isn't distracted by fresh, ineligible talent."
Lloyd looked up again. "Have you noticed how relaxed Bo is this year?" he asked. "Look at the post practice interviews and press conferences. He doesn't look like he wants to perform an endoscope with the TV camera on the nearest reporter."
"What do you that means?" I asked Lloyd.
"Dunno. Watch out? I feel good about this team and I'm about to let it off the leash. That's my theory, anyway."
Good theory, Lloyd.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Lloyd on the Offense, 2012
When Lloyd finally showed up, Mr. Beam and I had gone a few rounds together and the theme at 'Our Lady' had shifted to '80's retro. One of the performers was down to leg warmers and a pair of 'Hello Kitty' underwear.
"How appropriate," I thought.
Lloyd hurried into the bar and plunked his man-purse--I mean satchel, Indiana Jones carries one, you know, onto the table and sat down.
"Lloyd, my man, what's this 'project' I keep hearing about?" I asked.
"For one thing, it's not ready for the big unveiling. For another, there are a couple of components that aren't behaving in their designed manner. For a third thing, I have a thirst as powerful as my power supply, and that needs to be taken care of first."
I waved at the Space Oddity, who took and delivered Lloyd's Carling lager as fast as a Mercury mission.
"If you aren't ready to unveil the 'Project', what else do you have for me?"
Lloyd opened up his satchel and pulled out an iPad with a bright, red, Huskers cover. "I wanted to go over the offense with you, today," he said, matter-of-factly. ""Preacherman said he'd be over later to talk about the Blackshirts, as long as you were still here."
"Right," I said. ""Might as well get our mutual obsession satisfied instead of actually doing the stuff we get paid for."
Lloyd gave me a brief look, weighing whether or not I was serious, before deciding to proceed.
Lloyd made a few taps at the Pad, some with a little flourish that I couldn't decide was a security method or if he had succumbed to the prevailing iPad user showiness that made them look like concert pianists playing a toy piano. "The biggest question mark I have is on offensive line."
"How so?" I asked, leaning back in my seat.
"Barney has to replace three starters from last year, including the center. They are all big enough, but strength has been a question for years, now. The knock on Barney is that he gets big guys that get pushed around. I have a feeling that this has to be his best unit, show signs of improvement or even his +3 Osborne shield may not be enough to save him."
"Why does his Osborne shield get a +3?"
"If Barney goes, so do three other Cottons."
"Make it +2, Ben's gone after this season, anyway."
"Fine, +2. I think we'll be fine at tackle, even with Moore leaving. Qvale has come into his own, Sirles is getting better and better. Choi and Long could be really good guards, with Rodriguez in the mix. Throw in one of the Cotton boys to add depth and we have six guys that can rotate the four positions. Center is the big question. Justin Jackson, Cole Pensick and Mark Pelini are duking it out. We may not know who gets it until Saturday."
"Very nice, what else have you got?"
"We are pretty much loaded at the skill positions. At receivers, Enunwa, Bell, Turner and Marlowe all offer speed, Enunwa is a dump truck when it comes to blocking and the others have upped their game on blocking, too. There is a lot of call to bring Westercamp in, but I think he should redshirt. Throw Ben Cotten and Reed in at Tight End and Martinez will have lots of quality targets to throw to,"
"Speaking of Martinez, is he getting ahead of the curve, or is he regressing?"
"I'll get to him in a minute. I want to hit the running backs. Burkhead (I-backasaurus Rex), is the official Heisman candidate for Nebraska. Hopefully he wont have to carry the ball 30+ times a game. Abdullah, Heard and even Imani Cross could get into it to spell Burkhead with Marrow leading the way at fullback."
"Finally, the big question, is Martinez finally ready for the Big Time?"
"Dunno," Lloyd sighed. We haven't really seen him for eight months. We keep hearing that he has improved his mechanics. We hear that his leadership and demeanor are better. We hear that he is healthy. Let me put it to you this way, for the first time in his career, high school included, he hasn't had to learn a completely new playbook. With the skill position players at his disposal, there is no reason for him not to have a very successful season. Huskerfan will be happy as long as he doesn't turn the ball over and as long as the Huskers win. Any stumbles will have the wolves howling for his backup, whether it is Kellogg, Carnes or Armstrong."
With that, Lloyd shut down his iPad, relaxed and nodded to the Preacherman, who had just walked in.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
"How appropriate," I thought.
Lloyd hurried into the bar and plunked his man-purse--I mean satchel, Indiana Jones carries one, you know, onto the table and sat down.
"Lloyd, my man, what's this 'project' I keep hearing about?" I asked.
"For one thing, it's not ready for the big unveiling. For another, there are a couple of components that aren't behaving in their designed manner. For a third thing, I have a thirst as powerful as my power supply, and that needs to be taken care of first."
I waved at the Space Oddity, who took and delivered Lloyd's Carling lager as fast as a Mercury mission.
"If you aren't ready to unveil the 'Project', what else do you have for me?"
Lloyd opened up his satchel and pulled out an iPad with a bright, red, Huskers cover. "I wanted to go over the offense with you, today," he said, matter-of-factly. ""Preacherman said he'd be over later to talk about the Blackshirts, as long as you were still here."
"Right," I said. ""Might as well get our mutual obsession satisfied instead of actually doing the stuff we get paid for."
Lloyd gave me a brief look, weighing whether or not I was serious, before deciding to proceed.
Lloyd made a few taps at the Pad, some with a little flourish that I couldn't decide was a security method or if he had succumbed to the prevailing iPad user showiness that made them look like concert pianists playing a toy piano. "The biggest question mark I have is on offensive line."
"How so?" I asked, leaning back in my seat.
"Barney has to replace three starters from last year, including the center. They are all big enough, but strength has been a question for years, now. The knock on Barney is that he gets big guys that get pushed around. I have a feeling that this has to be his best unit, show signs of improvement or even his +3 Osborne shield may not be enough to save him."
"Why does his Osborne shield get a +3?"
"If Barney goes, so do three other Cottons."
"Make it +2, Ben's gone after this season, anyway."
"Fine, +2. I think we'll be fine at tackle, even with Moore leaving. Qvale has come into his own, Sirles is getting better and better. Choi and Long could be really good guards, with Rodriguez in the mix. Throw in one of the Cotton boys to add depth and we have six guys that can rotate the four positions. Center is the big question. Justin Jackson, Cole Pensick and Mark Pelini are duking it out. We may not know who gets it until Saturday."
"Very nice, what else have you got?"
"We are pretty much loaded at the skill positions. At receivers, Enunwa, Bell, Turner and Marlowe all offer speed, Enunwa is a dump truck when it comes to blocking and the others have upped their game on blocking, too. There is a lot of call to bring Westercamp in, but I think he should redshirt. Throw Ben Cotten and Reed in at Tight End and Martinez will have lots of quality targets to throw to,"
"Speaking of Martinez, is he getting ahead of the curve, or is he regressing?"
"I'll get to him in a minute. I want to hit the running backs. Burkhead (I-backasaurus Rex), is the official Heisman candidate for Nebraska. Hopefully he wont have to carry the ball 30+ times a game. Abdullah, Heard and even Imani Cross could get into it to spell Burkhead with Marrow leading the way at fullback."
"Finally, the big question, is Martinez finally ready for the Big Time?"
"Dunno," Lloyd sighed. We haven't really seen him for eight months. We keep hearing that he has improved his mechanics. We hear that his leadership and demeanor are better. We hear that he is healthy. Let me put it to you this way, for the first time in his career, high school included, he hasn't had to learn a completely new playbook. With the skill position players at his disposal, there is no reason for him not to have a very successful season. Huskerfan will be happy as long as he doesn't turn the ball over and as long as the Huskers win. Any stumbles will have the wolves howling for his backup, whether it is Kellogg, Carnes or Armstrong."
With that, Lloyd shut down his iPad, relaxed and nodded to the Preacherman, who had just walked in.
Husk-husk and on the qb.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Week One Run-up
The rain beading up on the window was a welcome sight. The summer had been as long, hot and uncomfortable as a made-for-tv drama with Don Johnson. I had been working on several cases that kept me busy, but at the moment I was performing an evidence review on the case of bourbon vs. rye. Bourbon had presented some excellent prima facie evidence, but rye was getting doing a good enough job on raising counter points that were creating a decent sense of reasonable doubt.
A sharp rap on my office door caused me to twisted awkwardly as Effie, my secretary, client screener and emergency operative walked in.
"You've got a visitor, Sam," she said, somewhat tentatively.
"A client?"
"No. Not a client. Not exactly." She chewed on her lip as she closed the door, pushing it closed with her back. She stared at the floor.
I decided that now would be a good time to take my feet off the piles of manila envelopes sitting on the filing cabinet and swivel around to face her before I lost my balance and fell off the chair, which would result in a grievous case of alcohol abuse. I granted a continuance and stashed the bottles.
Effie looked downcast, and the way she kept her hands behind herself told me she really didn't want me to know something, "C'mon, Effie, spill it. What's going on?" I asked using my concerned big brother voice. She's one of the few people in the world I trust, and I was hoping that she could trust me with whatever was bothering her.
"I have a problem, and I need a favor," she finally explained to the floor. "I invested some money in a project, and, well..."
"What kind of investment are we talking about?" I asked uneasily.
"Well, I have this...friend...who wanted to manage a band."
I leaned back in my chair and rolled my eyes. She hates when I do that, but I couldn't help it. "How much did you give this...'friend'," I asked, barely keeping my tone civil.
"10,000 dollars," she whispered.
"10 grand?" I nearly shouted. "A: where did you get 10 G's? I know how much I don't pay you. B: 'Starting a Band' is one of the oldest scams in the book. And 3: I don't even know were I'll start to look."
Her head snapped up. I winked at her. A faint smile was struggling to gain ground on her face. "You're going to take it?"
I slumped back in my chair, "Yeah, I'll take it. I hate to see a good friend get jacked like that. How did it happen?"
She bounded across the office and wrapped me up in a huge hug. "Oh, thank you. I know you'll be able to get my money back."
"Ah, yeah. About that. The money is probably long gone, Sweetheart. I might be able to find the guy..."
"Girl," she corrected.
I tilted my head, "Girl?"
"Yes. A friend of mine from school. She manages a band. I gave her the money to finance a tour, and then she disappeared."
"This band is where, now?"
"They're here, in town. They came to see me last night, wondering if my friend had come back here. They are running short on funds. They barely have enough for gas or food."
"Slow down, Sweetheart. One thing at a time. Does this friend have a name?"
"Susan Sulley."
"Last seen in?"
"Here, in Lincoln, two weeks ago. She told the lads that she was getting transportation arranged and that she would meet up with them to kick off the tour. They were supposed to leave yesterday, but Susan didn't show. Now they're stuck. They have the gear, but no place to stay and no way to get to their next gig."
"Here's what I'll do. I'll start nosing around, see what I can turn up. Somebody has to have seen something that will give me a lead. In the meantime, get the band together and have them meet me at 'Our Lady', tonight at 7, before it gets too crazy. I need to find Lloyd and Cassandra, anyway, for completely unrelated issues, but they might be able to help, too."
Effie was essentially bouncing with excitement. "Thank you, oh, thank you, I knew I could count on you."
"By the way, what is the name of this band?" I asked as I popped my hat on to my head.
"Groping in the Dark. They are a retro-80's synth/punk fusion band. They cover all the classics, and some of their own stuff, too."
I ushered Effie out of my office and headed downtown. My mind was filling with synthesizer sounds as the earworms gathered.
I made my way over to 'Our Lady', once inside the sounds of 'Im Sexy and I Know it" by LMFAO, were shaking the speakers. Several suits were sipping at beers and trying really hard not to imagine hamsters in thongs.
I grabbed a spot at my usual table near the back, saved a seat for Mr. Beam, and waited for Cassandra. I didn't have long to wait. Cassandra sat at the table. She was wearing her light grey Armani suit with the garnet tank. She looked so out of place, but it was completely by design. It was her goal to not appear untouchable as much as unobtainable.
"So, tell me, my dear, are you ready for the season to begin?"
"Not nearly as much as I'd like to be," she sighed. "All these new conference alignments have me a bit behind the curve. Just the other day I was trying to think about who would win the Big 12 North when I realized that there are only 10 teams in the Big 12 and they aren't even in divisions."
"Tell me about it," I said after sipping at my bourbon. "I pretty much decided that there was the Southeastern Conference of the NFL and the rest of college football trying to play catch-up."
"You're not too far wrong. As I look at it, there are six teams in the SEC that would win the ACC, ten that could win if they were in the Big East."
"All right, let's get this out of the way. Hit me with your traditional Top 13 as Cassandra Sees it."
"I have Nebraska at 13. Call me a homer, but I think that the offense is ready to break out, the defense doesn't have many big names, but they are better in more positions than they are worse in than last year. You can have Lloyd break down the roster for you."
"Interesting, good enough position to sneak up on opponents."
"Clemson is 12th. Lots of offensive firepower but not a great defense. Tough schedule, too, but to start the year, I have them here. Wisconsin, the Stinking Badgers are 11th. They need a new qb, and you don't get a Russell Wilson to transfer in every year. It will be the Monte Ball show as he runs for the Heisman behind a bunch of mastodons. West Virginia is 10th, as they try to make inroads with their traditional Midwest rivals."
I looked up and noticed she had her sly little grin. She was trying to mess with me. "Fine, we get to look forward to the annual showdown between the Mountaineers and Cowboys for tooth gap supremacy. What are your next three?"
"Oregon, need to fill some skill positions, but have a good defense and o-line in good shape. South Carolina is getting better and better in a tough conference. Michigan has a shot at the Rose Bowl, Hoke has those kids playing so much better than under Rodriguez and Shoelaces has learned how to be a true multi-role quarterback, which is scary."
"Let me have the next set," I said as I took another sip.
"Florid State has the defense, and is gearing up on offense. Georgia has an outstanding defense and just needs to get a little bit more efficient on offense and they could be right in the mix. Oklahoma has one of the best quarterbacks in the game, but really, really needs to stay healthy, and could get into the big show because they are the best team in an otherwise weak conference."
"Countdown to 3-2-1 for me, my dear."
Cassandra settled in and gave me that look like here cobalt eyes were seeing the future. "LSU is number 3, the loss of Mathieu will hurt more than most people realize. Brent Mussburger is still sobbing and crying little, tiny tears into his pillow each night. USC is number 2. The have a Heisman contender in Barkley, will have an improved ground game and is living proof that LA has enough talent to weather any NCAA storm short of the 'Death Penalty'. Alabama and the Red Elephants are number 1. Get used to it. They have two tough games of their first three, and if they survive those, they just need to get by LSU, again, for a shot at the whole enchilada."
"One last thing before I go to find Lloyd, give a quick snapshot of how you see the B10."
She sat back and closed her eyes, tenting her fingers on the table. "In the Leaders division, it is Wisconsin by far, then Ohio State, Penn State, Illinois, Purdue and Indiana. On our side of town, in the Legends, right now, I think it is Michigan, Nebraska, Michigan State, Iowa, Northwestern, and Minnesota."
I got up to leave, the girl on stage was dancing to 'Starman' by David Bowie while wearing a silver spacesuit with strategically placed re-entry shields.
Time to go find Lloyd and get the low-down on the Huskers and his 'project'.
Husk-husk and on the QB.
A sharp rap on my office door caused me to twisted awkwardly as Effie, my secretary, client screener and emergency operative walked in.
"You've got a visitor, Sam," she said, somewhat tentatively.
"A client?"
"No. Not a client. Not exactly." She chewed on her lip as she closed the door, pushing it closed with her back. She stared at the floor.
I decided that now would be a good time to take my feet off the piles of manila envelopes sitting on the filing cabinet and swivel around to face her before I lost my balance and fell off the chair, which would result in a grievous case of alcohol abuse. I granted a continuance and stashed the bottles.
Effie looked downcast, and the way she kept her hands behind herself told me she really didn't want me to know something, "C'mon, Effie, spill it. What's going on?" I asked using my concerned big brother voice. She's one of the few people in the world I trust, and I was hoping that she could trust me with whatever was bothering her.
"I have a problem, and I need a favor," she finally explained to the floor. "I invested some money in a project, and, well..."
"What kind of investment are we talking about?" I asked uneasily.
"Well, I have this...friend...who wanted to manage a band."
I leaned back in my chair and rolled my eyes. She hates when I do that, but I couldn't help it. "How much did you give this...'friend'," I asked, barely keeping my tone civil.
"10,000 dollars," she whispered.
"10 grand?" I nearly shouted. "A: where did you get 10 G's? I know how much I don't pay you. B: 'Starting a Band' is one of the oldest scams in the book. And 3: I don't even know were I'll start to look."
Her head snapped up. I winked at her. A faint smile was struggling to gain ground on her face. "You're going to take it?"
I slumped back in my chair, "Yeah, I'll take it. I hate to see a good friend get jacked like that. How did it happen?"
She bounded across the office and wrapped me up in a huge hug. "Oh, thank you. I know you'll be able to get my money back."
"Ah, yeah. About that. The money is probably long gone, Sweetheart. I might be able to find the guy..."
"Girl," she corrected.
I tilted my head, "Girl?"
"Yes. A friend of mine from school. She manages a band. I gave her the money to finance a tour, and then she disappeared."
"This band is where, now?"
"They're here, in town. They came to see me last night, wondering if my friend had come back here. They are running short on funds. They barely have enough for gas or food."
"Slow down, Sweetheart. One thing at a time. Does this friend have a name?"
"Susan Sulley."
"Last seen in?"
"Here, in Lincoln, two weeks ago. She told the lads that she was getting transportation arranged and that she would meet up with them to kick off the tour. They were supposed to leave yesterday, but Susan didn't show. Now they're stuck. They have the gear, but no place to stay and no way to get to their next gig."
"Here's what I'll do. I'll start nosing around, see what I can turn up. Somebody has to have seen something that will give me a lead. In the meantime, get the band together and have them meet me at 'Our Lady', tonight at 7, before it gets too crazy. I need to find Lloyd and Cassandra, anyway, for completely unrelated issues, but they might be able to help, too."
Effie was essentially bouncing with excitement. "Thank you, oh, thank you, I knew I could count on you."
"By the way, what is the name of this band?" I asked as I popped my hat on to my head.
"Groping in the Dark. They are a retro-80's synth/punk fusion band. They cover all the classics, and some of their own stuff, too."
I ushered Effie out of my office and headed downtown. My mind was filling with synthesizer sounds as the earworms gathered.
I made my way over to 'Our Lady', once inside the sounds of 'Im Sexy and I Know it" by LMFAO, were shaking the speakers. Several suits were sipping at beers and trying really hard not to imagine hamsters in thongs.
I grabbed a spot at my usual table near the back, saved a seat for Mr. Beam, and waited for Cassandra. I didn't have long to wait. Cassandra sat at the table. She was wearing her light grey Armani suit with the garnet tank. She looked so out of place, but it was completely by design. It was her goal to not appear untouchable as much as unobtainable.
"So, tell me, my dear, are you ready for the season to begin?"
"Not nearly as much as I'd like to be," she sighed. "All these new conference alignments have me a bit behind the curve. Just the other day I was trying to think about who would win the Big 12 North when I realized that there are only 10 teams in the Big 12 and they aren't even in divisions."
"Tell me about it," I said after sipping at my bourbon. "I pretty much decided that there was the Southeastern Conference of the NFL and the rest of college football trying to play catch-up."
"You're not too far wrong. As I look at it, there are six teams in the SEC that would win the ACC, ten that could win if they were in the Big East."
"All right, let's get this out of the way. Hit me with your traditional Top 13 as Cassandra Sees it."
"I have Nebraska at 13. Call me a homer, but I think that the offense is ready to break out, the defense doesn't have many big names, but they are better in more positions than they are worse in than last year. You can have Lloyd break down the roster for you."
"Interesting, good enough position to sneak up on opponents."
"Clemson is 12th. Lots of offensive firepower but not a great defense. Tough schedule, too, but to start the year, I have them here. Wisconsin, the Stinking Badgers are 11th. They need a new qb, and you don't get a Russell Wilson to transfer in every year. It will be the Monte Ball show as he runs for the Heisman behind a bunch of mastodons. West Virginia is 10th, as they try to make inroads with their traditional Midwest rivals."
I looked up and noticed she had her sly little grin. She was trying to mess with me. "Fine, we get to look forward to the annual showdown between the Mountaineers and Cowboys for tooth gap supremacy. What are your next three?"
"Oregon, need to fill some skill positions, but have a good defense and o-line in good shape. South Carolina is getting better and better in a tough conference. Michigan has a shot at the Rose Bowl, Hoke has those kids playing so much better than under Rodriguez and Shoelaces has learned how to be a true multi-role quarterback, which is scary."
"Let me have the next set," I said as I took another sip.
"Florid State has the defense, and is gearing up on offense. Georgia has an outstanding defense and just needs to get a little bit more efficient on offense and they could be right in the mix. Oklahoma has one of the best quarterbacks in the game, but really, really needs to stay healthy, and could get into the big show because they are the best team in an otherwise weak conference."
"Countdown to 3-2-1 for me, my dear."
Cassandra settled in and gave me that look like here cobalt eyes were seeing the future. "LSU is number 3, the loss of Mathieu will hurt more than most people realize. Brent Mussburger is still sobbing and crying little, tiny tears into his pillow each night. USC is number 2. The have a Heisman contender in Barkley, will have an improved ground game and is living proof that LA has enough talent to weather any NCAA storm short of the 'Death Penalty'. Alabama and the Red Elephants are number 1. Get used to it. They have two tough games of their first three, and if they survive those, they just need to get by LSU, again, for a shot at the whole enchilada."
"One last thing before I go to find Lloyd, give a quick snapshot of how you see the B10."
She sat back and closed her eyes, tenting her fingers on the table. "In the Leaders division, it is Wisconsin by far, then Ohio State, Penn State, Illinois, Purdue and Indiana. On our side of town, in the Legends, right now, I think it is Michigan, Nebraska, Michigan State, Iowa, Northwestern, and Minnesota."
I got up to leave, the girl on stage was dancing to 'Starman' by David Bowie while wearing a silver spacesuit with strategically placed re-entry shields.
Time to go find Lloyd and get the low-down on the Huskers and his 'project'.
Husk-husk and on the QB.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Tebow...or not Tebow
I have been trying to get a handle on this whole "Tebow Time" phenomena that has swept the nation. I'm not exactly sure as to why, but I have found myself labeled a 'Hater', simply because I'm not cheering, supporting or supplicating to the second-year quarterback of the Denver Broncos.
It is interesting to me, how in this dichotomous country that one either embraces a person, idea or party, or, failing that, one becomes a 'Hater' by definition. As with most instances I actually prefer to occupy a grey area of nebulous irresolution until more data comes in. For the sake of argument, and a quick, rhetorical, side-taking leap, I shall embrace the term, but decline to accept all the weight that 'Hater' implies.
If I were writing an essay for Mrs. Kelly, my English teacher (in England, no less), I probably would have to call this piece, "Why I Hate Tim Tebow".
Interestingly enough, I haven't heard anything about him as a person to cause me to dislike him. He seems like an affable fellow, who likes to use his status to bring hapiness to little kids, encourage those struggling with illness and presents his public persona exactly as he his. By all accounts, he is not 'Fake'. Nor has he committed any reprehensible acts that one is looked down upon in decent society. He hasn't been busted for organizing a dog-fighting ring. He isn't paying child support to multiple women in multiple cities. He hasn't had to enter re-hab for an addiction to pain killers. He hasn't had the cops on his doorstep at 3am for smacking his woman around.
As a person, I can't 'Hate on him'.
By all accounts, he is an excellent team leader. At every level, team-mates have lauded his ability to stay positive, even after a bad play. He exhorts his team-mates to keep going beyond their resolve, even when the situation is grim; which in football is a relative term, we're not talking about frontal assaults on prepared positions in the Huertgen Forest, here. He is credited with 'bringing the best' out of every player on the team. I have a hard time believing that the third cornerback, who only comes in on obvious passing downs, is really out there thinking about playing better just so Tebow will notice him. With that said, it must be examined in the negation. There are quarterbacks who are locker-room cancers that can cause an otherwise decent team to implode. One need look no further than New York, Chicago or Denver to find situations where a lack of chemistry between a quaertback and the rest of the team has caused serious disruption.
As a leader, I can't 'Hate on him'.
The red meat that everyone clamors for when discussing Tebow is his religion. One must strive to be extremely fair when approaching this topic, not out of fear, but from the standpoint of a reasonable examiniation of the player and his actions. I will lay my cards on the table, encouraged, if not inspired by Tebow to be open about my beliefs.
I don't.
I am not a believer. Not in Evangelical Christianity specifically or Christianity generally. That being said, I will ask the wolves to forbear their pouncing for just a few more seconds. I don't have a problem with his prayer, or his genuflecting, or his sotto vocce hymn-singing on the sidelines. I don't know what he's praying about, and neither do his advocates. In all fairness, he has never (to my knowledge) made a positive claim of divine intervention. His unabashed expressions of belief have become the grist of late-night comedy, but those are based on impression far more than any actual utterance by Tebow. I am a firm believer in any individiual following whatever spiritual or religious path they wish. I will and have actively defended that right. I do so hoping that my right to not believe receives the same protections. Even if he is on the side-line beseeching the almighty to help cast his enemies into the fiery pit, that's his right.
There are other quarterbacks, who I do like, that are just as religious, but maybe not quite so expressive about it. Drew Brees makes no secret of his belief, and I don't shun him. Steve Young is a direct descendent of Brigham Young. I have no idea how active he was or even if he was a devout Mormon or not, but I had no problems supporting him in his playing days.
I deny that his religion is a reason to 'Hate' on him.
Which brings us to the rub. Why I Hate Tim Tebow.
First, and foremost, and most unfairly, he plays for the Broncos. In openly admit I hate the Broncos. Cards on the table time, again. I am a Seahawks fan and have been from the first day of their existence. Go ahead and take your shots, I've already heard them all. One doesn't stay a Seahawk fan without accepting and embracing the ability to absorb a loss.
When I was growing up, Denver was almost always the superior team and they were in the same division. Even though Seattle and Denver are now in different conferences, I still hate the Broncos. Too many losses at the hands of John Elway. Too many last-second drives resulting in ridiculously long field goals to knock the Seahawks out of playoff contention. If Tebow played for a team that I had less negative feelings for, Tampa Bay, for instance, I'd probably be less hard on him.
He just not that good of a quarterback. In a quick run-down of NFL starting quarterbacks, there are 20, that I would pick before Tebow. Even when posed with the question of Tebow vs. Tavaris Jackson as Seattle's starting quarterback, I have to think long and hard, and even consider with how good Seattle's ground game and defense are, Tebow just might be a good fit, I shudder as a realize that Tebow would never reach the maximum of what Pete Carroll wants to do with the offense.
Which brings us back to Tebow's abilities. His completion percentage is awful. His third down conversion rate is abyssmal, and his passing effectiveness is firmly rooted on a gimmicky offense that relies heavily on the play action pass. My biggest criticism of him is that he takes his eyes off his receivers when he starts scrambling. That forces him to try to re-acquire his targets down-field and gives pursuing defenders even more time to catch him. His size and strength have saved him from taking some sacks, but learning to 'feel' the defenders and keep his eyes downfield would save him from even more sacks.
As to the claim that 'all he does is win', it is simply not true. The Broncos were 1-4 when he was named starter and finished 8-8 (9-8 if you count the playoff game). That is a record of 7-4 as a starter. Not bad. Aaron Rogers won twice that many games, this year, alone. Of those seven wins, none were against teams that made the playoffs. Until the Steelers game, Tebow and the Broncos didn't defeat a team that won more than half their games.
Speaking of the Steelers game, I wasn't as shocked as the pro-Tebow camp. It wasn't an upset on the order of the Vikings knocking out the 49'ers in '87, the Jags bumping the Broncos off in '96, or Seattle Beast-Moding the Saints, last year. Denver was banged up, their quarterback hobbled by a bum ankle and their best corner held out of the game with sickle-cell anemia. The game still went into overtime. In Denver. To me, the game wasn't as much of a display of Denver's strenth as it was of Pittsburgh's weakness.
That being said, I can understand the Denver support for Tebow. Logic says 8-4, twice as many wins over losses since he took over. The bum he replaced is gone after losing four times as many games as he won and scoreboard, Baby. The Broncs won a playoff game and are in the elite 8 of the NFL. He may be the worst quarterback in the playoffs (maybe T.J. Yates is worse) but they are in the playoffs when 24 other teams are watching on the couch. On a side note, I am cheering for New Orleans, New York, Baltimore and New England, this week.
Lost in all the jingositic hoopla that surrounds the non-lethal combat substitute that our city-states engage in, is that football is the ultimate team sport. All eleven player need to act in concert better than the other side's eleven that are actively tring to deny them their successful execution. Add in a healthy dose of strategy (like whichever coach called for the play-action pass on first down against Pittsburgh) and an element of luck, and you have the ultimate in unscripted high drama. The thing that I think has gotten lost in the era of 'Tebow Time' is the concept of team. Without Denver's excellent defense, they would not be able to run the hybridized offense they do. Without an excellent offensive line that excels at run-blocking, Willis McGahee would not be able to alleviate the pressure on Tebow that an effective ground game provides. The NFL has evolved into a cult of personality at quaterback and the surrounding cast merely players upon his stage, but we shouldn't lose sight of the fact that without those surrounding players, the Aaron Rogers', Brew Brees' and Tom Brady's would not hold the exulted statuses they have earned.
I think I have finally hit upon the element of 'Tebow Time' that bugs me. His cult, his status, his positon relative to the rest of the football universe is inversely proportional to his actual accomplishments. It's almost as if he's Schroedinger's quarterback, and the only way to measure his actual value is to open the box and see. Alas, his followers, his Tebowtees won't allow that, since opening the box and measuring the value alters the outcome.
They prohibit any analysis by dismissing any and all that would like to be rational about Tebow as 'Haters'. In accordance with the sociological concept of 'Labeling', I guess I will just have to accept the fact that I am indeed, a 'Hater' of Tim Tebow, with one caveat.
I 'Hate' the Bronco, not the man.
It is interesting to me, how in this dichotomous country that one either embraces a person, idea or party, or, failing that, one becomes a 'Hater' by definition. As with most instances I actually prefer to occupy a grey area of nebulous irresolution until more data comes in. For the sake of argument, and a quick, rhetorical, side-taking leap, I shall embrace the term, but decline to accept all the weight that 'Hater' implies.
If I were writing an essay for Mrs. Kelly, my English teacher (in England, no less), I probably would have to call this piece, "Why I Hate Tim Tebow".
Interestingly enough, I haven't heard anything about him as a person to cause me to dislike him. He seems like an affable fellow, who likes to use his status to bring hapiness to little kids, encourage those struggling with illness and presents his public persona exactly as he his. By all accounts, he is not 'Fake'. Nor has he committed any reprehensible acts that one is looked down upon in decent society. He hasn't been busted for organizing a dog-fighting ring. He isn't paying child support to multiple women in multiple cities. He hasn't had to enter re-hab for an addiction to pain killers. He hasn't had the cops on his doorstep at 3am for smacking his woman around.
As a person, I can't 'Hate on him'.
By all accounts, he is an excellent team leader. At every level, team-mates have lauded his ability to stay positive, even after a bad play. He exhorts his team-mates to keep going beyond their resolve, even when the situation is grim; which in football is a relative term, we're not talking about frontal assaults on prepared positions in the Huertgen Forest, here. He is credited with 'bringing the best' out of every player on the team. I have a hard time believing that the third cornerback, who only comes in on obvious passing downs, is really out there thinking about playing better just so Tebow will notice him. With that said, it must be examined in the negation. There are quarterbacks who are locker-room cancers that can cause an otherwise decent team to implode. One need look no further than New York, Chicago or Denver to find situations where a lack of chemistry between a quaertback and the rest of the team has caused serious disruption.
As a leader, I can't 'Hate on him'.
The red meat that everyone clamors for when discussing Tebow is his religion. One must strive to be extremely fair when approaching this topic, not out of fear, but from the standpoint of a reasonable examiniation of the player and his actions. I will lay my cards on the table, encouraged, if not inspired by Tebow to be open about my beliefs.
I don't.
I am not a believer. Not in Evangelical Christianity specifically or Christianity generally. That being said, I will ask the wolves to forbear their pouncing for just a few more seconds. I don't have a problem with his prayer, or his genuflecting, or his sotto vocce hymn-singing on the sidelines. I don't know what he's praying about, and neither do his advocates. In all fairness, he has never (to my knowledge) made a positive claim of divine intervention. His unabashed expressions of belief have become the grist of late-night comedy, but those are based on impression far more than any actual utterance by Tebow. I am a firm believer in any individiual following whatever spiritual or religious path they wish. I will and have actively defended that right. I do so hoping that my right to not believe receives the same protections. Even if he is on the side-line beseeching the almighty to help cast his enemies into the fiery pit, that's his right.
There are other quarterbacks, who I do like, that are just as religious, but maybe not quite so expressive about it. Drew Brees makes no secret of his belief, and I don't shun him. Steve Young is a direct descendent of Brigham Young. I have no idea how active he was or even if he was a devout Mormon or not, but I had no problems supporting him in his playing days.
I deny that his religion is a reason to 'Hate' on him.
Which brings us to the rub. Why I Hate Tim Tebow.
First, and foremost, and most unfairly, he plays for the Broncos. In openly admit I hate the Broncos. Cards on the table time, again. I am a Seahawks fan and have been from the first day of their existence. Go ahead and take your shots, I've already heard them all. One doesn't stay a Seahawk fan without accepting and embracing the ability to absorb a loss.
When I was growing up, Denver was almost always the superior team and they were in the same division. Even though Seattle and Denver are now in different conferences, I still hate the Broncos. Too many losses at the hands of John Elway. Too many last-second drives resulting in ridiculously long field goals to knock the Seahawks out of playoff contention. If Tebow played for a team that I had less negative feelings for, Tampa Bay, for instance, I'd probably be less hard on him.
He just not that good of a quarterback. In a quick run-down of NFL starting quarterbacks, there are 20, that I would pick before Tebow. Even when posed with the question of Tebow vs. Tavaris Jackson as Seattle's starting quarterback, I have to think long and hard, and even consider with how good Seattle's ground game and defense are, Tebow just might be a good fit, I shudder as a realize that Tebow would never reach the maximum of what Pete Carroll wants to do with the offense.
Which brings us back to Tebow's abilities. His completion percentage is awful. His third down conversion rate is abyssmal, and his passing effectiveness is firmly rooted on a gimmicky offense that relies heavily on the play action pass. My biggest criticism of him is that he takes his eyes off his receivers when he starts scrambling. That forces him to try to re-acquire his targets down-field and gives pursuing defenders even more time to catch him. His size and strength have saved him from taking some sacks, but learning to 'feel' the defenders and keep his eyes downfield would save him from even more sacks.
As to the claim that 'all he does is win', it is simply not true. The Broncos were 1-4 when he was named starter and finished 8-8 (9-8 if you count the playoff game). That is a record of 7-4 as a starter. Not bad. Aaron Rogers won twice that many games, this year, alone. Of those seven wins, none were against teams that made the playoffs. Until the Steelers game, Tebow and the Broncos didn't defeat a team that won more than half their games.
Speaking of the Steelers game, I wasn't as shocked as the pro-Tebow camp. It wasn't an upset on the order of the Vikings knocking out the 49'ers in '87, the Jags bumping the Broncos off in '96, or Seattle Beast-Moding the Saints, last year. Denver was banged up, their quarterback hobbled by a bum ankle and their best corner held out of the game with sickle-cell anemia. The game still went into overtime. In Denver. To me, the game wasn't as much of a display of Denver's strenth as it was of Pittsburgh's weakness.
That being said, I can understand the Denver support for Tebow. Logic says 8-4, twice as many wins over losses since he took over. The bum he replaced is gone after losing four times as many games as he won and scoreboard, Baby. The Broncs won a playoff game and are in the elite 8 of the NFL. He may be the worst quarterback in the playoffs (maybe T.J. Yates is worse) but they are in the playoffs when 24 other teams are watching on the couch. On a side note, I am cheering for New Orleans, New York, Baltimore and New England, this week.
Lost in all the jingositic hoopla that surrounds the non-lethal combat substitute that our city-states engage in, is that football is the ultimate team sport. All eleven player need to act in concert better than the other side's eleven that are actively tring to deny them their successful execution. Add in a healthy dose of strategy (like whichever coach called for the play-action pass on first down against Pittsburgh) and an element of luck, and you have the ultimate in unscripted high drama. The thing that I think has gotten lost in the era of 'Tebow Time' is the concept of team. Without Denver's excellent defense, they would not be able to run the hybridized offense they do. Without an excellent offensive line that excels at run-blocking, Willis McGahee would not be able to alleviate the pressure on Tebow that an effective ground game provides. The NFL has evolved into a cult of personality at quaterback and the surrounding cast merely players upon his stage, but we shouldn't lose sight of the fact that without those surrounding players, the Aaron Rogers', Brew Brees' and Tom Brady's would not hold the exulted statuses they have earned.
I think I have finally hit upon the element of 'Tebow Time' that bugs me. His cult, his status, his positon relative to the rest of the football universe is inversely proportional to his actual accomplishments. It's almost as if he's Schroedinger's quarterback, and the only way to measure his actual value is to open the box and see. Alas, his followers, his Tebowtees won't allow that, since opening the box and measuring the value alters the outcome.
They prohibit any analysis by dismissing any and all that would like to be rational about Tebow as 'Haters'. In accordance with the sociological concept of 'Labeling', I guess I will just have to accept the fact that I am indeed, a 'Hater' of Tim Tebow, with one caveat.
I 'Hate' the Bronco, not the man.
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