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.
Friday, September 28, 2012
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.
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