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.
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