Eagles make it a little too close

            I had managed to maintain contact with the blonde in the Beemer for about a half hour until she was able to weave through traffic and hit the lights in such a way that I got stonewalled like a fullback on a 21 Dive. I really shouldn't be too proud of my accomplishment, the first 20 minutes of tailing her was getting through the construction on 27th. I don't think she made me, but those little Kraut roadsters got some speed, and I was in the grey murderwagon.

            I trundled back to the office and typed up my findings for Mrs. DuMont. I didn't have a lot to work with. I noted the times that Hubby arrived at the Country Club, and when he left and a description of the girl (what little I saw) and the vehicle. I thought about calling my friend at the DMV; yes, it's true, you can't even apply for the P.I. license unless you have one. I decided against it, and wrote down the Husker vanity plate, 'ZZZIP'. I figured i would decide later if it was clever or not. Right then, I was miffed, tired, a little put out, needed a snack and had a powerful thirst.

            "Where's Jake's?" I asked the empty office. "Right down there," I replied. Not unusual for me to converse with myself, I usually call it thinking aloud. It's never a problem unless I start arguing with myself. Then stuff gets thrown, regrettable things get said and tears flow.

            It was a game day, so I knew Lloyd would have a table and place to sit. I snagged a sammich from one of the dozen sammich concerns in a two block radius and slid into the booth across from Lloyd. Melissa noticed my arrival and slid into the booth as I began unwrapping my sammich. "So, what do you think pairs nicely with a sandwich?" she asked, eyes glinting with the shrouded lights.

            "Bourbon," I said. "Always bourbon. I got an All-American Club, so Jefferson's would be ideal."

Freeeeeedooom!!!

                                           

            "Club," Lloyd said, resignedly. "You always get the club. Why not some variety?"

            "It's the only sandwich named after a weapon," I said, and Took a bite.

            "So," Melissa probed, "If there was a sandwich named after a gun, you'd get that?"

            I nodded as I forced down the mouthful. "Yep. I've already thought of that. Instead of Italian meat trio or whatever they call it, I'd name it a Baretta. If somebody made one called a '1911A1' and it was loaded with meat and cheese, I'd be all over it."

            "OK, you have to explain, that one," Melissa said, still smiling, though.

            I started to say something, I paid brief homage to the kraken, who was lurking beneath a scarlet tank top with 'Huskers' emblazoned across it. "It would feel heavy in the hand and would have great stopping power," Lloyd interrupted.

            Melissa laughed. I don't know if it was at my joke, or Lloyd's delivery. Either way she absconded to get my bourbon, shaking her head. I get that a lot.

            I resumed attacking my sammich. I gestured at Lloyd. "How'd you do, today. Nebraska won, right?"

            Lloyd sighed a big sigh. I braced myself. "Up 22-0 at the half, should have been at least 38-0, 34-0 would have been reasonable. Had to settle for four field goals after getting into the Red Zone. The offense moved the ball well, just kind of lacked something inside the 20. The defense actually did well, in the first half. Southern Miss had six possessions in the first half, three 3&Outs, a punt, a fumble and a missed field goal. So, at halftime, Nebraska looked completely in control. Drew Brown even hit a 50-yarder, he was 5-for-5 by halftime. Things looked awesome."

            "So, what happened?" I asked as I started in on the second half of my sammich, and Melissa dropped off my bourbon and gave my shoulder a little bump with her hip. The saucy minx.

            "First possession," Lloyd explained, "Tommy throws a pick, not a bad pick, and a good play by the USM linebacker, after the return, they are set up at the 16 of Nebraska. Two plays later, touchdown, it is 22-7. No panic. Things like that happen, it's fine."

            "Then what?"

The Little Red Roadster

            "In a nutshell," Lloyd said, "Nebraska had one of those quarters. 2nd quarter against BYU, 1st quarter against Miami, and now, 3rd quarter against Southern Miss. Nebraska had four possessions that resulted in two turnovers, a missed field goal and finally, a touchdown. So, at the end of the third, Nebraska still had a 22-point lead, because the defense made some stops when it had to."

            "So why all the gloom and doom?" I asked. "The vibe around town is like if the Huskers had lost."

            "From an objective, entertainment standpoint, the fourth quarter was awesome. For the back end of the Nebraska defense, 1t was 15 minutes of hell."

            "How was it entertaining?"

            "On top of four touchdowns," Lloyd explained, "we got to see a successful surprise on-side kick, a fake punt attempt, a blocked field goal attempt and a desperation drive at the end of the game."

            "That would be cool...if I didn't have a specific, rooting interest. How about the Hell side?"

            "Starting from the 0:27 mark of the third, Nick Mullins, the USM quarterback, completed 15 of 19 passes for 269 yards and 2 touchdowns. 8 of his 15 completions were for greater than 10 yards. Toss in the ticky-tackiest interference call I've seen in a long time, and the secondary was getting abused like a party girl at a rally full of bikers on poppers."

            I let that image sink in. I was done with my sammich.

            "Mullins threw for 447 yards, against Nebraska. 60% of that was in the fourth quarter," Lloyd finished.

            "So, Huskerfan is mad," I asked, "because they never trailed, and Southern Miss never got closer than eight point?"

            "They should have never gotten that close," Lloyd said, as if explaining a math problem to a kid who'd rather be playing outside, or in the basement, or video games. "It was almost a McNeese State. Confidence level, right now, is at, don't worry about winning the conference, don't worry about winning the division, finishing at .500 would be nice."

            I sat back in the booth, mulling over Lloyd's words. I stared into my bourbon, watching the amber oils swirl and intertwine. My thoughts bipped from Beemers, to cover schemes to krakens. Always with the krakens.

Prepping for USM

            Fall was threatening town, the way it always does, with a slow, menacing build-up that seems to crowd your space, take away your freedom of movement, and leaves you feeling hemmed in.

            On the plus side, working a stake-out in the fall is so much better than in the summer. You can wear real clothes, you're not sweating so much that you can't keep your glasses on. It doesn't feel like you're being kept in the hot-box of a Japanese POW camp.

            I was hard up for cash, so I went back to some of the early days of my career, agreeing to follow an old dude around, because his matronly wife thought he was pursuing a pretty young thing. I'd pocketed the advance money, and had bought a new pair of earphones that were going to go on the sheet marked 'expenses' that was lying forlornly, somewhere on my desk. The earphones were so I could listen to some different radio stations that I could dial in on my phone. The local sports boys get boring after you've heard them rant about the same thing for the sixth time in a day, just with a slightly different flavor.

            Tech has come a long way, it used to be, if you wanted to have some sort of distraction, you'd bring a portable radio, so you wouldn't drain the battery of whatever vehicle you were in. You were also a slave to the local market and atmospheric conditions. Now, I can listen to radio stations all over the world, through my phone, or tablet if I want to bring it along.

            I have two cardinal rules about my stake-outs, no visual distractions, which means no screens for watching, no print for reading, once the radio station is selected for the phone, it sits there on the passenger seat like a sleepy grandma on a road trip, not to be disturbed. Sometimes it takes an extreme amount of focus to set for hours, waiting for something to happen, and more often than not, nothing does.

            The other rule that must be followed without fail, is no smoking. This one isn't so much of a problem for me, but I will hire operatives to sit in if it's an all-nighter. Nothing gives an observer away faster than a parked vehicle with clouds of smoke oozing out of the window. Might as well rent a neon sign reading, "Keeping an I on U".

            I had snatched up a used Dodge B2500 for my Voyeur Vehicle. I had it painted primer grey, since I think that white stands out too much. Lloyd had wanted it painted like the Mystery Machine, from Scooby Doo, but I told him that I wanted it to be useful and that look would do nothing but attract meddling kids.

            Today was a Thursday, he day Matronly Wife assured me that Hubby went rogue. She suspected he was seeing someone on the side, probably that young Mrs. Cavendish, who was 60, I checked, but when your 75, I guess that counts as young, right?

            Hubby drove himself everywhere, and did a decent job, too. Very dedicated to following the rules of the road, never speeding, proper turn signals, proper lane changes, he didn't even slow to five miles-an-hour to turn right, made it very easy to follow. I picked up his Lincoln as it left the neighborhood and set off on his errand. He was an easy tail, and we bebopped across town for about 20 minutes. He turned his car in to the country club parking lot. I lucked out and got a good space to observe and wait.

            This was the hard part, I observed him get out of the car, lock it up and head inside. Khaki shorts and an aqua polo, not exactly golf attire, but he might have a locker, he might just buy new stuff, or he might not be there to golf. I wouldn't have eyes on him until he came back out, and I had no idea how long that would be.

            As I waited, I tuned in a radio station from Hattiesburg, Mississippi, to get a sense of what they are expecting from the game, Saturday. I do this as a form opposition research, you can glean a lot from listening in to opposing fans. I hope they are doing the same to us. According to our fans, we have the worst coach, ever, and the program is circling the toilet of despair. They must be watching a different team than the one that is essentially 2 plays from being undefeated.

            They just want a good showing. Which they can do. They hung in there against Mississippi State, trailed only 14-10 at the half. While they might not be the defensive monsters they were in the 2000's, they aren't the train-wreck they have been recently.

            Their starting quarterback, Nick Mullins, has some decent numbers. He's thrown for over 900 yards and 8 touchdowns, through three games, and only three picks. His worst game was against MSU, and even then his QBR was 126. He's no Bret Favre, but he looks like he's capable of slinging the ball around the field.

            At first blush, the USM ground game looks pretty solid, but most of their production came at the hands of Austin Peay and Texas State. Jalen Richard, their leading rusher, has 322 yards on the season, over 100 per game. Against Mississippi State, he ran for 48.

            The USM defense looks a tad shaky. MSU gained over 400 yards and Texas State racked up over 600, of course the Bobcats also gave up that much, so it was pretty much a track meet. On the surface, it looks like Nebraska should be able repeat their South Alabama rushing performance against Southern Miss. That would be just fine.

            It might be close, early, it might even be a one possession game at the half, but I think that Nebraska gets it done, takes care of business and seals the deal and whatever other sports metaphors for winning you like. Final, Nebraska 41-20.

            I popped back to focus in alpha mode, when I saw my cute, little, old guy step out of the club, and crawl into a BMW Z4. The roadster sped through the parking lot and zoomed right past me as it sped away. Old Guy looked terrified as the red convertible accelerated by me. The driver, with long blond hair snapping in the breeze in a pony tail poking out the back of her baseball cap, looked determined and completely in control of both car and passenger.

A comeback, and a heartbreaker.

                If Nebraska could just consistently deliver the aggression and efficiency of the fourth quarter at Miami, they would be scary good.

            True, it helps if you don't let an offense barf 17 points on you in the first quarter.

            True it helps if you don't commit so many penalties. My favorite, the five-yard penalty on Luke Gifford for lining up on the kickoff more than five yards from the line. On a kick that went for a touchback. Miami got the ball at the 30. I can't even recall ever seeing that flagged, before. I especially loved the final punts of Miami's last possession, 4th & 7 at the Nebraska 47, punt, fair catch at Nebraska 10. Penalty, Running into the kicker, dodged a bullet, there. 4th & 2 at the Nebraska 42, punt, out of bounds at the Nebraska 14. Penalty, personal foul, Miami. 4th & 17 at Miami 41, punt, touchback. Three plays, two penalties, and a change of 10 yards in field position.

            True, it helps that in the fourth quarter, Miami's offense got more conservative than election day in Clay County, it was good to see that Nebraska was able to stop the run when everyone knew it was run, not like the Minnesota game, last year.

            I was wandering around town, dealing with the manic-depressive (fickle) nature of Huskerfans, who were running the emotional gamut between 'they are an embarrassment to all Nebraska fans' to 'keep fighting to the end, that's all we ask for', from the same person, in the span of 45 minutes.

About as close as Nebraska got all day

              Jake's invited me in, as it always does, and I found Lloyd happily pecking away at his laptop. "What gives, pardner? I thought you'd be in the alley looking for cats to kick."

            Lloyd looked up at me, gestured to the opposite bench, and smiled. "Nope, I'm good. Disappointed in the loss, but I get to dry my tears with about five c-notes."

            "500 bucks," I whistled low. "That's a pretty good haul. The Cowboy?" I asked as confirmation for than question.

            "Yep. When the line first hit, Miami was favored by 5, so i called up the Cowboy to get in on that. He said he wouldn't give me five, the line was dropping, even then. He settled for 3 with a hook, so I jumped on it."

            "So, how much did you bet? On a road game. In Miami."

            "200 bucks. Believe me, I was going to have to claim to be a designated driver to drink pop for free at the start of the fourth quarter. I heard Cowboy laughing in my head the whole game. When Tommy hit Zo for the touch, and then CC for two, I thought, 'OK, 33-18 is respectable, but I'm still going to lose'.

            I nodded, I was enjoying how animated he was in telling the story. I gave him the 'go-on' gesture.

            "Then Tommy hit Reilly, and I'm all, 'kick the PAT, that way we're still only one possession down, if you go for two and fail, we'll be two possessions down', we kicked it and it was 33-25, I'm still down, but we can at least hold our head up."

            "How bloody did your fingers get on that last possession?"

            "It was like Miami wanted to give it away. Tommy looked like Russell Wilson, hitting guys down the seam, running for a first down on 3rd and 13, with the 2-pointer to JW, the game was tied and as far as I was concerned, i was almost in. 75% of overtime games are decided by three points or less, so I was almost there."

            "Tell me about the overtime, for me, it was almost as bad as Matt Hasselback's, 'We want the ball, and we're gonna score', only to throw a pick six."

            Lloyd shook his head, "Almost that bad," he said, "Not quite, but almost. I saw what he was looking at, and it was a case of too much confidence in his arm, which is not a new problem. Miami was in a zone coverage, and Morgan was crossing the back of the end-zone. Tommy saw him, but was on the run to his right, he was trying to throw the ball about 45 yards without having his feet set, he didn't get as much energy into the ball as he thought he did, or needed and so under threw it by about 10 yards, the Miami defender didn't even have to move."

            "It was essentially game over at that point, the penalty on Lewis for being a big, frustrated, dumb-ass, didn't help," I said. "I don't know why Miami didn't just put the stake in on the first play. They have a good kicker, their house, spot the ball in the middle of the field, and kick a 30-yarder. Game over. They ran 4 plays to gain two yards, any of which they could have fumbled on."

            "I was just happy that the defense didn't give up and fought for those four plays. Miami kicks the field goal, wins 36-33, but with Nebraska getting spotted 3.5 by Cowboy, it was like they won, 36.5-36. Covered, baby. Covered." Lloyd smiled and pulled out a wad of 20-dollar bills."

            "You put 200 down on Nebraska, after Cowboy's handling fee, you should have about 360. Where did the rest of it come from?" I asked.

            "Ohio State and Alabama. There's a regular, here, that is always wearing his Terrell Pryor jersey on Saturdays. He was going off on how Nebraska sucks and if they played OSU it would be a total blowout again, blah, blah, blah. So I told him that they needed to take care of their own business, first. He laughed and said OSU would beat Northern Illinois by 56, easy. I told him I had 50 bucks that said that it wouldn't be that bad. We had Melissa hold the money, and told her the conditions."

            "Ah, you had the Kraken hold the cash, very nice," I said.

            "Yep, she put my money in one side of her bra, and the OSU dude's in the other side. I didn't mind. Not. One. Single. Bit."

            "I'm sure you did. Did you tip her?"

            "More than I should have, I think," he said smiling.

            "What about Alabama, how did you make money with them?"

            Lloyd frowned. "There was this loud, smartass kid, in here. He went to school at Alabama and his current football knowledge is ok, but to him college football started the day he became an Alabama fan, all of 6 years ago. So, I made a little wager with him about Ole Miss beating Alabama, strait up, no points. He was so confident in Alabama at home, he said 'Roll Tide' as we shook on it. I told him I'd start an on-line petition to replace Franklin on the hundred with Bear Bryant if it made him feel better. He flipped me off after throwing the money at me and storming out of here." Lloyd chuckled.

            "So. Moving forward," I said. "What does Nebraska need to do, 'cause the natives are restless and talk is drifting back to a 6-6 season. Even though you and I both know that this wasn't one of the 'count it' games on the schedule."

            "I think they gelled, a bit, in Miami," Lloyd said. "I think Daniel Davie lost his starting gig, and that is a positive. Kaaya completed 1/3 of his yardage in the first quarter, when Davie was back there. From the second quarter on, Nebraska outscored Miami 33-16. I know, lots of other factors played into that, but the pass defense was a lot better."

            "What else do they need to work on?"

            "I can give you four things that need to be fixed, three of which can be done, easily."

            "Hit me, what do you fix?"

Stanley Morgan, Jr. is going to be a good one.

      "First, the dropped passes. This was the first game where it was a problem, and was probably more a result of being on the road and getting too excited for a big game. They looked flat and complacent for the first quarter. Experience takes care of that. Second, the stupid penalties. 13 of them, most of which were just plain dumb, or lack of discipline. There was a play in the third quarter, I think, where Tommy hit JW down the sideline for a first down in the red zone. It got called back, for a personal foul, instead of 1st and 10 inside the Miami 20, it became 2nd and 25 at the Nebraska 34. Essentially, a 46 yard penalty."

            "That's been a problem for years, now," I said.

            "That will get fixed as they get used to the new offense, so it is a more long-term project."

            "What else?"

            "I do believe that Tommy will continue to get better. He has great confidence in his throws, but sometimes it's too much confidence Two of his three interceptions were a result of him trying to do too much. The other one was an early Christmas present from the football gods for the Miami defender. Tommy needs to learn to set his feet and put his whole body into the throws when he's scrambling, he might take a hit, but he will deliver the ball, better."

            "What is the last thing, the other easy fix?"

            "Please, please, please, for the sake of Bob Devaney and everything else that is sacred for Nebraska football, stop wearing the all-white surrender uniforms. They look bad, and the play in them is even worse. Even in the 90's, when the Huskers were the meanest, baddest mothas on the block, white-on-white was a bad combo. Georgia Tech, Washington, Iowa State, just to name a few. On the road, it should be mandatory, from this point forward, that white jerseys will be paired with red pants."

            With that, I decided to see if Melissa could deliver a drink saved from the watery depths. I needed some bourbon, but not as much as I thought I would need at the start of the fourth quarter.