The pain and heartbreak of the last second loss to the pasty milk-drinkers didn't seem to be having too much of an adverse effect on the locals. Still lots of Husker gear being represented, the general feeling seemed to be one of accepting defeat in a tough environment against a respectable opponent.
Of course, there were a few trolls who crawled out from under their bridges to vent their anger and lower their blood-alcohol-content, but they were the same ones who crawl out even when Nebraska wins, not big enough margin, not enough yardage, too many pizzas and not enough Runzas sold, and so on.
This week's opponent is the South Alabama Jaguars. The only reference that keeps jumping into my head is the line from Barry McGuire's 'Eve of Destruction', "Think of all the hate there is in Red China, Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama'. Dunno why. They aren't in Selma, they are in Mobile.
Some fun facts; their colors are red, white, and blue. They are called the Jaguars. Their starting quarterback, Cody Clements, is from Whittier, California, where Richard Nixon went to college. I have no idea what that has to do with anything, except after playing at a JUCO, then Alabama-Birmingham, Clements is using up his last year of eligibility at SAU. I guess we'll have to kick him around, some.
I was looking at their roster, they play a 4-2-5 defensive scheme, which is unusual, and might pose some problems game-planning for. They also have cutesy names for a lot of the positions. They have a 'Jack' end (Jack not name, Jack job). They have a 'Mike' linebacker (not so weird) and a 'Money' linebacker, their defensive backfields consists of a right and left corner, free and strong safety, and a 'Star'. Whatever they call themselves, they gave up over 300 yards to Gardiner-Webb in a win. I know last week still stings, but I'd be willing to wager that Nebraska has a skosh more talent than G-W.
Speaking of wagering, I ran into one of my favorite shadowy denizens of Lincoln, Cowboy Steve. Cowboy Steve is a distinguished elder of the 'O' Street bookies. Cowboy made book back in the day when he was working his way through the U. He's told me stories about guys who have gotten in too deep and needed to get some body work by a couple of Indians. Yes, he calls them Indians, he's a Cowboy; what do you expect? He's told me about the kind and quality of work you could get for a hundred bucks, each.
He was sitting on the veranda of a coffee place, sipping espresso. He was wearing his trade-mark cowboy hat and a black t-shirt with the border of Italy printed on it, in white. "Hey, there, Cowboy. Mind if I join you?"
He looked up at me, regarded me slowly, "That depends if this is a personal visit, a professional visit, or a friendly one."
I pulled up a chair and sat down. "Oh, c'mon, Cowboy. You know that if this was a personal visit, I'd use your real name, if it was professional, I'd have dead presidents with me--well, dead ambassadors to France, anyway. So I guess this is a friendly, have a chat, kill some time, talk some football."
He took a sip from his demitasse, it was hard to imagine, but I knew that with one phone-call, he could have my elbows and knees re-arranged in such a way that I'd resemble a Micronaut. "You do know that I'm retired from my speculation days," he said.
"That's what I've heard," I said. "I heard you've been off, traveling the world, seeing sights, acquiring exotic tastes," I gestured toward the espresso.
He shrugged, "I am getting on in years. I just want to enjoy the few years I have left. If that means cruising the Mediterranean, with a lovely, bikini-clad beauty on each arm, drinking wine, soaking up the sun, then so be it."
I nodded. The image of Cowboy Steve in a Speedo and his Stetson jumped into my head. I had to get it out of there. "Theoretically, since you are retired, if someone wanted to drop a C-Note on the Husker game, what do you think the O-Street line would be?" I held up my hand in a pre-emptive deflection of his protests.
He took a long, silent stare at me, sizing up my intentions. I could see the wheels in his head spinning and meshing. He took a sip of his espresso, put the cup down on the table and picked up his phone. He tapped it a few times, nodded and returned it to the table.
"If one wanted to leverage a small amount of venture capital on a speculative deal of this nature," he said, with his disarming rural drawl, "I could see some financiers backing it at 30-and-a-hook."
I whistled a low whistle. "There's that much confidence in Nebraska, after last week?" I asked.
"I know you've been around the block a few times. I also know you've watched a lot of football. I also know that you know how people in this town think. Of course it's a straight up win, no action is happening, there. They are playing a team that most people haven't even heard of, this is a blood money game, and it's at night, so, by kickoff, a good chunk of the crowd is going to look like the end of the toga party scene in 'Animal House'."
"What's that have to do with football?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said, evenly. "I'm talking about human nature. That's what determines where the stakes get set. My job--my former job, is to decide where I can get the local fan to put his money where his mouth is, without scaring his wallet back into his pocket."
Very educational, I thought. "So, if I wanted to successfully expand my revenue, I would need to hope Nebraska wins by 31 points, right?"
"You could always bet against them."
"Why would I do that?"
"To make the game interesting to the very end," he smiled. "Imagine your team being up 38-3, fourth quarter. The game is won, right? You could bail or switch to another game, but you won't because what happens of South Alabama, with their starters, puts a drive together against the back-ups, they score a late, meaningless touchdown that turns your 32-point win and cover, to a 26-point win, but you lose your stake."
The light in his eyes told me that he had seen that happen more than once.
"Thanks, Steve," I said as I got up. "Let me get you another espresso for indulging my inquiries."
He touched the brim of his hat and I went inside to place the order. Some people talk books or movies, or get into in-depth discussions about politics, or religion. Not me, I get to chit-chat about the nuances of book-making. As I stood in line, I mulled over the factors and challenges the game presented.
Human nature aside, Nebraska will just be too strong, too fast and have too much talent to even make this game interesting. It will not be a McNeese State repeat. When it's all said and done, I'm expecting a 45-10 result.
Maybe I do need to find one of Cowboy Steve's 'active' associates.
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