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.

Nebraska 38, Northwestern 17

     From the files of Lloyd.
     18 Oct., 2014
     Chicago, IL
     The Kirkwood Bar.
     There is a really cool bar, in North Chicago. They proudly display their Husker pride with flags, drink specials, and lots of fans. If you're in the area, stay in Chicago to watch the game. Evanston is a nice, quaint little town, grafted onto the north end of a major metropolis like an experiment gone awry. Snooty, smarty pants, rich kids go to Northwestern, surrounded by a town that that prides itself on its blue collar history and attitude. Chicagoans feel that Northwestern doesn't quite fit in, doesn't quite make the cut. Northwestern has soft hands from counting money all its life.
     Except when it comes to football. NU is way better than Illinois. Northern Illinois has had some recent success, but the bandwagoners are far too obvious. So, for a few months each year, Chicago puts aside its issues with the smart kids, the tax-free status of lakefront property, and enjoys some decent football.
     Northwestern looks at Chicago like the dude trying desperately to fit in. He's trying, but a clip-on tie and short-sleeved button-down shirt does not belie sophistication and urbanity.
     1800
     The game is about to start. It has been a long day of waiting. I got to the bar when it opened in order to get a good seat. I've been pacing myself and I have a deal with Jenny, the waitress, that she will stand guard over my table when I have to go pee. She indulges me. The extra dollar I give her whenever she brings my drink is a small inducement, but inducement, nonetheless.
     1835
     Kickoff, finally. Ryan field is about half-red. The other half is purple, so it looks like some old ladies' book club gathering, but not as loud.
     Huskers get the ball first. Northwestern loads the box to stop Ameer, just like MSU. Tommy connects with Kenny a couple of times. Drive sputters, a couple of drops kills it. Foltz puts the punt inside the 20. Lets see what the defense can do.
     I'm starting to think we need to make a deal with opposing teams. We spot you seven points and in return we get the ball twice and run 3:00 off the clock. Had them on their initial third down. Missed a tackle, leaky yards. Northwestern has a freshman, Justin Jackson, that will be awesome in a couple of years. He's good, now, but bulk him up a little bit and get him some experience and he will be a threat. The Wildcats go 89 yards in 15 plays, converting twice on 3rd down.
     Huskers get the ball back. Ameer is still struggling to get going. Wet grass, that may have been left to get a bit longer seems to be bothering Nebraska more than Northwestern. Decent drive, 8 plays, 47 yards, but Kenny whiffed on a third down pass. Field goal has the distance but is wide. Still 7-0 and game is beginning to feel like MSU part deux.
     After an exchange of 3 & Outs, Northwestern almost seized control of the game. Husker pressure forced Siemien out of the pocket, he tried to slide under Zaire. Zaire lowered his head. No flag. Next play, make-up call. Nathan Gerry gets flag for a ticky-tack unnecessary roughness call.  It wouldn't have drawn a flag if Northwestern had man-sized receivers. Northwestern goes for the kill. Deep throw into triple coverage, Gerry comes up with the pick in the end zone. Crisis averted. The offense needs to find a spark.
     Local boy, Jordan Westerkamp, sparks the drive, 23 yard reception. Ameer gets going. A penalty helps, Tommy takes it down to the one. Ameer surges in. After the kick. New game, please.
     The punters duel for the next four possessions. Huskers keep getting the ball in good field position, but cant do anything. Wildcats get the ball in bad field position and ipso-ipso.
     Justin Jackson goes off. Wildcats do everything right. Jackson has runs of 11, 11, 12 and 5 yards. The 5-yarder goes into the endzone with a spin move that MItchell is still trying to figure out. NU up 14-7. Just over two minutes left in the half.
     De'Mornay Pierson-El goes to Texas. Tommy throws to P-El for 46 yards. Then Tommy throws to Ameer for 11. On first down, Tommy gets the 'Texas' call. Tommy hands to Newby, who sweeps left while P-El, reverses right. Newby pitches to P-El. P-El lofts a floater to a wide open Tommy, who catches it, and dances into the end zone. 14-up. New game, again.
     Northwestern isn't quite finished, yet. Passes and penalties bring the Cats inside the 20. The defense makes a stand, forces a field goal. Wildcats up 17-14 as capering Pat Fitzgerald cheerleads his team into the locker room.
     The murmuring. The hushed tones. Funerary atmosphere. 'We've always been a second half team'. 'I hope the coaches can adjust'. 'After a bye week. Really?' 'Didn't we used to blow teams like this out?'
     Patience, Huskerfan, patience. Old Man Lloyd, here has seen a lot of Husker ball games. He can cite numerous examples of a first half not quite living to expectations. Halftime is when the coaches do adjust and have done so. The other team adjusts, too, though. A team 'like this'. What does that even mean? If we're talking Northwestern circa 1983, when the students had a cheer that went, 'that's all right, that's ok, you will work for us one day,' every time the opposition scored, then yes. This Northwestern isn't that Northwestern, and hasn't been for about 20 years. The Northwestern coach, Pat Fitzgerald, played in a Rose Bowl, while at Northwestern. We're 2-1 against them since joining the B1G. All three of those games coming down to the last minute. They're a good opponent, don't kid yourself.
     18 Oct. 2014
     2045
     The second half gets going.
     The defense finds its groove. More pressure. Better pursuit. Justin Jackson not finding as much room. Wildcats go 3 & Out. Nebraska moves. Tommy throws a near pick that the DB drops. Instead Huskers get to punt. Cats still lead 17-14. Time is slipping away.
     Another 3 & Out for the D. Tommy gets it going. 55 yard drive on eleven plays. Three third down conversions, all with Tommy in the mix. Two passes on third and long and a run to pick up the first down when no-one was open. Ameer punches it in from the one. Huskers lead for the first time 21-17. Ryan field gets a bit quieter. History has shown that it is far from over. We should have a wild finish.
     The Wildcats try to respond. They get a first down and get to midfield before the door gets slammed, again. Another punt, the third of the quarter, sets up the final act.
     Moral crusher. Back breaker. Life stealer. 77 yards in seven plays will do that. The big one has Ameer breaking free for a 50-yard run. He punches it in on the next play. The Wildcat defense has been unhinged, worn down, eroded. it is now 28-17, in the fourth. Northwestern must respond or it is over.
     They don't. Another 3 & Out and The Huskers get the ball back before the Wildcat defense has a chance to catch it's breath. It shows. Nebraska goes old school. Nine plays, 55 yards. All on the ground. Tommy leaping from the five and getting the ball across the plane. The refs disagree. They want to see Ameer score his fourth TD, instead. 35-17. It is done, but time remains.
     Another 3 & O for the Cats. A punt and P-El returns it to the 19. A less than stellar drive results in a field goal. Huskers up 38-17.
   The clock winds down in garbage time. Nebraska gets backups in. Pat Fitzgerald looks sad. Ryan field is half empty. The half full crowd is chanting 'Go Big Red' over and over. A tough win and a good win for Nebraska. The bad taste of the MSU loss kind of wiped away. 6-1, now.
     Looking ahead, Nebraska has to play Rutgers, Purdue, Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa. None of them a particularly scary. None are exactly pushovers, either. All are winnable. Wisconsin has the best threat in Melvin Gordon, but Northwestern held them to 14 points. Minnesota is on a roll, but they have to come to Lincoln and won a squeaker with Purdue. The stage is set for a re-match with MSU, so I have to go for Sparta to win out, too.
     Time to melt into the night before things start to freeze.

MIchigan State, part 1 (of 2?)

From the Files of Lloyd.
4 Oct. 2014
     Hyped for this one. This is the biggest game of the year. Win this one, and Nebraska can stake a claim for the top 10. Win this one, and maybe some of those voices about 'mediocrity' and 'lack talent' and 'average' shut the hell up.
     The weather is not conducive. It is raining with a howling wind. Cross-fire hurricane. Cold, but not too cold, just cold enough to be another distraction for a team trying to find itself. One team knows what it is. There are cool trophies that there are color pictures of. OK, that's not fair. One team has pictures of trophies that they didn't have to send off to the Foto-Hut to develop.
     I'm sitting in a 'Blues' bar in East Lansing. I have no idea why they call themselves a blues bar. There aren't even pictures on the wall of any of the biggies. No Muddy, no Lightning, no Blind Lemon, no Mr. Wolf. The game is on, but on a screen mounted above the bar. I'm trying to watch but some shit-ass cover band called Avon Bomb is on stage, torturing animals. Not accurate. Torturing the fools who came in here expecting a good live act.
     Two guys and two girls who just refuse to give up that dream of pop stardom. You just keep reaching, kids. Kids? All four are pushing 40 and denial in a death grip around the throat. Keep playing. Keep singing. Maybe an A&R man will just happen to be in Lansing on a bet or a dare. Yes, the Love Shack is where it's at. Do what you did to 'Shook Me All Night Long' to 'Jumpin' Jack Flash' you'll have a gas-gas-gas all over your ass-ass-ass.
     Anyway, the sound track enhances my overall disposition toward barely controlled homicidal rage. Brilliant start to the game. RG4 snags a tipped ball for an INT. Then bupkus. The wind howling into Drews face is enough to make Bo think twice. Punt instead of FG attempt. Um, ok. Gain what, 15 yards of field position with the wind at their backs. OK. That's why your pulling down the 7-figures. Next possession. Defense holds, forces a punt. Very well. What the Fuck call of the night #1. Pierson-El is back to receive the punt. It's coming in hot, P-El is calling off the dogs. Peterpeterpeter, waving his arms in front of him. The ball bounces, seeks love and affection from P-El, nestles into his arms like a forever home. P-El starts to run, he has a lane, if he lights the jets, he will run so fast into the wind, he will achieve lift.
     Whistle whistle whistle. Ref: We thought he was calling for a fair catch. Really? Then where's the flag. It is a penalty to signal a fair catch and then run with it. Quite unsportsman-like. Don't worry MSU, the offense has your back. We'll only move the ball a little bit, and then commit a stupid penalty. We're young. We're raw, this is only our 50th game since middle school.
     Spartans treating Ameer like Xerxes.
     Then the little niggly-ass nit-noy little things that decide games kicks in. Starting corner, Daniel Davie, gets hurt. These things happen. Sparty has a smart coaching staff. Sparty smells blood. Sparty calls a 'go' route right at the newbie who is in for his first play. He has probably heard the coaches tell him, 'they will test you' and 'be ready'. He probably heard them, he probably even listened and comprehended the sage advice of his leaders. It didn't help. Cook throws one of his satellite-guided small-diameter bombs over the top and it's big play city. 7-0 Sparta.
    
     The Huskers get the ball back. Ameer still being treated like Xerxes. Huskers attack the perimeter. Husker move well. Good drive going. Hey, lets use play-action to keep Sparty honest. Good idea. Let's have Tommy throw a deep sideline pattern into the wind. Are we sure about this? What could go wrong? Tommy throws a pick. Not so terribly surprised.
     Connor Cook, the Sparty QB, needs to pretend that every down is third down. Most of the night, he looks terrible, but on 3rd down, he channels Joe Montana. He's probably got better arm strength than Montana. Time and again he hits tough passes on third down. The defense is there, but Cook keeps hitting.
     Big plays are the difference. Sparty gets a 30-yrd touchdown run. The only decent run of the night. Ameer is stymied. A cool pass to Ameer out of the diamond formation nets 12 yards. Only time we see the diamond all night. Tommy is harassed by the Sparty D, every time he drops back, the Sparty D-ends are on him. One kid, appropriately named Rush beats both Sterrup and Lewis like cheap, garage sale drums. The wind is nullifying his passing game. Then when it cant seem to get any worse, the center, the coach's nephew, decides that his climb from the depths of walk-on drudgery to starting center, must not have any more rungs on the ladder. He's missing line-calls, he's snapping before Tommy is ready, he's falling victim to alleged shenanigans of Sparty clapping to induce movement before the snap. On a night where the entire o-line looked like death on a hot day, Marky-P stood out. Not in a good way.
     At the half, Sparta leads 17-0. Opportunities squandered, Ameer checked, Tommy looking wild-eyed, Kenny on the sideline after crushing his nuts. Second half should be better, right? Right?
     
     Defense plays ok, then gives up a big play. The big one in the third is a touchdown on a double reverse that is executed perfectly by Sparta. Textbook. Almost military drill precision.
     Weird play #2 happens in the third. Tommy drops back, Tommy gets hit while throwing. Ball hits the ground, Smart Spartan scoops it and starts to run. Whistle whistle whistle. Play is dead. Incomplete. Let's review, shall, we, lads. Conference. Upon further review, our bad, actually a fumble, MSU ball. What fresh hell is this? Defense stands, forces a field goal.
     Huskers get a field goal to preserve their dignity and hide their shame. 27-3 at the end of three. Stadium starts emptying out. There is hot food, burning booze and scorching women, elsewhere.
     Fourth quarter. Gut-check time. Tommy the gunslinger steps out. Tommy throws it all over. Life appears. Tommy gets it close. Ameer goes in for the score. Marky P screws up the snap on the 2-PAT. 27-9 less disgusting. Defense holds. P-El almost breaks one. Huskers drive. Tommy gets hurt. Ryker Fife, the walk-on from G.I. gets some time. He fires high, adrenaline. Gets close, again, Ameer, again. Failed 2-PAT, again. 27-15. Is there hope? Yes, there, is. Remaining crowd begins to murmur.
     Huskers kick. Sparty has about four minutes to kill. Huskers have three time outs. Sparty runs and Bo stops clock three times. Sparty has to punt. The punt to P-El. P-El makes a man miss. P-El finds a lane. P-El kicks in the afterburner, torches the punter. Kick the PAT. 27-22, time for the onside kick.
    Sparty covers the kick. Sparty tries to kill clock. On third down, Sparty runs out of bounds. Bad move. Field goal attempt wouldn't quite put the game out of reach, but would make it tougher. Field goal is up, field goal goes clang-clang-clang off the upright. Still 27-22 with enough time to complete the most epic comeback in Husker history. Tommy starts big. Hits Alonzo Moore down the sideline. Big gain. Huskerfan is up and psyched. Sparta is nervous. Oh, no, not again  nervous. Tommy throws a pass that should have been a pick, but somehow gets through to Westerkamp. Under a minute. Husker ball at the Sparty 36. Tommy drops back. Tommy heaves it. He's got a receiver in the end zone. Zo, again. Zo has it. Zo goes to the ground. Zo is sliding on his back. Zo must maintain control through the completion of the action. Don't we all? Zo can't. Ball pops out. So close, Zo.
     Still time. Get a little closer, spike it. Three beats to the end-zone bar and let fortune decide your fate. Tommy drops back. Receivers get tangled up on a crossing pattern. It's a timing play and the timing is off. Tommy throws one final pick.
     Sparta is relieved. They get to return with their shields. Huskers defeated, but not beaten. The thoughts of could-haves and should haves as numerous as the raindrops that keep coming down.
     Re-match in December, indoors, at a neutral site, bitches.

Nebraska 45, Illinois 14

    From the files of Lloyd.
     Game five. Illinois (IL) at Nebraska (NE).
     27 Sep. 2014 0636
     The talk all week has been a litany of otherwise in-tuned and dialed-in Huskerfan imitating Admiral Ackbar, 'It's a Trap!' Theory: It's just to give the peeps something to jaw about in order to bleed off  the impending Michigan State excitement. No one wants to say it, but this game is just a glorified practice. McNeese State be damned.
     27 Sep 2014 1458
     The pre-gaming is more sedate than last wee. The booze is flowing and the hot, young, girlies are still trying their best to look like some sort of football-themed hookers. One I saw had a too-small t-shirt that looked like it read, 'Hus ers', but the rip down the middle, revealing an embarrassing amount of decollatage. Her too-tight jean shorts and too-tall heels completed the look. A look that said, 'name your price' way before it said Go Big Red.
     Not that the lads were much better. Too many douchey hats and douchey sunglasses hung jauntily behind the head. Douchey flip-flops with basketball shorts. Almost preferable to desperately hanging on to youth guy in his replica jersey that fit really well when he was in college. Add 20 years and 40 pounds, the 11 on the chest looks like an 0, straining to complete itself.
    27 Sep. 2014 1814
     Trying to get into the mood. Just can't. Not sure what the deal is. Maybe it's the foregone conclusion nature of this game, in my mind. I do want to see how it unfolds, but it almost feels like I know how the movie ends, the book's final chapter. Maybe I'm getting too old to be wandering around through the pre-game masses. The mass among the masses. Extreme unction for the visitors granted before the last breath has left. The Host consumed by the hosts in the weekly ritual. The Host being brats and burgers. Drink of my blood, for it has ethyl alcohol. Community communion.
    27 Sep. 2014 2006
     Finally. The wait for this kickoff has been a grind. I dig that it's prime-time, but it's not, really. It's only on the BTN and even then, most of the country is getting other games. Who are we kidding? Most of the country really doesn't care about this game. Maybe a few Heisman voters want to peep in and see how FearAmeer does, but beyond that, this is really a private grudge match between a fan base that I smelling a return to glory and a fan base that is smelling the same old unwashed socks.
    27 Sep. 2014 2147
     First half is done. FearAmeer is a force to fear. 21 carries, almost 200 yards. The line is just destroying their assignments. If you thought what they did to Miami was impressive, what they did to (IL) was text-book. Chapter 1, 'How to Run-block'. Every time Ameer touches the ball, it seems like he could break it. FearAmeer opens the scoring. Weapons of environmental lethality launched. After one quarter, 127 yards rushing. Leave him in for the whole game, and he'll finish with 500+. Tommy had a rough start, 0-2 and a pick is not how you want to get things going. The pick was a bad one, too. Tommy was rolling right, keeping his eyes downfield, so far, so good, pursuit getting to him, sideline approaching, Tommy stops, plants, throws back across his body, and into a stiff wind. Linebacker picks it off. Tommy still suffers from tunnel vision, at times. He still blocks out defenders from his vision. The Illini continued the tradition of visitors scoring on their opening drive. 41-yard burst right up the gut. MIKE got lost. Cooper got juked. IL makes it 7-7. After Tommy's pick, IL moved right on down the field, again, the D finally holds inside the 10, and snatches a pick back. Huskers drive, again, but Imani Cross fumbles at the end of a play. I say he got face-masked, but what I say doesn't matter. End of one, score is 7-7. Huskers not quite hitting on all cylinders. Illini gaming it, letting it all hang out.
     Second quarter. Boom. Illinois ran 15 plays. One was a big pass for a touchdown. Other than that, IL gains 23 yards on 14 plays. Boom number one, FearAmeer from 8 yards out. 14-7, NE. IL throws another pick, which sets up boom number two. FearAmeer from 2 yards out, 21-7 NE. A 3&O sets up Boom number three. 63 yards strike to Kenny, a thing of beauty. First and 10 from their own 37. Tommy fakes the handoff, sets up in the pocket, waits, waits, waits, pressure coming, uncork that big right arm. It looks too long. Wait. What? A quarterback can overthrow a receiver. Yes. but not this time. Right on the numbers. Afrothunder80 for the TD.  Message to IL, we can hit this any time we want. 28-7, NE. IL hits their big play, making it 28-14, and Husker fan is still nervous. A made field goal and a missed field goal that had the range but not the accuracy, closes the book on the first half. 31-14. IL wants to go home. Bo won't let them.
    27 Sep. 2014 2349
     The second half, becomes a battle against topor on offense. Ameer got his 200 and is sitting. Imani plays most of the second half. Imani is a good back. Imani is bigger. Imani is no Ameer. yet. The defense is keeping things fresh, though. Playing with seven defensive backs in  'Dollar" set. It's fun. Illini QB, O'Toole cant solve it. O'Toole tries to read it, but it's like Sanskrit. O'Toole scrambles, O'Toole meets RG4 a couple times. Illini shut out for the second half. Defense figuring it out? For all the fear and loathing of an 'average' defense, they have only given up 8 touchdowns when a game was still in doubt.
     Somehow, the fourth quarter is slightly more interesting. Get to see guys that you've never heard of. Ryker Fife getting some experience. Jordy Nelson trying to show why he deserves to move from 4th to 3rd on the depth chart. The defense rolling over the Illini offense like a Labrador that found a dead squirrel in the back yard. Just to finish things, and to prevent another garbage touchdown in the final minute. Pooch turns the dogs loose. Zaire blasts O'Toole on the final play. Game over.    
28 Sep 2014 0013
     The walk home is soothing. 5-0 soothing. I don't want to think about the 300. Nebraska still won't get any love. Doesn't really deserve any until after Thermopylae, anyway. Just a hunch, but I think that this might just be the first half of a double-header. The sound of 6-0 is almost enough to make one giddy.

     I sat up in the chair, a little. "How do you know her, Lloyd?" I asked, trying to sound calm. If true, It would be a wild coincidence.
     "Years ago, I worked at Lincoln-El. I'd need to take a look at that picture of her, to be sure, but what you've described so far, sounds like a girl that I saw there, a few times. I could be wrong. There were lots of people there."
     "What did you do, there?" I asked, a bit surprised that Lloyd had worked there. When I really thought about it though, there was a lot about Lloyd that I didn't know.
     "Oh, you know, a little of this, a little of that. Mainly I designed circuit boards...and did some assembling...and you know, independent quality inspection." He sounded like he was answering the question but avoiding an answer.
     "It's okey, Lloyd," I said evenly. "I don't really care about what you might have done 20 years ago. I'm just interested in anything you might know about this girl. Come on over and look at the picture and tell me if you think it's her."
    "Come over?" Lloyd scoffed. "What for? Take a picture of the photo with you phone and send it to me."
     I shook me head at myself for not thinking of that, Did as Lloyd asked and hit the send button.
     After a couple of minutes, Lloyd's voice chimed back. "Good job, Sam Spade, now if we can just drag you kicking into the 21st Century --"
     "Knock it off, Lloyd," I sighed. "Do you know her, or not?"
     After a few more moments, Lloyd came back. "Actually, yes." I used to see her around, but I can only think of a couple of times that I talked to her. Well, one time that I talked to her, and one time where she listened in, while I got talked to."
     I grabbed  pen and pad, ready to take notes. "Okey, details, Lloyd, details"
     "The one time, I was outside at lunch. Weird, I know. You know how I feel about the sun. Anyway, I saw her hanging around the smoker's area, and she looked like she was crying, or had been anyway. Against my usual instinct, I asked her if she was all right. She nodded and dismissed me and said everything was ok. Trying to be funny, I said, "Oh, that's right. Crying is usually the socially demonstrable indicator of everything being all right."
     I knew he couldn't see me, but I was shaking my head.
     "Anyway, I don't know if it was my tone of voice, or what, but she looked at me like I had just dropped her kitten in a wood chipper, flicked her cigarette at me and stormed off."
     I was trying not to smile as I imagined the scene. Lloyd had the social skills of gorilla at a garden party, and I was  not surprised that it wasn't a recent development.
     "Tell me about the other time."
     "Oh, that," he said, a bit distantly. "Yeah, she was the witness at my exit interview."
     "Go on," I prodded.
     "Well, imagine you have a brilliant idea. Imagine this idea would turn the company you work for, from a small, but growing, local business into a heavy hitter that could go toe-to-toe with Raytheon."
     "Sounds brilliant," I said, getting more and more intrigued.
     "Imagine that this brilliant idea can be made, from parts you have just lying around the shop."
     "Getting better."
     "Imagine presenting your brilliant idea to everyone up the chain of command and getting stuffed at every turn."
     "That would be frustrating."
     "Imagine taking your own initiative, and creating a working prototype of your brilliant revolutionary idea."
     "That should convince anyone."
     "Now, imagine being called into the HR office, with your supervisor, the HR director and a member of her staff, security outside the door, and hearing the words, 'misappropriation of company property', 'termination' and 'federal charges'."
     "What the Hell, man?" I asked really trying not to laugh. I knew Lloyd to be brilliant, but not to engage in anything criminal. "What did you make?"
     "Let's just put it this way, you know the radar systems they put on cars so you don't back over Billy's bike, or don't created a second door in your garage?"
     "Yes", I said, dying of anticipation.
     "They are manufactured at L-EL. My design was the genesis of it. Not what I wanted to do with it, but pretty odd how they appreciated my work."
     "What were you going to do with it?"
     "Seeker head for hand-held, anti-personnel missile," he said, matter-of-factly.
     To be honest, I wasn't surprised.
     "Very important question, Lloyd. At this meeting where she was present, did you say or do anything that could be, you know, interpreted as a threat or anything?"
     "I don't think so. Not to her, anyway. She just sat there, looking uncomfortable, but I think was her discomfort, not mine."
     "Okey, come on over and look through these files, with me. See if that sparks any other memories that could lend some background."
     I tried to get started on the husband, Rick's file, but didn't get any further than finding out that he was the rainmaker for Land-Grant Real Estate developers. He had been at it for over five years and had landed some big-time deals. He wasn't a member of the million-dollar club, but he was close.
     Lloyd half-crashed, half-slammed through the door. His usual entrance. He carefully closed the door, looking slightly embarrassed, as if that had never happened before.
     "Glad you made it," I said. "Now, lets get into --"
     "I've got to tell you about the Cowboys," he blurted.
     "What cowboys?" I asked, a little perplexed by his sudden change of tack. I shouldn't have been, but I was.
     "McNeese State. Duh," he said, looking at me as if I were the slow kid who had pasted his hands together...again.
     "Oh. Right." I sat back down and chambered a round from the desk bottle. Once Lloyd gets fixated on football, he rolls. Ask him a simple, one line question, and he'll give a 20-minute dissertation if you don't reign him in. "Break it down."
     Lloyd went into his zone. He got that far-away look like he was communing with the Oracle of South Bend. If his voice had changed, I would have hit him. "I can't decide if this game is going to be a bigger blow-out than last week, or slightly smaller."
     "Firm commitment, there, Lloyd."
     "They are the 7th-ranked team in the FCS. I just can't figure out if that makes them better than FAU or not. Either way, this is one of those games where there really is no benefit to Nebraska."
     "A win is a win, right?"
     "Yes. And no. Everyone expects Nebraska to win by a large margin, so if it is close or if they pull off a Appalachian State-Michigan scenario, it's like losing two games."
     "So, what's going to happen?" I asked, hoping he would finish up so we could get back to business.
     "It will be a blow-out. There. I decided. McNeese state has a terrible defense, they have trouble stopping FCS opponents. This is also their first game and the Huskers have a ton of confidence. I'm thinking that Ameer will have another 200-yard day. I think the coaches will want to work on Tommy getting better at checking down his pass options. He'll only throw deep if Kenny or Jordan are so wide open that I could throw the ball to them using three tries to get the ball there."
     "That would be a sight," I laughed.
     "Their offense will actually be pretty good. I'm betting they get to the end-zone a couple of times, possibly both in the first half. Will cause some concern when the ticker scrolls by with Nebraska 21-McNeese State 14."
     "That would cause some concern."
     "Randy Gregory being out will not be that big of a deal. Jack Gangwish will start in his place, but I don't think hell be going up against a high draft pick left tackle."
     "Can we go two games in a row without a turnover?"
     "I'd like to say yes, but the odds tell me, no. It might be something silly like a muffed punt, or it will be late in the game when the back-ups are in, but there will be one."
     "Hit me with a final score. I need to add to my stash. I added 90 bucks last week and I need to make it grow."
     "There is no Vegas line, so you'll have to connect with one of the O-Street bookies," Lloyd said, with a slight hint of disdain in his voice.
     "Duly, noted," I said. "What is your prediction, for entertainment purposes only."
     "The two drives that were field goals, last week, are touchdowns, this week. 63 for Nebraska. McNeese State has a decent offense, and will make things interesting for a while. Final score, 63-20."
     "Thanks for the knowledge, Lloyd. Now, lets get down to business and see if we cant figure out what happened to the lovely miss Jamie, and why Tompkins cares so much."

Honky Tonk Woman

                Tawna's file on 'The Girl' was pretty thin, which  I guess was appropriate since the girl was thin, and pretty. The name they had on her was Cynthia Thomas. Occupation, actress/entertainer, which could mean she was an actress or it could be a euphemism. Age, 25, not a student and a bit unusual for one of the  guys on the team to be connected with an 'older' woman. The address they had on her was in a decent part of town. The vehicle she drove was a dark blue Mustang, not new, but not a clunker, either.

            The pics in her file showed her with Ray at some team event. A couple of goofy photo booth snaps and a few surveillance shots that were about as incriminating as admitting that you had a library card. I spread the photos out on my desk and really looked at them. There was just something about them that kept slipping up to me and slipping away again just as I was about to grasp it. It wasn't a sense of instant, surprising recognition, like watching an episode of 'Rockford Files' and realizing the bad guy is Ed Harris. It was more like seeing someone out of context, knowing, just knowing that you have seen the person before, but in a different setting, or with completely different lighting, or in black and white instead of color.

            I pushed back in my chair and assessed my next move. It was pretty clear that I had to track down the girl and see what connection she had besides girlfriend.  I had to find out if it was a serious thing, or just a bit of fun. There was no mention of any kid in the dossier, so I don't know if Tawna was messing with me or if she just didn't have the info. There had to be a deeper connection than the one on the surface. If the relationship made Tawna itchy, I had to take notice.

            The easiest, and most obvious step was to roll out to the address listed and see if she was home and have a little chin-wag. I got the car and started rolling south. I had the radio on the local sports station and got to hear news about seven defensive players becoming Blackshirts. Good job. Kind of different than recent years but a big morale booster for a young defense about to get tested in a couple of days. I rolled through  the neighborhoods that were populated by Chevy Malibus and Toyota Corollas. I passed into more recent developments where SUV's and minivans stood poised to make supply runs to Hy Vee to get a week's worth of groceries that the pioneers could have stretched into three months. I turned a last corner and eased down a street where Mercs, Jags, and Lexi kept on eye on things. The trees whispered the presence of an outsider to each other and the front lawns entered greenness competitions. I pulled into the right driveway.

            No car, but she might keep it in the garage. The house was nice, and yes, I had to say it was too nice for an actress/entertainer that had yet to make her break. Lincoln wasn't exactly a hub in film industry. It looked like it was a three to four bedroom job on two floors and a basement. Big house to live in alone. In this part of town, the property taxes would pay for a teacher for at least a semester.

            I figured a direct-ish approach would be best. I reached into my glove box and selected one of my business cards. I went up to the door and rang the bell. How's that for direct? The door was opened by a sleepy looking young woman wearing a fuzzy robe over a pink t-shirt with the word 'pink' in black lettering. Clever that. She was pretty, small, thin build, and the look she had was one of late nights, ETOH and not enough coffee, yet. I love the noon hour in college towns.

            She focused her gaze on me and asked, "what is it?" while stifling a yawn.

            Show time. "Hi. My name is Sam Hawkins and I'm an agent for Blackhawk Productions. A friend of mine sent me video of one of Cynthia's performances. We were quite impressed and would love to chat with her about an upcoming television role." I held my card out to her held between my first two fingers. She took the card, read it over and woke up all at once.

            "Come on in. She's not here, right now, but let me see if I can get a hold of her for you." I followed her into the house. The decor was spare if not spartan. One couch in front of a decent sized flat-screen on the wall in the living room. The sink had collected dishes from the several days ago and didn't look like it was in any mood to get started on them. There were notes and a dry-erase board on the fridge that had contact numbers and sectors with the names Cynthia, Natasha, Jordan and Emily printed in neat, precise handwriting.

            She went to a line of phones charging on the counter and picked one up. A few tippity taps and then we waited. I kept scanning the room, while the girl scanned me. She had that look like she didn't quite believe my schtick. That meant that she was  at least a little bit smart.

            "Hey, Cynthia. This is Natasha," she said to the phone in a sing-song tone. "There's a guy here, who says he's got a gig that he thinks your perfect for. He's from Blackhawk Productions. The number is 402-555-2368. Bye-eee." She ended the call and looked up at me. "She didn't pick up, so I left a voice-mail. But that is kinda weird."

            "What's weird?" I asked.

            "That she's off the grid. She almost always picks up. At the very least to text back if she's too busy to talk, or working or stuff like that."

            "When was the last time you talked to her, or heard from her at all?"

            "Last night. She was heading out as I was coming home." Natasha had a concerned look, and kept chewing at her lip.

            "Are you okey," I asked. Her stance was telling me that something was vibing her as very hinkey.

            "Yeah, I'm fine." She brightened a bit and added a smile that never made it to her eyes. "It's just that she never stays out all night. Never. She might get home at 5 in the morning, sometimes, but she always comes home. This is not like her."

            "Where was she going?"

            "She had just got back from dinner with Ray. It was early because he was tired from practice. Then she was going to a party, downtown."

            "What kind of party? Frat, kegger, something like that?" I asked.

            Natasha smiled. "No, sooo not her thing. When Cynthia says she's going to a party, it's one of those high class deals where guys with too much money and too much to drink try to look down her dress while she laughs at their lame jokes."

            "That sounds political," I said. "Or financial. Like investments and land deals, that sort of thing."

            Natasha shifted gears on me, maybe realizing she had said more than she intended. "I'm not sure. It's her life, and she always seems to have a good time. Who am I to judge?" she shrugged off some other thoughts.

            I refocused on my role. "Well, when she gets in, have her call me. You have my card. I was hoping to meet her, today. It's a pretty good role I'd like her to audition for, but I'm sure I can find another cute blondie to take the gig." I started moving to the door. "You said Ray had to practice. What is he, in a band or something?"

            Natasha really laughed this time. "No. He's on the football team. Football practice." She shook her head.

            "What is it?" I asked.

            There was a hint of a smile left. "He's funny. He thinks he's going to cash in on the NFL in a couple of years."

            "You don't think he will?"

            "I have no idea. My dad says he's a back-up, who hasn't gotten enough playing time to prove himself. Without cracking the starting line-up, he'll be lucky to get a try-out in Canada...whatever that means." She looked up at me with an earnest expression of concern. "I'll call you if I hear anything, too."

            "Great," I said. "You do that. Time is money, you know." I waved a little salute at her and headed for the car.

            I started heading back to the office while the sports guys started tossing predictions for the Wyoming game around. I listened and weighed what was being said. If push came to shove, I was thinking Nebraska would take Wyoming, 52-24. The offense is going to roll, maybe the best in the Conference. The defense was young, inexperienced, and talented, but might give up a few big plays.

            That sounded familiar.

Going Back to Ohio

     It may not look like much on the scoreboard, but a rally from a 17 point deficit to a 3 point win is pretty impressive. The swing from last year was a whopping 34 points. Big difference: no Russell Wilson for the Stinking Badgers. Not as big difference, the new and improved Taylor Martinez.
     You always hear how the game is won in the trenches, usually spoken by guys who's only idea of trench warfare is the assorted 22 minutes or so from Downton Abby. If true, then the Husker front four drove the mastodons from UW even closer to extinction. Extra props to the linebackers, too. All made impressive plays, 'Zo Whaley, Sean Fisher and Will Compton stood out at key moments. Compton reminds me of a classic throwback '60's linebacker, except fast.
     I think the ground game has a recipe for long term success. Wave after wave of Burkhead and Abdullah. You could see it starting to take shape in the second half. Sprinkle in a little T-Magic and this offense looks like it might be unstoppable by anyone, save themselves. Dropping 45 points a game on opponents is tough to counter.
     On to the next gig. All the way to Columbus, Ohio. Lloyd and I loaded up the van with lads and began the odyssey all the way to the Arch City...wonder if that's because of Archie Griffen? I could see it. "Groping in the Dark" was booked for a place called 'The Worst Bar in Columbus'. I'm sure the competition was fierce, but that is the actual name of the place. I sought out the owner or manager or bartender who looked like he was in charge in order to get sorted out.
     I wonder if Bo will have any chance to enjoy his homecoming.
     Rod was a decent sort, all things considered. He only looked at us like we were noisy tourists talking too loudly in a cathedral. More tolerant than I expected. I anticipated him looking at us like enemy agents trying to slip by his border post undetected. Yes, he knew where we were from.
     He came sauntering up as Nigel struggled to fit his synthesizer onto the tiny stage with all the other gear. "You know you're going to lose on Saturday, don'cha?"
     Figuring that Nigel had no idea about what Rod was talking about, I intervened. "Lose at what?" I asked, putting on my best confused look. That one is easy, I'm confused a lot.
     "The Buckeyes are going to destroy Nebraska, ol' Braxton will run circles around them."
     "What is a Buckeye and who or What is a Braxton?", I asked, not rising to the bait.
     "The Buckeyes, you know, the football team from THE Ohio State University."
     I always hated that extra emphasis on 'The' that OSU players and fans coughed out.
     "Braxton Miller is the quarterback that will make those Cornhumpers look silly", Rod continued.
     "Oh, ok," I nodded. "You still haven't told me what a Buckeye is, though."
     "Awe, hell, it's a tree. The Ohio Buckeye, a type of chestnut."
     "Why name your team after a tree?"
     "It's not just the team. It's the State, the people. Ohio is the Buckeye State."
     Chas chimed in, "You mean like conkers?"
     "What?"
     "Conkers. You put the conkers, or horse chestnuts, on a bit of string and whack the hell out of them in turn, until one breaks," he explained.
     Rod looked at him as if he had grown a second head, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
     "Yanks," he scoffed and went back to setting up.
     I had a feeling that Chas was on to something, though. I started thinking that the game would be like a game of conkers. Each side is going to take a whack at the other until one breaks. Both offenses are just a bit better than the defenses they will face.
     Nebraska was the more diverse attack, and will force OSU to play honestly all game. The main weapon is Taylor Martinez, who has been making key passes as well as plays with his running. Rex and Ameer are the best running back tandem in the B1G. Kenny, Quincey and Kyler are effective downfield weapons.
     OSU has Braxton Miller. He does the same job as the entire Nebraska backfield. He is the key to the game. He is just a good enough passer to hurt the defense. He won't sit back in the pocket and pick the D apart, he'll do it while running, drawing defenders up and hitting receivers that get left open.
     The band brought me out of my reverie as they sound checked with Blondie's 'One Way or Another'. Seems to fit to me. A huge dude wearing khaki shorts and an Ohio State sweatshirt ambled up to me. The shirt was so badly stretched over his massive gut, that the type 'O' looked more like an ellipse. "Are you Sam?" he wheezed.
     "Yeah," I said. Who wants to know?
     "Susan said to give you this," he said, pressing a folded piece of paper to my hand.
     I opened it right there. It read 'Meet me at midnight at a place called Hang Over Easy -- S'
     That meant I could hang out, catch the game, and still hit the meeting. Finally, a break.
     I settled in to bide my time and watch the track meet that was about to unfold.
     A track meet that I expect the Huskers to win, 38-35.
     Husk-husk and on the qb.

New Blood on the search

     I finally caught up to Non-Stop John at Brewsky's. He had notebooks, a pitcher of beer, a plate of nachos and two cell phones arrayed in front of him. He seemed to be trying to watch all 15 screens on the wall at once. Neat trick when you can manage it.
     "John," I said, "Or if you prefer 'Non-Stop', I've got a couple of questions to ask you."
     He motioned for me to sit, and gave me a quick glance over his shades. "You can ask. Don't know if I'll have any answers, though. And if it's betting tips, you can go away, now."
     "I don't need betting tips. I've got a missing person and was told that you may have heard something about her."
     John leaned back in his chair. He placed his hands behind his head in an obvious attempt at looking unconcerned. "Why are you coming to me with this?"
     "I need help and I'm stumped. You came highly recommended, but if you don't want to help..."
     "I'm not linked to this chick?"
     "No."
     "Who recommended me?"
     "Preacherman."
     He relaxed. "You should have said so, earlier. Preach and I go way back. What are the particulars?" he asked pulling one of his notebooks toward him.
     I told him about Susan, ''Groping in the Dark" and the trip to L.A. with the tip from Mickey. I told him how Lloyd and I had taken over the management of the band and how we needed to find things to keep them busy. He nodded, took a few notes and asked a few clarifying questions. "I can connect with some people, but if it starts involving a lot of leg-work..."
     "I know. If you get into this for me, I will get you my agency's standard fee for an investigator, assuming you're bonded and licensed, of course," I said, doubtfully.
     "Licensed, bonded, never use it. Just in case kind of thing."
     We shook on the agreement and I nodded toward the screens. "Do you think the Huskers will get their revenge, on Saturday?"
     "Against the Stinking Badgers," he said like the bandito at the end of Treasure of the Sierra Madre. "If they use their speed advantage. It's not like last year where they can load up the box and dare Martinez to throw. They will have to play their defense straight-up, which means that Martinez can check down to plays that will take advantage of what the defense is showing. The speed factor comes in if Beck makes the defense run after them on every play. Tosses, pitches, screens, jailbreaks, that sort of thing. The Huskers are so deep at receiver, they can spread the field all night long, stretch them both horizontally and vertically."
     "How about the ground game?"
     "Nebraska has four backs, three should get a decent number of carries. I hope that Beck uses them in waves, maybe Cross comes in in short yardage situations. Burkhead is back, Abdullah has proven himself and Heard is decent, too. I don't think the Badgers defense will be able to take the pounding for a full four quarters. But that might not even matter. Nebraska has gotten off to a fast start in every game this year."
     "Big question, now. Will the defense be able to handle the behemoths? They have been chasing spread-option offenses all year. Can they change it up and play a team that is committed to a ground game, especially if Montee Ball plays?"
     "If Huskers do to UW what they did to Martinez, last year. Load the box with 8 defenders, dare them to pass and double team Jared  Abredeis in passing situations. Half of Stave's completions went to Abredeis and he has 40% of their receiving yards for the year. They do not have the weapons they had last year. Remember last year when Wilson made the defense look silly? That guy is starting in the NFL this year. Stave is not a pro prospect, yet. The defense needs to take advantage of that difference."
     "What about special teams?"
     "The Huskers have had their ups and downs, I don't expect it to be a big difference maker."
     "Any score predictions?" I asked
     "Nebraska will get out to an early lead, putting even more pressure on the Wisconsin passing game. If Nebraska can get up by two possessions, Pooch will be pinning the ears back and turning the pass rush loose. Every possession Nebraska has with a sizable lead will be run heavy, to quicken the game and take time away from any potential come back. Hostile crowd, emotional weight to the game. I expect a 17-3 Nebraska lead to finish up as a 31-10 grab the conference by the throat game."
    "One last question. Why do they call you 'Non-Stop'?"
    "That," he said with a wry smile. "Is a secret."
    Husk-husk and on the qb.