I'm a horrible blogger, I know. I wouldn't want to disappoint, though, so I'll do a little Colorado mop up duty. Those of you who didn't drive 12 hours to cover a crappy game can live vicariously through us (un)fortunate ones. It's a long story, so pack a lunch.
The drive TO Boulder wasn't so bad, the time flies by because the day is filled with promise. At the end of the road, we knew we'd find mountains, surprisingly tolerable hippies and hilarious memories (OK, that only applies to Tom and me). Nick had the foresight to pack a cooler of sandwiches, Cokes, Aquafina, and glorious Entenmann's donuts, as well as Doritos and some heavenly butter-flavored pretzels. D-zamn those donuts and pretzels were good.
Our first major stop was in Russell, Kan., because the Imp's gas tank is humongous. Russell, by the way, is the boyhood home of Bob Dole and Arlen Specter. Go figure. Fonty had to fight the urge to buy the "Kansas: Home of the Big Cocks" blaze-orange hunting hat. It was $8, which we all agreed was a bit much. Nick went to the bathroom twice there, which confused me a bit.
Russell is also the last bastion of civilization (though it is debatable whether Russell counts as civilized) before Colby, Kan., "The Oasis on the Plains."
Colby, in keeping with its oasis slogan, has some palm trees. That's weird. It also has an Arby's, which excited Fontaine a bit too much. I have to admit I miss the Beef 'n' Chedder, though, because I refuse to go to the mall to get fast food. As Fonty pointed out, the "fine folks at Arby's" are doing more than roast beef these days. Indeed.
After Colby, it was a couple more hours of blahblahblah in so-called "Colorful Colorado" before we hit Denver. The only color I saw was in the sky, where the sunset was exquisite and we could see the moon and the sun at the same time at opposite ends of the horizon.
We stop in a town called Arriba. They don't even have pay-at-the-pump. I can't believe Fontaine had the figs to do what he did thurr.
When we finally got to Denver, Nick profusely confessed his love for John Elway. Seriously, dude, I thought you were straight (and not in a Lady Breath Sesay kind of way). Watching Nick in Broncos country is like watching E.Burns (to whom the trip was dedicated) anywhere there's a coach, athlete or sports writer. (OMGYG, that's Jay Mariotti.) Except Nick's obsession is much more healthy.
Finally we're in Boulder, woo-hoo. Same hotel and e'reything. It was almost eerie. Our room was two doors down from the scene of the crime. First stop was the Dark Horse Pub. E'reybody thinks it's really cool, but Megan makes the interesting and valid point that there is some c. (creepy) shit on the ceiling. E.g. random shoes, bear skins, dismantled carousel. I have to admit it was a little weird.
After that it was deja vu all over again, margs at Rio and PBR at the Walrus (of course it was Diet Coke e'reywhere for me). It was definitely fun, but certainly not as fun-ny as when EMB was getting loaded back on Feb. 21. Wow.
As described elsewhere in the blog community, Mofo, Howray, Megan and I turned in early. I guess Mo and Holly didn't have much confidence in Dubs' decision-making after a long night of drinking, because they left him a map on the door. Tom thought Mo had someone in her bed, though I wasn't there for that one, it's all hearsay.
Fontaine and Jen showed up bright and early to catch a ride to the game. I'd never met Jen, but I needed to know only one thing: Jason O'Connell. 'Nuf said.
The game was s'y but it was one of the best times I've had covering an event. Mike D. shared great stories. In one, he gets laid in the photo bubble at the Joplin Globe. In another, he writes a Chiefs gamer from his living room after learning the Missourian was going to d. him on reimbursements. An "Instant Classic."
I invite the CU media relations staff to relocate to CoMo at their first whim. They think I'm joking.
Doug Gillon of crush on Strick-9 fame asks several of the stupidest questions I've ever heard, (though AH rivaled him today). Doug would have exploded on the spot had GP had friggin' laser beams attached to his head.
After the game, we bump into Doesn't and McNamara at Chili's. What are the odds? Doesn't doesn't say much, but enough to start me warming up to him. Let's just say he's not on the list, but he's not off it either.
Then, Megan gets her dream-come-true when we decide to booze at the hotel instead of going out. Maureen's happy, too, because Andy Roddick and Dave Matthews were on SNL.
We depart for CoMo at 8 a.m. Sunday. The drive back sucks because at the end of the long road this time, there's only Missouri. No mountains, very little fun. Hence the drive home is not nearly as eventful.
We do a lot of impressions, but Tom is still our favorite.
Our service at Steak 'n' Shake s's dick. E'reybody agrees.
Fontaine hopes most of the truckers on I-70 jackknife and fly through the windshield. He also wishes very bad things upon Slimy Mike. I agree.
Slimy Mike defeats the field in the "Who's a bigger tool?" game.
Nick taunts the toll booth lady. She thinks she knows, but really she has no idea.
We finally get to K.C.
The road signs taunt us, reminding us every couple of miles that we still have 97, 95, 92, 88. 82, 78, (you get the idea) miles to go.
We get home. Chile is so happy to see us that he begins the purr tactic at 2:30 a.m. I bribe him with food, but he isn't interested. The purring continues incessantly, so I sleep like s. and feel like s. today.
F. in the B.
