The city erupted. Thousands of people simultaneously poured out of the bars, their homes, cars and clogged the roads like a herd of cattle loose through a broken fence. The police shut down traffic, set up barricades and suited up in riot gear. Helicopters circled the mob from above. Drunk hooligans of all ages and creeds danced in the streets, spraying beer and champagne on everything. FUNS' Tonight We Are Young played at deafening decibels from unseen speakers. A group of frat boys started a 'tits for Cats' chant with young coeds flashing their perfectly shaped breasts in approval. It was pandemonium.
Old ladies. Kids. Whole families. Several generations in succession all joined the make-shift block party. I stood amongst the merry makers with one hand on my forehead and the other gripping an open container in total shock and disbelieve. It felt like I'd waited my whole life for this very moment. It was as happy/nice as a disturbance could be but a disturbance none-the-less and the police didn't even try to stop us. In fact they were high fiving passersby and posing for pictures. We all appeared to be on the same page. The busiest intersection on campus had become a five thousand deep rager in a matter of minutes and things still seemed to be under control. Earlier in the day we'd heard the governor had called in some National Guard reserves just in case the University of Kentucky indeed won their eight national championship (which they had) and things turned ugly (which they would). When I asked one of boys in blue about it he shrugged and said in a cliche southern police officer drawl ...
"We don't need no yahoos in our town."
Just then I heard a call come in over his radio. A News van had been flipped on State Street, the other side of town, and the cops were outnumbered there a thousand to one. It would appear the tone of the drunks was changing for the worse. I stepped away and let the man call in back-up. Just down the street from where we were standing I saw a couch set ablaze. Heavy, dangerous vibes. Where were my friends? Better keep moving before things grew more disagreeable. Guess officer-too-confident might want some 'Yahoos' called in after all ....
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Things had started civil enough. I'd driven down to Lexington late the night before and passed out on Phil's couch almost immediately in anticipation of the day to come. I'd been through this all the year before when the Wildcats made it to their first final four since 1998. They lost to Uconn in the semis and all hell broke loose at the bar (see this post). This year I decided not to jump the gun and waited until they had defeated our most hated rival Louisville to advanced to the finals. We woke up early game day and went for lunch at Wheeler's Pharmacy, a University of Kentucky and Lexington institution. I'm embarrassed to say in my four year student career I'd never eaten there so this was a long time coming, according to Phil, a Lexington native.
Imagine a 50's era malt shop tucked away in the back of a Walgreens like mom-and-pop convenience store. Burgers cooked to order behind the the counter by your waitress, no cooks in the open kitchen, and hand dipped strawberry shakes. All produce and meat farm fresh, hot and juicy. A throw-back to a by gone era. Kentucky coaching legends have been regulars there over the years including current coach John Calipari. I'd tell you where it is but then I'd have to kill you. It's a local secrete and apparently it gets very crowded on game day so they don't want any tourists or 'yankees' coming in and filling up the very limited seating. We must have hit a lull and managed to zip through in just under ninety minutes.
We had one more errand, hitting Fan Outfitters for some fresh UK gear. Countless t-shirts with catchy slogans, flags, jerseys and an empty table with a brazen sign displayed saying 'Area reserved for National Championship Merchandise.' So much for not counting chickens before they hatch. The immense anticipation was growing by the minute. Everyone was talking about the match-up or the previous victory over UofL. Once we got back to the apartment there was constant ESPN coverage that only made us more anxious. The talking heads were hammering home the story lines of the match-up. The top two winningest and two of the oldest programs in college basketball history. The usual human interest stories about so-so player who grew up poor in the ghetto. It was also player of the year Anthony Davis (UK) against Coach of the Year Bill Self (Kan). The hype grew bigger and bigger as the count down to tip off grew nearer and nearer.
By two in the afternoon we'd had a few beers, a joint and half a pack of cigarets each but not leveled out; keyed up beyond belief. I felt like I was about to suite-up and take practice lay-ups myself. Phil broke out three mason jars filled with clear, purple and golden solutions. Home made moonshine in original octane, blueberry and apple pie flavors. We took turns taking sips of the ice cold hooch which had been resting in the freezer over night. The flavored verity was a tasty and sippable 80 proof but the full strength was a mind numbing 150 proof and tasted like liquid fire. All three jars soon vanished between the seven or eight of us who were pre-gaming together. An hour later my buzz was heavy but I still found myself pacing the deck incessantly like a crackhead on the boulevard needing a fix; twitching, shuddering, talking to myself. This game couldn't start soon enough.
We walked to the one and only Charlie Browns to watch the game. It's not only my favorite bar in town it's the only place I've ever worked that is worth coming back too.The streets were alive with people of all shapes and sizes, all with ear to ear grins, probably just as drunk/stoned as we were. With the sun shinning and the fans clamoring everywhere it felt good to be alive and even better to be a Kentucky fan.
We sat down at the bar where we coned some friends who had the misfortune of working into saving us the primo seats. Still four hours and counting. I didn't know if we'd make it but like all things much anticipated it all flew by much too fast. The game was incredibly entertaining and Kentucky lead wire to wire. Kansas never got closer then six points. The Cats were the best team in the field, we had the best players but you still have to win the games and as the clock expired in New Orleans the last game of the season (the one for all the marbles) was ours.
We'd closed our tabs with a minute left so we could sprint to the corner of Woodland and Euclid for the madness ... just like the posters from '96 and '98 most of us had grown up wishing we'd be old enough to experience first hand. I was just fourteen in 1998 and was watching the game with my dad in Columbus, Ohio. Growing up in Kentucky, the old man was a life long fan and that very night the seed was planted in me, where it germinated for the next five years and later sprouted when I became a student at the university.
During my tenure we suffered through the Tubby years. I still love the guy but he was not getting it done at a school that demands national championships and number one recruiting classes. We never made it to a final four while I lived in Lexington and our brightest star was my still favorite NBA point guard Rajon Rondo but even a first round draft pick like Rondo wasn't close to enough for me or any other UK fan. That's not to say I didn't enjoy the hell out of my fan experience as an undergrad but I'd been waiting eight years for this and my team had finally delivered.
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After shit got real at the block-party and I'd lost my friends I wandered my way towards down town where traffic was also at a stand-still. People were hooking and flashing there lights in euphoria instead of rage. I slapped high-fives with every driver I passed. The city was one, like I'd never seen it before. I bar hoped solo until I ran into two old friends I hadn't seen since college. We drank late into the night and even talked the bar tender into staying open past the official closing time of 2:30 am.
"One more drink and a shot for you," I begged.
"We close at 2:30," he replied.
"Please ... I drove down from Ohio for this. I waited eight years for this. I'm paying for a college degree I may never use for this."
He caved and we all slammed back another room temperature Makers Mark.
After we were finally kicked out, the three of us completed the college nostalgia trip by eating at the all-night shit hole dinner Tolly-Ho. I inhaled my double-ho burger and cheader-tots, slipping in and out of total black out. By the time we'd finished it was 6 in the morning. I said good-bye and stumbled back to Phil's place where everyone was terrified I'd been arrested, mugged or worse ... crashed with a fat chick. I assured them I was OK and in one piece, all be it an alcohol and burger grease soaked piece. We exchanged stories of revelry and called it until tomorrow, when weed smoke would chase our hangovers away and we'd watch them raise the newest banner in Rupp Arena.
