Boo Hoo for Da U

"All of us, we're going out tonight ...
The kooks are out in the streets."

-The Kooks, Matchbox




Life's best experiences are often unplanned and untimely. They come out of left field. A phone call from a friend asking if your interested in going to Mardi Gras, the only catch, you have to leave immediately. A free ticket to that band you love but you work early the next morning. It's usually at this point when people like me say fuck it and take whatever adventure awaits head on while the other half of humanity probably makes the more responsible decision. The aforementioned group, my people, know life is meant to be lived. No one lays on there deathbed wishing they'd passed on more road trips or seen fewer shows.

Once in awhile a surprise comes along that is a total win/win. You have no possible negative consequences to worry about. There really isn't a decision to be made at all. The stars align, the Gods look down in favor and you just ride a wonderful wave of luck ...

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Buckeye football is your birthright if you're born anywhere in Ohio. If your from Columbus, home of THE Ohio State University, you're a devotee for life. Of course there's always "those people," the ones who root against the home team just to annoy. There are out-of-towners who have other alliances. However, even these outliers know on Saturdays, at any bar in this city, there is really only one team that matters. It often bleeds across state lines. I rooted for the Bucks for my entire tenure at the University of Kentucky. Don't get me wrong, I rooted for UK too, my love of their basketball program is just as intense. Even so, currently living in a sports town that only has pro hockey/soccer, Buckeye football is king.

Like any real fan would, I've coordinated my work schedule to be off for all the big games. During Miami week, my old roommate Shooter stopped by after work for a few beers. We watched The Daily Show and discussed plans for the weekend. I didn't have anything going on but he was heading out to his parents place to pick up a last minute gift. His dad had tickets to the game but was out of town on business until the following Monday.

"Yea, so I have an extra ticket," he told me. "Your more than welcome to come." He said it as if he were inviting me to a $1 movie; nonchalant, in passing.

"Are you being serious? Don't fuck with me," I said, nearly convulsing with shock. "How much?"

"Well, for free dude. I need someone to go with."

"Of course I want to go!" I grabbed another drink and took a large celebratory swig. I couldn't believe how lucky I was. Tickets were selling for $100. Thank ... you ... Shooter. Having gone away to school, I'd only attended a few games at The Horseshoe and they were laughers. Kent State, Northern Illinois, or the like. This would be hands down, the biggest, most important football game I'd ever seen in person. I couldn't wait.

The following evening I got a call from The Captain (see Roo 2010 posts). An Ohio native, currently living in North Carolina, he was coming into town to see his family. He also had tickets and wanted to meet up before the game to tailgate. Who were we to argue? All three of us were Kentucky Alum and it had been about a year since we were all in the same place at the same time. Black outs were a foregone conclusion.

On game day I drove down to Shooters place in German Village. We walked into Planks Bier Garten sporting our newly purchased jersey's; Shooter in Ross Homan's #51 and me in Brian Rolle's #36, our own private linebacking core for hire. At Planks service is poor and the grub takes forever, but it was good for bar food. While sipping Bloody Mary's and watching Game Day we chit chatted with other Buckeye faithful. Three drinks and a cordon bleu later I felt ready to kick into binge mode. Nationwide tailgating is very serious business during football season. Columbus is no different. The RVs show up to the stadium three days ahead of time. Drinking starts at sunrise on Saturday and the scent of charcoal is rich for miles down High street.

After parking the car on 5th Ave, we began to hike north towards campus. It was perfect football weather, a cool, overcast 70 degrees, but rain was in the forecast. Not that it mattered, nothing could damper our mood. The walk was long but enjoyable. Through The Gateway, past the new Student Union, and then east on Lane Ave. There were people everywhere, marching like a giant amoeba across streets, enveloping cars as they passed. Traffic was at a crawl, drivers looking pissed. That usual pre-game excitement/tension was in the air. I'd seen only a few Miami fans along the way and was surprised by the poor turn out. When the Texas Longhorns came to town they traveled in droves, easily twice as many. Whenever a big game comes to town cell phone reception is weak at best.

Finally a call went through. Apparently we'd been walking the wrong direction on Lane for twenty minutes. We turned around and made our way towards the stadium. After a few more garbled phone conversations we found The Captain and his tailgate. His group was in upwards of a hundred people, all from his hometown. The entire parking lot was a sea of scarlet and gray. Our party was just one of thousands in a five mile radius. The air was thick with the smell of charred meat. We munched on finger food and drank warm Guinness, Miller Lites or whatever was available. We toasted to life, friendship, and The Buckeyes. Some pineapple soaked in Everclear also made the rounds.

"This tastes rancid," I heard someone say. "It's awful."

"How many pieces did you have?," his friend asked.

"Six." We munched pieces of our own and walked to the game.

If it had been a contest of pageantry and ritual, we'd have won before kick off. OSU oozes tradition, nationally recognized for its academic merit and gridiron greatness. The university is of a higher breed. What does Miami have? Some national titles and a lot of felons. Da U is a football factory, not a university. Ohio State is a culture, a way of doing things. These clowns from South Beach may never understand.

Our seats were phenomenal, in the south end zone, just above the Block O student section. Marching across the field, The Best Damn Band in the Land indulged in one of the most memorable traditions in all of sports, the dotting of the "I" in script Ohio. During the somber Carmen Ohio the classless Miami fans were chanting and carrying on in an effort to drown out our song. One of them was only a few rows above us to the right. He was a mountain of a man, tan and tone. He looked like he'd just came from season two of MTV's Jersey Shore. A guido in a tight, airbrushed wife beater with Miami's trademark "U" shaved into his head. His Gucci shades were the kicker, considering the sun was no where to be found. As classy as white trash gets.

Through out the game the bleachers were full of would-be coaches and self proclaimed experts. Retired third grade teachers who just wanted head coach Jim Tressell to line-up in an I-back formation and smash these jerks in the mouth. When you stop to think, it's amazing how knowledgeable Buckeye fans are. In very few stadiums will you hear a 50 year old woman call out down and distance with surprisingly frequent accuracy before the PA announcer can make the official call. A father sat behind us with his ten-year-old son. It was the kids first game in Ohio Stadium and he picked a good one, full of hard hits and big plays. If we hadn't spotted them two special teams touch downs it would have been a slaughter but as it played out we were happy with a 36-24 win. Now it was time to really drink. We were going out tonight, to hit the streets and celebrate. We'd dodged the stigma of not being able to win "the big one" for at least a couple more months.

The three of us met up with The Captain's parents at Donatos on campus for pizza and pitchers. We gorged and drank, said our good byes and went off to continue the bender. The first stop was Scarlet and Gray Cafe were an amazing cover band had us grooving and shaking. During a break in the action a group of middle aged woman approached Shooter.

"How do you know Ross?" they asked in reference to the #51 Ross Homan jersey he was wearing.

"I don't," Shooter said. "I just think he's bad ass, so I got his jersey." Apparently the group were all from the starting linebackers hometown Coldwater, Ohio. It was a very small place (population under 5,000), where everyone knows everything about each other. Ross was the star football player from the local high school and he'd always dreamed of playing for OSU. He was very shy, soft spoken and easy going, which is why he doesn't get the attention other players enjoy. We bought them a round and talked for a bit longer about our shared hero before making our way south.

The streets were alive. Not the bedlam of 2002 (the last championship season) but give it time, it was only the second game of the year. Some sad souls were just sitting on the curb, tapping out, drifting in and out of consciousness. We'd pop into a bar here or there and have a drink and than move on to the next. The names of these establishments changes so often I couldn't be bothered with it for this post. I do remember talking to a Hurricane fan at Out R Inn who was still crying about the mentioned 2002 title game, claiming the phantom pass interference call was the reason the Buckeyes ended up champions. Every football game ever played could hinge on a call or a no call. Let it go already, stop feeling sorry for yourselves. They still had their chances after the ref dropped his hanky. I only had one thing on my mind at this point anyway. A frisky female coed. We pounded more shots and flirted with the closest available skirt.

A few hours later, I came out of my drunken stupor at McFadden's, a bro bar in The Gateway. I was attempting to grind with a girl on the dancefloor, unsuccessfully. It was the point in the evening when it was time to make a move or call it a night. My moves weren't working. Obviously my luck seemed to be running dry, so I said bye to my friends pushed towards the exit. On the walk home I got a text from Sophia, a girl I worked with at my old Cafe job. She was young and very pretty. Flowing chestnut colored hair, large brown eyes and a great body. She was also a student at CCAD, the creative type, like myself. I'd always had a thing for her but it never paned out while we worked together. The timing was never right. She had a boyfriend, I was living with my parents at the time ... but we enjoyed hanging out and had kept in touch.

Her text explained she was wasted at a gay bar in the Short North and sick of being fondled by homosexual men. Her friends were bailing on her and she wanted to meet up. It seemed I had one last ace up my sleeve. Apparently lady luck was smiling on me once again. Sophia was newly single and the attraction I'd felt was shared. The timing was finally perfect. We walked back to my place and wasted no time, beginning our intense make-out session in the hallway.

We talked for a bit in bed and than she slowly drifted off to sleep. I'd never seen this coming and was just happy to be sharing a bed with her. I looked at her laying next to me and did a double take, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Overall it had been an amazing twenty four hours; a game in The Shoe (complete with a Buckeye 'W'), catching up with old friends over many drinks and a beautiful overnight guest as the icing on the cake. I slept still sporting a grin that had been carved into my face since noon.


-J.R.