Too Good To "Stay" in Vegas

Since none of the Grand kids were coming for Christmas this year, my wife, daughter and I decided to spend the holidays in Las Vegas.  I like to gamble, the girls like to shop and we all enjoy good entertainment.  With cell phones in hand we were able to do our "own things" and still meet up for supper.

My first day got off to a good start.  I woke up early and around 7:30am arrived at one of the small casinos to play some black jack.  At this time of the morning the tables were empty.  People playing at this time were either Old Timers that get up early or folks that had been up all night.

I sat down at an empty table and begin playing.  I was soon joined by a couple of "red-eyed" guys.  It wasn't long before we were joined by a young, well-dressed woman.  She was very delightful and engaging.   She talked with everyone, asked for help in playing her cards and cheered when any body won. 

I found out she was from San Francisco and had been living in Las Vegas about a year.  Around ten o'clock I decided it was time to check on the girls and their plans for the day.  I made the comment that I needed to "check on my group".  Whereupon she asked me who I was with.  I answered,  "my wife and daughter".  She then said, "Oh, you brought sand to the beach!"  I said, "What?"  She repeated it.  After a few seconds of pondering her comment, I got it!


Having had a good day at the tables, I returned the next day around the same time to the same casino.
The same young woman was there and was wearing the same dress. 

I think she might have been a hooker!

I Yam What I Yam!

I don't like sweet potatoes!  Never have, never will.  I don't like the look of them.  I don't like the texture. I think they are vile and disgusting.  I don't care how you cook 'em, I ain't eatin' 'em!!

 



Until now I have never gone public with my distaste of the sweet potato.  I have many friends, relatives and acquaintances that like them.  I have never attempted to dissuade anyone from eating
them.  Any time someone has offered me a sweet potato dish, I politely say, "No thank you" and eat something else.  Today,  I just felt like proclaiming my dislike of this particular legume.  I recognize that in expressing my personal opinion I might be subject to some negative feedback. Paula Deen could "de-friend" me on Facebook..  I could be denied service at Aunt Bea's Southern Diner in Beauregard Parrish.  Or, even called an "anti-yamite". That is their right.  But, the facts are I still won't eat sweet potatoes.  And, I won't care if others do.

Everyone has the right to their own culinary pleasures.  Everyone has the right to express their opinions about food.  But, they don't have the right to force feed what they like to some one that doesn't like it.



Stuck in Lodi Again

Back in the late 80's I was doing a lot of business traveling, most along the East Coast.  On one occasion, I was scheduled to attend a Monday meeting in Charlotte, NC.  No problem,  made the trip several times. You just drive to Houston, fly to Atlanta, change planes and fly to Charlotte. 

This particular trip was different.  My sons were playing in a Championship Football game in Brownsville, TX on Saturday.  Therefore, my wife and I planned to drive the 500+ miles to Brownsville, see the game and drive to Houston Airport where she would drop me off for the Charlotte trip.  We left for Brownsville on Thanksgiving morning (foreshadowing) and made the long and boring trip.  (Learning #1: No eating establishment is open on Thanksgiving Day). Several trips across the border for shopping and then the game.  We won the game and the next morning we left early to allow plenty of time for the long drive and make my flight.

Unbeknownst to us,  a major rain storm had gone through Atlanta that morning and Hartfield Airport had been temporarily shut down.  I hit the gate with plenty of time to spare.  Departure was delayed a little, but we boarded the plane with plenty of time to make the Atlanta to Charlotte connection.  I had met a couple of friends from Victoria going to the same meeting.  We boarded the plane and pulled away from the gate.

Then, things started to go to hell in a hand basket.   We were stuck on the tarmac because of the delays in Atlanta.  After sitting several hours, we took off and landed in Atlanta.  Our connecting flight was gone.  We were put on stand-by with about a million other people.  (Learning #2: Monday following Thanksgiving is the heaviest air travel of the year).

While sitting around waiting to see if we could get on another flight,  I begin to strike up a conversation with two young kids traveling with their Mother.  I was teasing them that they would have to go to school the next morning without any sleep.  Finally, I asked the Mother if they had been on a vacation over the long weekend.  She replied, "No, they had been to Florida to bury her husband"  After pulling my foot out of my mouth,  I begin apologizing profusely and offering my condolences.  I felt almost as stupid as I did the time I asked a young woman when her baby was due and she informed me she wasn't pregnant (Learning from another story: Never, Ever ask a woman if she is expecting).

We were all waiting on the last flight of the night to Charlotte.  We had just missed the previous flight as standby and I was sure I was high on the list.  So trying to recover from my other blunder, I went to the counter and told the agent, if my name came up, I wanted the family to have my place.  The agent told me the family was ahead of me anyway.  So I sat down and waited.  Sure enough they called their name to board.  The woman came up to me and said, "I don't know what you did, but thank you"  I told her I was not responsible for them making the flight.  She said, "I know better" and I let it go trying to regain a little respect from my earlier faux pas.

We didn't make the flight!!   No flights left until 6:00am.  They would put us up in a hotel and honor our tickets on the Monday morning flight. 

By now it was 2:00am.  My friends and I discussed going to the hotel and decided we couldn't get more than two hours of sleep and could probably get that much in the airport. Besides we hadn't had anything to eat.  We quickly found out that the only food court was in the international terminal.

This is where it gets worse.

Atlanta Airport is one big sucker!  Before boarding the tram to the other terminal, we put our brief cases on one of those rent a locker things.  We caught the tram to the international terminal and headed to the food court.  Surprise, we had to show our tickets to get in the International section. Guess where we left our tickets?  After some finagling with the Eastern Airlines agent, we were given a pass.  We ate and then headed back to the tram to our terminal.  Surprise, Surprise, the tram quit running about ten minutes earlier.  Now we had to walk back to our terminal.  Charlotte had to be closer! 

Once we got back, we picked out spots to sleep.  I picked one close to a guy with has garment bag over his head.  As I laid on the floor and was about to doze off, I heard him snoring like a freight train.  I might have gotten 45 minutes of sleep before our flight the next morning.

When I got to my hotel room, I told my friends I was going to bed. 

I made the meeting around 10:30.

Cheeseburgers Won't Get You to Paradise

1979 10K Chattanooga, TN
 

Recently my daughter came across an old picture of me as I crossed the finish line of the Great Heart Run in Tennessee.  It seems like only yesterday that I was running the hills of Tennessee in my Richard Simmons style shorts.  I remember this run well.  I had hoped to break 40 minutes but missed it by 2 seconds.

2013 5K Pt Neches, TX

Last month I walked in a fun run in Pt Neches park.  After juxtaposing these two photos, it became painfully clear that the only thing I have in common in these two events 34 years apart is that I felt a need to puke when I finished.

Where has all the time gone.  I used to run about 30 miles/week, many with my good friend, Bobby Ward.  About once a week we would meet up with a group of runners at Chickamauga Civil War Battlefield Park for a run.  After running a group would head to some food joint, Chuck's, I think, and have a few beers and eat cheeseburgers and fries.  

After moving back to Texas in 1980, I  continued running.  On many Saturday mornings around 7:00am, an old high school buddy, Craig Christopher, would show up from Houston and we would  make a six mile loop in the west end of Beaumont.   After my fourth knee surgery, I was advised to give up running and walking.   For the next 25+ years I gave up everything but the beer and cheeseburgers.   As a result,  I moved the scales from 185 to 275. 

After two knee replacements and a call from another Chattanooga running buddy, Bud Wisseman, I started a walking program. While Bud was putting in 56,000 miles during that time, I consumed 3,000 cheeseburgers.  Nine months later I am down to 250 and am walking about 30 miles/month.   I gave up the beer a number of years ago.

I have a physical scheduled next week,  maybe my doctor can convince me to give up the cheeseburgers and pizza.  But, they are so good!

Deep Dish pizza at Gino's in Chicago - 2011

What's On Your List?

This past week my family embarked upon the much dreaded task of cleaning out the closets.  The result was about twenty trash bags headed for the dump or Goodwill.  All of the "stuff" had to be carefully scrutinized to determine its destination.  Hundreds of old photographs were revisited.  The picture below got me to thinking.

About 25 years ago we had the privilege of meeting the young lady in this picture.  Pam Kline was raised on a Cattle Ranch in Ohio.  She had a dream of riding her horse across the country.  Bobby and Carolyn Sharp, former Chattanooga neighbors, knew that we had had horses and knew Pam from various trail rides.



Pam Kline and Mick in Bevil Oaks

 

One day I got a call from Bobby telling me about Pam's dream and her route would take her through Beaumont.  He asked if she could spend a night with us on her way.  Of course, I told him yes, but, really didn't think much about it as the trip seemed a little far fetched.

 

Six months had passed since talking with Bobby and I had pretty much put his request out of my mind when my phone rang and Bobby was on the other end.  He said that Pam was in Louisiana near the Texas border and would be in Bevil Oaks in three days.  Wow!  He wasn't kidding!  Two days later we received a call from Pam.  She was in Buna and should make Bevil Oaks by the next evening.  True to her word she rode up about 6:00pm.

 

Pam had left Ohio and rode to the East Coast.  She was now on her way to the California Coast.  She ended up staying with us about a week.  Mick had developed a "saddle sore" and she wanted to give him some time to heal and put back on a little weight.  She was a true country girl and an absolute delight. 

 

She left with some local trail riders she had met while in the area and headed toward Sour Lake. 

 

About six months later my work phone rang and the female voice on the other end was shouting, "I made it! I made it!"  She was on some California beach, looking at the Pacific Ocean. 

 

After she returned home we got a letter from her saying that she was getting married.  It was apparent that this 28 year-old woman had something on her "bucket list" to check-off before she entered the next phase of her life. 

 

Reliving Pam's journey in my mind,  I got to thinking what were the "bucket list" items still on my unofficial list.  She had the foresight and intestinal fortitude to live hers out while in the prime of her life.  I have raced motorcycles, run the Peachtree 10K, seen two World Series games, been to the Olympics, the National Finals Rodeo, white water rafted on the Nantahala, toured every major Civil War battlefield and played most every sport possible. 

 

After some thought I think the following are some things I would still like to do:

                o Attend the College Baseball World Series

                o Fly in a WWII vintage plane.

                o "Run" a 5K road race.

                o See my Grand kids graduate from college.

 

It's not too late, what's on you list?

 

   

Grumpy Old Men and Baseball

Ever since I could read a baseball box score I have been a baseball fan. I played the game until the competition exceeded my abilities.  Originally, I was a Brooklyn Dodger fan, then a Houston Colt .45s/Astro fan and eventually college baseball fan. After moving back to Beaumont in 1980 I started following the Lamar University Cardinal Team.  Being a LU graduate it was only natural that I throw my support to the locals. It didn't hurt that LU had a successful program and had made recent appearances in the NCAA tournament.

In 1982 I was coaching my sons in Little League.  As a fund raiser the coaches were asked to sell 15 tickets to a Lamar double header.  Rather than spend time hustling ticket sales, I bought all of them.  My wife was a teacher and I told her I would take the boys in her class to the game.  We crowded the eight year olds into our van and took them to the park.  I barely had time to watch the game. One of the kids slipped in with a can of skoal and got sick.  I knew Lamar was winning, but that was all.  When the game ended, the announcer said that Tony Mack had pitched a "No-Hitter".  I never realized it was happening.

As time passed I became more involved in following the Cards and in the early 90's became a season ticket holder.  A few years later I reconnected with my childhood friend, George Fortune.  His son-in-law to be was playing for Lamar.  Eventually, George bought season tickets and we made a few road trips.  We went to conference tournaments in Lafayette, LA, camped out to see one in Mobile, AL and made NCAA tournaments in Oklahoma City and Wichita, KS.  In a few years Billy Waugh and Richard Placette joined our group and we attended more road games, including NCAA tournaments in Austin and Houston.  Our little group started adding other road trips for some of the regular season games. 

Gilbert, Jay, Billy George and Abdul

Around 2000 we moved our seats to Section BB in Vincent-Beck Stadium.  Our little group grew and others started to make the road trips.  As you would expect when a bunch of guys get together,  a little smack talk, joking and practical jokes took place.  Anyone making a mistake could expect to be the subject of some abuse.
                                         

Chalk outline on the spot where George fell chasing a fould ball
at the Conference Tournament at Sam Houston State U.

Since most of our group had moved their seats to the same location, we became know as the Section BB gang.  We were joined by Jay O'Neal, Gilbert Garza, Richard LeBlanc and Master Chief Ted Parsons.  Typically we will make one weekend road trip during the regular season and also to the conference tournament.  A bonus trip is always added anytime we qualify for the NCAA regional tournament.  The last few years the Grumpy Old Men of Section BB has diversified by adding the Caywood Sisters,  and Johnny Massey and his wife, Arlene.  On occasion we would be accompanied by out of town high school classmates Bobby Katz and Buster Coats, Donnie Garcia, John Stevens and Christina Yancey.  We even have shirts indicating we are Section BB fans.

The group is made up of mostly 60+ retirees.  Some are tall, some are short. Some are thick and some are thin. ( I take that back, none are thin).  Some are democrats, most are republicans.  Some drink, most don't.  No one smokes.   Time permitting, we have visited local sites of historical significance and tried local cuisine.  During tournaments we have seen as many four games per day.  We have watched future major leaguers at the college level. 


The common thread of the group is the love of baseball.   We share stories at the others expense.  We have heard the story of Massey's minor league career where he gave up a spring training home run to Hank Aaron. (Actually, we have heard this story numerous times).  

GOM of BB John Massey, Richard LeBlanc, Jay O'Neal, Gilbert Garza,
Pattie Caywood Sistrunk, Jim Wright, George Fortune, Jim Wright,
Billy Waugh

Our last road trip was to Natchitoches, LA for the weekend series with Northwestern State, which included a stop at the Columbia Shuttle Museum in Hemphill, TX.  We had a record group of 13. 
Since there was only one game per day, we had time for sight seeing.  While Jay, Gilbert and Richard went to the Bossier City Casino, the rest of the group toured the sights.  We were even entertained by one of the local cast members of "Steel Magnolias". 

The rest of the time was filled by eating.  We had meat pies, red beans and rice, burgers and a special trip to the "Trail Boss" for steaks.  During each trip we usually have at least one anecdote that is talked about.  In Huntsville it was the chalk outline, in Corpus it was the hop scotch, the ticket scalping at Austin, the snoring, Sheldon Arnaud talking in his sleep in French, the heat of Ft Worth, and so on.   This trip was no exception.   The Trail Boss Restaurant provided the venue.  All thirteen of us went to eat there right after the Saturday game.  Many were wearing their "BB" shirts.  Gilbert Garza was one of these. 

Gilbert being short of stature went to the rest room.  While he was standing in front of the urinal two small boys came up behind him and asked if he had gone to the game.  The 70+ year old Gilbert replied that he had.  One of the young boys then asked, "Were you the bat boy?" Gilbert almost wet himself.

LU won all three games.

The Cat's Out of the Bag

My cousin, Tommy Simmons, recently sent me a link to the real estate listing of his old house on Smith St.  in Grapevine, Texas.  The house is listed on the market for $375,000.  Not bad for the house his parents built in 1937.  A little remodeling and a few upgrades by the current owners didn't hurt the original value either. 

After my family moved to Beaumont around 1950, we made frequent trips back to Grapevine.  Almost every weekend to be exact.  So there was a part of my brother and me that never left. 
My brother, Bobby, was 3 1/2 years younger than me and Tommy was between us in age.  We spent a lot of time playing together.   The rural setting of Grapevine and the dairy farm Tommy's parents owned provided different playground activities than Beaumont. 

After seeing this picture I was reminded of one particular adventure.  At one time a small barn and pasture was behind the house.  tI provided a haven for some stray cats that were probably brought from the dairy.  These cats were usually wild and untouchable.  One time while exploring the barn, we came across a litter of kittens.  They weren't too friendly, but were small enough that we could catch and play with them.  In an adolescent attempt to domesticate the feline, we found a small collar and I put it on one of the kittens. 

When we returned to Grapevine a couple of weeks later, the kitten had grown.  My Aunt was rather small is stature, but when she told you to do something, you knew she meant business.  This particular day was one of those occasions.  She told me I had better catch that "cat" and take off the collar before it strangled.  Since I was the oldest, I was the one held responsible. 

The house was built on piers with a small crawl space underneath.  We chased the cat all over the yard until it ran under the house.  Knowing this was our best chance to catch the cuddly little creature, I sprung into action.  Bobby and Tommy were covering the openings and I crawled under the house to bring the little ball of fur out.  When I finally got to the corner where he was holed up, I grabbed the little fellow.  This is when I learned that the kitten had grown into a full fledged wildcat.
He clawed, scratched and bit me the entire time.  Since I was more afraid of Aunt Day than this cat, I was not about to let go. 

The cat was out, the collar off and I was bleeding like a stuck hog.  I never saw that cat again. 

I still don't like cats.

March Madness, Super Hero Style



CP 23 and betmacparks
Newly Weds.
One is a Fantasy FB loser.  One is a Winner.
CP's Dad played College Basketball.
Bet gets a pass this year
(Editors Note: This pic was supposed to be on
the bottom of the blog, but they looked so good,
I moved it to the top)

All across America millions of people are filling out NCAA Tournament brackets.  Each year The
G Man, Super Hero group features an array of diverse competitors.  I would like for everyone to meet the players.

Some of previous winners are shown below:



2012 Winner
Name: Comeback Kids
Favorite Food: Popcorn
Likes birdwatching, musuems,
mud wrestling and game shows.
Father played pro baseball

2011 Winner
Name: Bobcats
Favorite drink is tonic water.
Likes to crochet, collects ceramic pigs,
plays internet scrabble.
Father once bowled a perfect game.

Name: Evil Doc
Favorite Food: Nuts, Berries, Collard Greens
Likes the color mauve, things that are shiny, has a glass menagerie collection,
wears women's panties.
Mother hit big slot jackpot at Louisiana Casino

Other Money Winners:



 G-Man's Kryptonite, EFunkWright
Aggies
HE: Sings in the shower, Collects small horses.
Once took out three mailboxes with a Toyota
And drove over a cliff in Tennessee.
SHE: Wears earplugs when he showers.
Bartender, Often seen wearing combat boots.
Wants to run in the sausage race in Milwaukee
 



Movie Star
Always wears same underwear
when the Cards are on a streak.
Owns a tanning bed.




Johnny the Mouse
with his Caretaker
Wife picked bracket.
Favorite athlete is Greg Louganis,
Enjoys moonlight walks on Proctor St
Hank Aaron hit a HR off him

Other entries in this years tournament:


 Show Me the Money
Idolizes G Man
Rides a Scooter
He really does like girls
Single

13Dunks
Reads comic books.
Loves to watch the sunrise.
Once made a hole-in-four
Father is a Super Hero
 

 Kool Kat, HoosierDaddy, Kowpady
Sisters taught Dad how to drive cart.
HOF BB coach. This is not a cutout



 Beach Bum
Hates dogs, collects grass clippings
Has 10 tattoos



L

 Super Chick Debbie
Biker Chick, enjoys
burning things,
has button collection

Linda Fay
Likes to play on computer and cook.
Once danced on tables in NO.
Got kicked out of Shaky's for same

James C
Retired From Insurance Co
Works part time for car company
Grandson made game winning shot at the buzzer

H Mann
Wears head phones to avoid hearing fans
Favorite book: Curious George
Likes to cook gourmet food
Dies his hair gray to look smart

 



Pamela W
Likes to check the mail.
Cannot Curse in Spanish.
Long distance runner.
Knows all the words to
North Carolina Fight Song

reMarkable
Favorit Music Genre: Blue Grass
Studying to be an Undertaker
Can't stand the sight of blood
Favorite Color: Orange

 

 

Likes to dress like a man and pretend to hunt.
Sells toilets.
World class canasta player
Father-in-law sleeps in the nude

My Last Rodeo

It was in the early '80's and I was in my late 30's.   One of my co-workers, Doug, approached me during the week and asked me if I had anything planned for the upcoming Saturday.  It was early Spring and the weather was forecast to be nice.  I told him no and asked what he had in mind.   He said that his Father had a small spread in East Texas and needed some help in rounding up his cows to vaccinate.  He also said that another friend was coming and his Dad was cooking gumbo.  I said I would be there and he gave me directions.

 



Most kids that grew up in North Texas either wanted to be a cowboy or had no choice.  Since my family moved from the farming community when I was five, I had a choice.  Although I maintained my rural roots and from time to time would work on my uncle's farm and play cowboy.  Truth be known,  as I grew up, I was more of a "drug store" cowboy, than the real deal.  Nevertheless, I still knew a little and was ready to breath some fresh air.

We all arrived at the small farm outside Spurger, Texas and Doug's Father immediately put us to work.  He had a small herd of about 30 cows and we spread out "on foot" and herded them into a small pen in one corner of the pasture.  Some of the cows had calves.   We moved the herd through the "squeeze chute", which holds the cow's head while they are treated.  When each bovine has its shots, it is released into the open pasture.   A fairly easy process to get them in, give the shots, etc. and release them.

Once all of the cows were treated and released we had about seven or eight bull calves left in the pen.  Doug's Dad wanted to castrate the calves before turning them out.   They weighed about 100 pounds each.  Doug, Clyde and me took turns grabbing the calf by the leg and flanks and putting them on the ground.  Then Doug's Dad would apply a rubber band like o-ring to their private area.  This stopped the blood circulation to their private parts and they would fall off painlessly, so I'm told.

Everything had gone smoothly until we got to the last calf.  This little bull was a little bigger than 100 pounds.  Early estimates was that he probably weighed about 300-400 pounds.  Doug and Clyde both looked at me and said, "It's your turn!"  I really didn't want to try and throw that big bull calf, but was not going to admit that I was afraid.  So, I told them to put him in the squeeze chute and I would tie one end of the rope to the post at the chute and one around the bulls horns.  Yep, he had horns.  My plan was to let him out of the chute and when he hit the end of the chute, I would have followed him down the rope and using my best steer wrestling move, throw him to the ground.



After taking a deep breath, I told them to let him out.  He bolted out the chute with me running down the rope.  When he hit the end, it stopped him and I was there to grab one horn and with his nose in the crook of my arm, easily throw him to the ground.  All was well until my arm slipped off his head and I fell with my right arm wrapped around the rope.  The bull dragged me all over the pen.  He stepped on the back of my leg while Doug kept hollering, "LET GO OF THE ROPE, LET GO OF THE ROPE!!!"  Finally, I got my arm lose and came to rest in the middle of the pen with cow manure all over me.   Still on the ground, Doug asks me, "why didn't you let go?"   In a profanity laced response, I told him,  "I couldn't let go!"  

Since my plan hadn't worked we all cornered the little bull and put him on the ground.  Since he was much larger and more developed than the previous calves, Doug's Dad surgically removed his "bullness"!  This did not make the little fella happy as he chased us all up the fence.

Once we turned him out, my arm and leg both began to swell up and I knew it was not going to be pleasant.  But, he had promised us gumbo and that would help relieve a little of the pain.  After washing-up and heading to the kitchen of the little farm house, Doug's Dad brought in the gumbo.  I got a heaping bowl of rice and filled it with gumbo.  The gumbo had a great flavor, but there was some strange meat in there.  One thing was some small animal as there were little rib cages in the bowl.  There was something else in there that I did not recognize.  I took a bite but it was a little chewy and didn't taste that good.   I asked what was in the gumbo. I was told it was squirrel and guinea gizzards.

I ate around the gizzards.

The next day I could hardly walk and my forearm was twice its normal size.   I haven't done any "Steer Wrestling" since. 

 



The Heat Was On at Disch-Falk Field.

For nearly twenty years George Fortune, Billy Waugh, Richard Placette and me have been following Lamar University Baseball.  We usually would make a road trip and always attend the conference tournaments.  When Lamar would qualify for the NCAA regional tournaments, we were there. 

Billy, George, Richard, Jay O'Neal, Gilbert Garza and me
in a road trip to conference tournament



Due to geographic location, Lamar usually ended up playing at the Regional tournament in Austin.  This is not a friendly place to play as Texas usually draws the big crowd and usually got the "home cooking" from the umpires. 

George Fortune

In 2002 our foursome had made the trip to Austin where we won one game and were eliminated

10-9 by Baylor in the semifinals.  This set up the championship game between Baylor and Texas the next day.  The temperature was hovering around the 100 mark.  Since we had bought tickets to the entire tournament and had paid for the rooms for one more night, we planned to attend the championship game.   As we were hanging outside the sold out stadium prior to the game.  Billy and George informed Richard and me they had sold their tickets to the game.  Richard and I wanted to see the game and discussed what we would do.  We all drove together and we decided if we could sell our tickets for a profit, we would would leave.  Some people call this "scalping", I prefer to call it Keynesian Economics.  As I stood around the crowd holding up the tickets, people would approach and ask, "How much?"  I wasn't going to give them away and the price was too high for the the first UT fans that asked. 







After a few minutes I was approached by a guy in shorts.  Immediately I knew he wasn't interested in attending the game when he showed me his badge.  He said, that it was against the law to sell tickets on university property, and he really didn't want to take me to jail.  Since I didn't want to go to jail, I gathered up Richard and we told Billy and George we were going to watch the game.  They would have to stay outside and wait until it was over before we could head back home. 

Richard Placette



That was only part of the story.  Richard and I found our seats while our traveling buddies were left outside.  About the second inning, I look down the stands and George is walking up.  It turned out they had run into one of Lamar's coaches' family and were given one ticket to the game and one to the VIP tent which had air conditioning and closed circuit TV of the game.   A little later Billy got a ticket from someone and he came up.

Not only did they sell their tickets to the final game, but they got in the game free anyway. 

At least I didn't go to jail. 

Texas won.

Billy Waugh