Life’s A Tripp

Featured

Pack Up and Go
Day 1: Sleepless in Seattle

After a solid two and a half hours of faulty air conditioning unit aided sleep at the Hilton Kansas City airport, we were off to the airport.

Tina and I checked our bags (thanks Delta Air Lines for not waving the fees for retired military) and headed to our departure gate. The flight was only half full so Delta kindly upgraded us to their comfort plus section. Worth the $44 in my opinion if you fly Delta. Once airborne, the stewardess made her way down the aisle and offered us all the KIND Bars and Cheez Its we could handle! I would be lying if I said that I didn’t grab a few extra just to annoy the peasants sitting in economy class. The flight was rather uneventful for the most part and we touched down on the rain soaked runway of Seattle-Tacoma.

Since we were staying downtown we decided to forgo the rental car and use our feet and Uber to make our way around the city. Thanks to the magic of the internet an Uber picked us up and we were on our way to The Paramount Hotel. A quaint boutique hotel in the heart of downtown Seattle. We arrived about 10AM and the staff was very accommodating. Our room was ready and they brought up a bottle of red wine and chocolate truffles which I felt added a personal touch.

Being that this is a surprise vacation, you don’t have any time to research the location. Pack Up and Go provides a very detailed itinerary of recommended places to go, eat, and fun activities.

Despite eating 11 Kind bars and 3 bags of Cheez Its on the flight, we were ready for breakfast. Biscuit Bitch was recommended and was only a 15 minute walk from the hotel. It was a very stereotypical Seattle morning of overcast skies and a light drizzle but it did not dampen our spirits in the slightest. This gave us a chance to stretch our legs while taking in the sights and sounds of the city.

The name Biscuit Bitch implies that the place has attitude. Upon entering, your eardrums are assaulted by the bass from hip hop played at a volume that would make me yell, “turn that sht down!” if it was coming from my kids bedroom. With “I’m Bossy” bumping in the background we perused the menu and made our choice of bitches. I chose the Gritty Scrambled Cheesy Bitch while Tina played it a little closer to the vest by going with the Easy Bitch. The food did not disappoint! If you are looking for a place that serves up great food and a zero fcks attitude then Biscuit Bitch is your place.

With our stomachs full and eardrums bleeding, we hit the streets and made our way to the Seattle Art Museum. The building itself is a work of art but I must not be cultured enough because some stuff just looked like paint sprayed on a canvas and called art. There was literally random tools on a board being displayed. Honestly, the picture of me taking a picture of the painting needs to be displayed. There were some very interesting pieces but overall kind of underwhelming. Save your money for a crumpet! (more to follow).

After an hour of criticizing world renowned artists it was off to the Public Market. This famous market is located on the waters of Elliot bay and is best known for fish throwing at Pike Place market. This was a cool open air market with many vendors and food choices.

While at the market we noticed a giant Ferris wheel and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take in the views of the city and water from the top of The Seattle Great Wheel. Being with a beautiful woman with an amazing view from high a top the Ferris wheel made me powerless against Tina‘s desire to kiss me.

By now it’s late afternoon and since we didn’t eat lunch we needed a little something to tide us over before our 7 PM dinner reservations. All I will say is that if you go to The Wing Dome, order the six boneless wings and not the 12. They were huge!

Thanks to Pack Up and Go we already had dinner reservations at Loulay Kitchen & Bar in downtown Seattle. Loulay is an urban contemporary French restaurant that features local seasonal fare. We started with the Crab Beignets and split a Cheese Burger with bacon-onion jam, comte cheese, and a side of fries. Loulay is a very nice but not over the top fancy and won’t break the bank.

With our day basically starting with a road trip to Kansas City the night prior, we chose to call it a night and head back the the hotel. Back in the room we did what most couples would do. A few episodes of Little House On the Prairie, read some bible verses, and got a good night’s sleep.

Next…. Day 2: The Maple Kind?

Featured

Frost Turns to Mo for Latest Hype Video

September 1st 2018 was supposed to be a day of celebration for the state of Nebraska. Earlier that year Scott Frost was hired as the coach of the Huskers virtually guaranteeing a return to 90’s glory! Big Red’s prodigal son had returned.

My son and I made the trip to Lincoln that evening to witness Frost’s historic first game as head coach versus Akron. The 90,000 fans created an atmosphere as electric as the dark gray cumulus clouds looming off in the distance.

The Husker video team could have shown Schindler’s list leading up to the kickoff and the fans still would have been out of their minds excited. Instead, we were treated to classic Husker Highlights. Johnny the Jet’s punt return against Oklahoma, Rozier’s run against UCLA, Frazier’s run against Florida, and Pelini’s post firing meeting with the team at a Lincoln High School.

Memorial Stadium was literally shaking prior to the kickoff as the rain started to fall. The savior’s debut lasted all of 5 seconds before players left the field due to lightning. My son and I waited it out through heavy downpours and rain themed songs that kept the fans entertained. The game was eventually cancelled forcing us to wait another week.

Little did we know then but those dark storm clouds would prove to be an omen for that 2018 season. Nebraska has been playing football for 129 years and never have they started 0-6. In those six games Nebraska found every conceivable way to lose a game. Dropped passes, blown leads late, Martinez hurt… it became almost laughable. Any collection of 22 men between the ages of 18-22 could have fared better against Michigan. The rival fans were having a field day at our expense. “Looks like that Frost warning got cancelled!” “Frost melts when heat is applied!” Husker fan remained optimistic. “Trust the process” became the rallying cry from Ainsworth to Ogallala.

The season wasn’t a complete disaster though. Nebraska finished the season winning 4 out of their 6 finals games that included Bethune Cookman, Illinois, and Minnesota. Most fans were able to use shoelaces again and domestic assault dropped by 71% during October and November. Scott could still hear the grumbling though. “This team is soft!” “They don’t have heart” “They still wilt under pressure” Frost had to take immediate action!

Needing a quiet place to think, Frost, a known gambler traveled to his favorite Council Bluffs Casino. Fueled by Jack Daniels and Copenhagen, Scott had an epiphany as the dealer dealt his 14th hand of blackjack. Navy Seal training! He thought to himself, “I have a Seal on my team, those guys are tough, and they killed Osama Bin Laden” After losing the last of his $500 he received in autograph fees he set out to inform his coaches of his plan.

Every coach and player to a man was all in for this. “We won’t have any problem with teams like Troy anyone after this!” whispered Lamar Jackson. The charter jet was fueled and Big Red was headed to the beach! The training was as tough as advertised. Log carries and boat crew drills replaced tackling dummies and wind sprints. The team learned how to overcome adversity and understood that you are only as strong as your weakest link. They even re-enacted the shower scene in GI Jane to remember how exposed they felt when trying to cover Rondale Moore. Frost was ecstatic! His teams bond was stronger than ever and was chomping at the bit to release this hype video to Husker Nation!

Watch the video here: Navy Seal Hype Video

Frost releasing the video to the wild via Twitter was like chum in Shark infested waters. At last check the video has over 25,000 likes and was retweeted 8,400 times on Scott Frost’s account. It was posted hundreds of times in the 413 different Husker Facebook groups and flags were ordered to be at half-staff in preparation for the fate of our 2019 opponents.

Nebraska fans appetites however are insatiable. The Navy Seal video as great as it was only held our attention for a few days. This wasn’t anything new. Plenty of teams do this type of training. We need something fresh something that will harken back to the glory years!

Rumors have been swirling that Frost is looking too talented but troubled Maurice Washington for the next hype video release. Washington is currently in a legal battle over a video he sent to a former girlfriend in California. Coach Frost realizes releasing this video would be controversial but it doesn’t get any more 90’s than this! I conducted a poll of 100 Nebraska fans and asked this question:

Would you support Coach Frost releasing the Maurice Washington video to motivate his team? 82% said yes they support it! A few commented about why they would.

Caleb from Gering, “4-8 is 4-8! if this leads to more stops on third down then hell I say release it!”

Margaret from Scribner, “These kids these days with their Snapchat and Instagram are always posting these videos. It’s what they do now. What’s one more? GBR!”

Read about Maurice’s questionable video. Legal Problems

If you need me, I’ll be here constantly refreshing Twitter.

Featured

Road Trip to Wrigley: On the Road

Road Trip part 2…. On the Road

The first leg of the trip started off without a lot of fanfare. I think we were all just happy to be on the road, and excited about the trip. One of the most important things to remember is the fact that as far as technology is concerned, 1991 didn’t have a whole lot to offer, as computers still weren’t the norm in every household, and ordinary cell phone usage, as we know it today, was still a good 5 to 6 years away. Communication between the two cars was non-existent, so we had to pull up next to each other and yell out the windows to each other if we were thinking about stopping somewhere to get gas or food.

It was Tripp; I believe who started the hi-jinx in Todd’s car by hitting the flash on his camera out the back window at Eagle, driving right behind. “AHHH! I can’t see!!!” Ed kept yelling. It was pitch-black outside, with the exception of an occasional light on the Interstate. “They need to stop that, they’re going to make me crash!” Tripp must have sensed the frustration he was causing Eagle, and continued to flash about every 5 to 10 seconds over the course of the next half hour or so. “AHHH!! AHHH!! I can’t see – I wish they’d stop!!! DAMMIT!!! I CAN’T SEE!!”

Somewhere during the night, it was time to pull off the Interstate to take on fuel. We pulled into a gas station and started to gas up. This gave Eagle the opportunity to tell Tripp that he needed to stop flashing the camera, as it kept temporarily blinding him while he was driving. While both cars were fueling and Ed was griping, I was inside the mini-mart, buying a Coke and a few packs of “Operation Desert Storm” trading cards. As I walked outside, I opened up the first pack of cards to reveal the Holy Grail of all Operation Desert Storm cards – similar to what Honus Wagner means to baseball cards. It was none other than a General H. Norman Schwarzkopf card. General Schwarzkopf was the commander of The Coalition Forces in the Gulf War, and this card was a rare find. I was so excited at this momentous occasion, and Todd took pictures of me holding my Schwarzkopf card outside the car at the gas station. This was going to be the best trip, EVER!

It was now probably 2 or so in the morning, and before we got back in the cars, we all decided that we should take turns driving the rental, and it was now my turn to drive. Anyone who has ever ridden with me knows that I like to add a little element of excitement when I drive. Point A to point B doesn’t cut it for me, unless there’s something at stake. That being said, we all took turns giving the rental a good swift kick in the doors and a yell, “It’s a RENTAL!!!” before getting back in the cars. Because there was a median separating the two lanes of traffic, to get back on the Interstate, we had to take a right turn out of the parking lot, and do a U-turn at the nearest light. Todd went first, but I decided that I wanted to make things interesting and beat Todd back to the Interstate. Instead of taking a right turn and following Todd, I headed straight out of the parking lot toward the median in the middle of the road. I gunned the car and smacked the curb head-on, throwing the car up onto the median. I had misjudged things a bit, and I didn’t realize until that first “Bump” that this was no ordinary median. This median was a good 8 to 10 inches high, with a solid, square concrete curb. I got the front wheels onto the median, and Bart was going hysterical, “Fuck yeah BIT!!! HA, HA, HA!!!” Eagle is yelling, “What the fuck, Bit?” I continued to drive across the grass median, which was about 20 feet wide, gunning the car again and launching it off the opposite curb, scraping the bottom of the car before the back tires hit the road again. “IT’S A RENTAL!!!” I yelled.

With that, we were back on the road again, with still over half of our road trip left to go. Todd got back in front of me, and before long, Tripp was back at it again with his camera flash. The next few hours were without incident, but the next stop in Princeton, Illinois in the pre-Dawn hours of June 12th, would be foreboding…

Stay tuned for Part 3…The Showdown

Featured

The Legend of Farnsworth

Wynot Nebraska: Population 176. A sleepy village in Northeast Nebraska known for producing overly breaded chicken fried steak and rough and tumble men. What you may not know however is Wynot also produced a legendary 8 man football player simply known as Farnsworth. This is the story of a fictitious farm boy who through hard work and grit earned a spot on the roster and in our Husker Hearts.

The Farnsworth’s are a family of farmers. Five generations planted, plowed, and harvested the fertile soil in America’s breadbasket. The family lived by a strict code of Huskers, God, family, and country.

The love of Husker football started early for little Farnsy. Every Saturday the family would gather around the radio to listen to Kent Pavelka scream “Touchdown Tommie Frazier!” After each game he and his dad would light up a cigarette and play a light game of catch in the shadow of their barn.

Playing the game came naturally. Farnsworth dominated his flag football league as a 6 year old and quickly earned a name for himself. He idolized western Nebraska heroes Danny Woodhead and Don Beebe. Even wore the same protective helmet as Beebe in high school.

During his senior year Farnsworth developed a mean streak that college recruiters salivated over. Farnsworth took advantage of the oversized helmet and used the helmet as a weapon. His 22 spearing penalties set the all time Nebraska single season record.

After graduating from high school Farnsworth had a decision to make. He could take over the family farm and live a simple life or he could chase his dreams. Farnsworth was heavily recruited by South Dakota and SDSU but his heart was with the Huskers, so he walked on instead of taking a full ride.

The University of Nebraska was a much different beast then his one room K-12 school in Wynot. Back at home; Farnsworth could always get by with a wink and a smile or by performing certain “favors” for his teacher. Allegedly.
Unfortunately in the classrooms of UNL, Farnsworth quickly realized that a well-defined jawline and chiseled abs couldn’t solve complex mathematical equations.

As spring approached in Lincoln, Farnsworth’s excitement returned. Buckling the chinstrap of that helmet with the Red N was a dream come true. He was back in his comfort zone. Time to do what he did best. Play football!

On Day 1 of practice, Coach Held handed out the playbooks to the players and it might as well have been a quantum physics textbook for Farnsworth. “What on earth is a Double Y split Red banana sluggo?” He whispered to Ozigbo. He had the physical tools coming out of Wynot but just could not grasp the complex offensive scheme of Coach Frost.

Fast-forward 4 years to his senior year. In his first 3 seasons he never took a snap or even dressed for a game. Any other player would have transferred or quit but that’s not in the Farnsworth DNA! He kept grinding, fully bought in, and trusted the process! His patience was rewarded the Sunday after the Minnesota game when he learned he would dress for the Bethune Cookman game.

When I found out Farnsy would dress I tried to rally support for him in the Husker Power Group on Facebook. I wanted to start a chant of “We Want Farnsworth 👏👏👏👏👏 We Want Farnsworth” between the first and second quarter of the Bethune Cookman game to show our support. I figured 76k Husker fans in the group would rally behind this but needless to say, not everyone was a fan of Farnsworth!
Group member Faye had this to say:

“I have No idea who in hel Farnsworth is,,so googed to ask what position he plays..the response showed 141 players photos, numer and position,,Hoebver NO Farnsworth,,Loks like he is NOT opart of the teamm at thiis point,,so pease do NOT enbaress whomever plays his position by chanting at the game…Maybe at half time and NOT just b4 starting a new quarter..I don’t want us to lose whoomever plays his same posoition,,Enough trouble wiht this team getting their STUFF togther, and your terirble idea could just cause another problem….” Greatest fans in college football?

This negativity did not deter me. My long time friend Brad and myself attended the game Saturday and when the time came we started the chant that echoed throughout Memorial Stadium! Link to the live chant below!

https://youtu.be/q0SLTmfQoFw

Although Farnsworth didn’t see the field Saturday It was plain to see what this gesture from the fans meant to him. I saw him wipe away a few tears and give a simple nod of the head while waving to the crowd. Our support of Farnsworth will never waver!

He might not score on the field but those chiseled abs will endure he always scores with the co-eds.The

Featured

Making Brownies with Scott Frost

Nobody in Husker nation is happy with being 0-6 right now! I myself never thought I would see a season like this. Let’s be honest, if you actually watched all six games you know we should at worst be 3-3. Am I abandoning ship? No! Am I trusting the process? You’re Go Big Red I am!

I attended my first game as a one-year-old child in 1975. Opening game in Memorial Stadium against the LSU Tigers! You remember that one, Jarvis Redwine running wild in route to a 10-7 victory! What I remember most about the game was sitting with this beautiful redhead Farrah. My dad had a series of extramarital affair‘s and Farah was his current side piece. She tore pieces of Runza bread and fed me while cheering loudly for Big Red! I put my trust in her to feed me pieces small enough where I wouldn’t choke. Sound familiar current Husker fans?

The Huskers were a dominant force in the early and mid 90s. Their confidence was at an all-time high, they took what they wanted, and looked good doing it. In 2001 something changed all of that. Was it the 62 to 36 shellacking by Colorado? Was it the firing of Solich that sent us spiraling into mediocrity?

The rise and fall of the Huskers is almost a direct parallel to my life in my mid 20s. I was single, In great shape, and dominated the Omaha dating scene. I was confident and had my pick of those fine West O Honey’s. Like the Huskers though, I got cocky and complacent. I didn’t prepare as hard, I changed my pick up lines, and changed my cologne. It was an utter disaster.

I could have given up. I could have settled for some methed out tweaker from Council Bluffs. Ie. Callahan, Pelini, and Riley. I kept grinding though, and after 20 years of bad dates and failed relationships I’m back on top… literally. We have to trust the process!

There will be some bumps in the road. This team is loaded with young talent. Guys like Martinez Washington and Farnsworth are too good to fail! Do you ever make brownies and notice there are some lumps? Did you toss them in the trash? Hell no! You eat them because they are brown and delicious just like our Huskers! I actually have a great recipe on Pinterest if any of you are interested.

I want to keep this brief. Back the Big Red, bundle up for the incoming Frost Warning, and for the love of God stop making those terrible Frosted Husker t-shirts! GBR!

Road Trip to Wrigley: Found

Road Trip Part 6….Found

Upon hearing that the hotel didn’t have our reservation, we stood there and looked at each other in complete disbelief. We had just been through a day of hell, and now to top it all off, we didn’t even have a room to stay. After explaining our situation, I think the clerk felt sorry for us and we managed to get a room. With the room squared away, we were relieved that we didn’t have to pay a return visit to the YMCA, and our thoughts turned to finding our friends. We were all concerned for Todd, Tripp and Dilly, wondering where they were going to stay for the night, and generally worrying about their safety.

Eagle decided to use the pay phone to call his mother to let her know that we were ok and that we had checked into our hotel. He filled his mom in on the day’s events and told her that we had checked into the hotel, and that the other group of friends was still lost. Eagle’s mom was both elated and confused, as she had received a call from Brad Dilly’s Dad, letting her know that Todd, Dilly and Tripp had checked into the hotel and WE were still lost. We felt like we were in the Twilight Zone, but we were relieved at least to find out that the other group had made contact with folks back home.
How could it be that the others had found the hotel, if we were at the hotel and already checked in? After several phone calls back to Omaha to Eagle’s Mom, we confirmed that the others had checked into the Super 8 Hotel. We explained to Eagle’s mom that we had also checked into a Super 8 Hotel, but the others were nowhere to be found. After speaking with the desk clerk, we discovered that there was another Super 8 just a few blocks away. We took a walk outside the front entrance, and sure enough, like a beacon in the night, we see the sign for the other Super 8!

Ed went inside to cancel the reservation he had just made, and we hopped in the car and drove over to the other Super 8, barely 2-3 blocks away. We were excited, but I remember being completely pissed that there were two Super 8’s within a few blocks of each other. We pulled into the parking lot and instantly saw the Tempo. Todd, Tripp and Dilly came out to greet us, and we all exchanged our stories of the day’s adventures. Our struggle was over! We couldn’t believe we had been trying to find each other for the better part of the entire day, and we ended up within 2 blocks of each other. I’ve often wondered if we had actually passed each other several times during the day, and if we were always just a few blocks apart. Looking back, I wonder why nobody had the bright idea to contact Eagle’s Mom sooner. We probably could have found each other hours earlier.

Completely exhausted, but relieved that things were back to normal, we settled into the hotel room. It was now nearing midnight, and we decided to take a late night tour of Chicago to do some sight seeing. After the day we had just been through, the six of us all piled into Todd’s Tempo – 3 in the front, 3 in the back. It was a tight squeeze, but nobody was complaining. Besides, now that we were all together again, what could possibly go wrong? As we left the parking lot and headed back out into the streets of Southside Chicago, we listened to the radio with barely an afterthought as it was announced that the Chicago Bulls had just won their first NBA Championship.

As we would soon find out, our adventures for the day were not over….

Stay tuned for Pt. 7………Da Bulls!

Road Trip to Wrigley: Still Lost

Road Trip part 5….Still Lost

We were back on the road again and somehow ended up on the Kennedy Expressway, where you have to stop and pay a toll. The toll booth went from about 6 lanes, merging into a 3-lane free-for-all. We travelled South on the Kennedy Expressway, and ended up hitting another, the Dan Ryan Expressway. We pumped in some more change and were on our way, not knowing where the hell we were going. We got off the Dan Ryan Expressway, and somehow ended up driving North again. We never really knew where we were, but we were never a block or so away from Halstead Street. We ended up driving past Comiskey Park, which struck me as odd, because from what little I knew of Chicago, I knew that Wrigley Field and Comiskey were about equidistant from downtown. I knew we were seriously lost. We took another turn and ended up back on the Expressway, and we were down to very little change left, so getting on the Expressway again was not the ideal situation. Before the day was over, we wound up on one of the two Expressways a couple more times, each time having to scrounge for change to pay the toll.

We happened to pass by a local YMCA, and stopped there to ask for directions. By now, it was late afternoon, and we had blown the better part of the day trying to find the Tempo or the hotel. As we walked into the YMCA, several workers looked at us like we were from a different planet. We informed one worker that we were lost and couldn’t locate our friends. “What are you doing in this neighborhood?” they asked, confirming our fears that we were in a rough part of town. After several minutes of discussion, the worker said, “Well guys, you’re going to have to stay here for the night. We’ve got some cots and blankets. We can’t let you go back out there tonight.” Eagle, Bart and I looked at each other and Bart said, “Well, we have to go find our friends”. “Sorry guys, we can’t let you leave.” I thought to myself, “This is the YMCA, not some youth detention center.” These YMCA guys were genuinely afraid for our safety in this neighborhood. After several more minutes of discussion, we agreed with the YMCA worker that we’d return for the night if we couldn’t locate our hotel or our friends.

With that, we were back on the road – and back on the Expressway! After a few minutes of driving, a car pulled up next to us, attempting to get our attention. We all stared into the other car, as the passenger pointed frantically down at the front of the rental. I could see her mouth the words, “Your…..tire…..is…..flat!” I exploded and began punching the dashboard repeatedly, yelling, “FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! What the fuck else could go wrong today, a Goddam flat tire, that’s just fucking GREAT!!!” There we were, in the middle of rush hour, driving in more traffic than we had ever seen, with a flat tire. Eagle pulled the car over to the side of the road, and we got out to survey the damage. The front driver-side tire was trashed. We stood around, almost stunned. I don’t think any of us had ever changed a tire in our lives up to that point, so we stared at each other with a “What the hell do we do now?” look on our faces.

After about 10 minutes of digging in the trunk and pulling out the spare tire and jack, a tow truck pulled over in front of our car. “I’ll change that tire for fifty bucks.” The guy looked shady, and made us all feel a bit uneasy. Fifty bucks might as well have been $1000 bucks for us – I think I only brought $50 for the whole trip, and had only really spent about $8 total up to that point on a Coke, Desert Storm cards and a McMuffin meal. I owed Eagle about $10 for gas. After discussing with Bart and Eagle for a minute or so, we each put up some cash and decided to let the shady tow truck driver change our tire. I remember him saying, “You guys really shouldn’t be out here, it’s dangerous.” That calmed me down a bit, as again, here was someone who seemed genuinely concerned for our safety and our situation. It probably would’ve taken us an hour to change the tire ourselves, and it was starting to get dark. Twenty minutes later, the spare tire was on, the tow truck driver was paid, and we were on our way. I had initially blamed the flat tire on the piece-of-shit rental car it was attached to. It never occurred to me at the time, but 18 years later, thinking back on that flat tire, I’m pretty sure it was my dumb ass that caused it by slamming into that median the previous night!

It was now dark, and we were starting to get desperate. We had gotten off the Expressway and driven around aimlessly for another half hour, when we spotted the sign. Super 8! We instantly regained all the energy we had lost over the course of our frustrating day. We pulled into the parking lot, expecting to see the Tempo outside. When we didn’t see Todd’s car, we were concerned that they were still out there somewhere, lost, as we had been all day. We went to the front desk and Eagle gave the clerk the reservation information. We were instantly deflated with the next sentence out of the clerk’s mouth – “I’m sorry, we don’t have a reservation in our system for you.”

Stay tuned for Part 6…….Found

Iowa: Waving Goodbye to Noah Fant

When Alexander Hamilton Swan decided to establish a stockyards operation just South of Omaha in the late 1880’s, he had no idea it would create the greatest Nebraskan’s to ever live. The meatpacking industry drew thousands of European immigrants looking for work and they immediately created their own territories throughout South Omaha. FGI’s roots are firmly entrenched in South Omaha. All but one of our founding fathers attended Omaha South High school and most of us managed to graduate as part of the illustrious class of 1992.

South Omaha may be best known for the stockyards and meatpacking plants, but the community has also produced several transcendent athletes over the years. I know when you hear transcendent South Omaha athletes your mind automatically goes to Spring Lake Football League (SFL) Hall of Famers; however, I am speaking of actual athletes that played at the highest level and made history.

During the mid-1960’s the gifted signal caller Marlin Briscoe dazzled Packer fans and befuddled opposing defenses earning him the nickname the “Magician”. Marlin was drafted by the Broncos in the 14^th round of the NFL draft in 1968. The Omaha South and Omaha University standout entered a September 1968 game with Boston at quarterback with about 10 minutes to play. He started under center the next week. In doing so, he became the first black starting quarterback in modern pro football history. established a Denver rookie record of 14 touchdown passes that season.

Every self-respecting Husker fan is familiar with Dave Rimington. A 1978 Omaha South Graduate who went on to become a consensus All-American, finishing fifth in Heisman Trophy voting in 1982. Dave is considered the greatest college football center of all time and is who the Rimington award is named after and is awarded the best center in college football on an annual basis.

Noah Fant seemed destined to be the next great athlete from Omaha South. A talented two sport athlete that shined brightly on a Packer football team often overmatched against Metro powerhouses. In 2015 Noah’s pass catching ability and overall athleticism caught the eye of Division 1 coaches. Most Husker fans felt Noah signing with Nebraska was a foregone conclusion. Unfortunately for us fans, Nebraska was under the control of the Pelini regime. Noah made it clear during the recruiting process that he desired to play offense. The only explanation I can give is Carl Pelini made a cocaine binge induced argument to Bo to recruit Fant as a defensive end. Bo was subsequently fired, Riley’s sprinkles for everyone plea didn’t work, and Noah signed with the enemy!

Although it felt like Noah committed an act of treason signing with Iowa, as a fellow South High graduate I wanted him to succeed. And succeed he did! Fant saw the field as a true freshman hauling in 9 passes for 70 yards and a touchdown. In his sophomore season Noah put the Big 10 and the rest of the country on notice. Fant finished 2017 with 30 catches for 494 yards and 11 touchdowns including a beatdown of his home state Huskers.

A preseason All American in 2018, Noah seemed destined to join Tim Dwight and Brad Banks on the Mount Rushmore of Iowa football. Fant’s and Iowa’s season started off well… maybe too well. Another soft schedule led to a 6-1 start and had Hawkeye fans ready to use their Super 8 rewards points in Indianapolis. You could see Ferentz was troubled. Whenever Iowa managed to move inside of the opponents 40-yard line, Kirk would hear a voice inside his head, “Go for it Kirk”, “but it’s 4^th and 2 on the 38!” “You have Noah Fant, the best tight end in the country GO FOR IT!” “I can’t!” Kirk screamed, drawing strange looks from his assistant coaches. “It’s not the Iowa way.”

Kirk had to figure this out. He sought the counsel of legendary Iowa coach Hayden Fry looking for answers. “Why am I having these naughty thoughts?” he asked. “Biscuits and Gravy” replied the now 89-year-old Fry. Kirk left the meeting even more perplexed and confused than before. Upon returning to Iowa City, Kirk set up shop in the team’s film room hoping to find answers. He poured over hours of film starting with the first game. Everything seemed normal at first. An unimaginative and archaic offense for the most part. But one player began to emerge. An incredibly athletic tight end that “specialized” in beating opposing defenses and catching 50-yard touchdown passes. Game after game Noah found his way to the end zone. Kirk heard it again, “that’s him idiot!” “throw Fant the ball!”

An immense sense of relief washed over Kirk as he exited the facility. “I now know what needs to be done.” He said to himself. Iowa was still clinging to hopes of winning the Big 10 West when they took on Northwestern at home last week. This is when Ferentz would implement his plan. The plan went off without a hitch! Iowa punted on 4^th down from the Northwestern 38, Fant only played 9 snaps in the second half and had 1 catch for 0 yards! The Wildcats went on to win 14-10 and celebrated a Big 10 West Championship on the Iowa 50-yard line.

Even though Ferentz was satisfied, Hawkeye fan was less than satisfied. May took to Twitter to voice their displeasure. “Fire Ferentz!” “Why didn’t Fant play more?” the fans demanded. A few fans drunk from years of Iowa mediocrity offered up this reason. His blocking isn’t up to the “Iowa Standard”. A quick check of the stats shows Iowa is currently 11^th in the Big 10 in rushing average a mere 1 yard more than Rutgers for 12^th. It seems Iowa isn’t up to the Iowa standard.

I have a few sources close to the program that tell me Fant has been admitted to the Iowa Children’s Hospital near the stadium to see a “specialist”. Noah will be forced to attend daily sessions lasting one hour and retrained in the Iowa Way. It is unknown how long Fant will remain admitted but there is a plan to have the crowd wave to a dejected Noah Fant staring out of the hospital window after a punt from inside of the Husker 40 during the Nebraska game.

Road Trip to Wrigley: Separated

Road Trip part 4…. Separated

We were back on the Interstate again, still in a fog over the brouhaha that had just occurred at McDonald’s. A sense of anticipation started to set in as we neared our destination. It was still fairly early in the morning when we started to see the downtown Chicago skyline. We could finally make out the silhouette of the Sears Tower, and the excitement was building. We had previously decided that the first thing we would do once we hit Chicago is locate our hotel. The reservations were for Super 8, and we were even more excited when we were told the hotel was “minutes from Wrigley Field”. Remember again, that this is 1991, and we were years away from having navigation in the cars, or cell phones for basic communication. The plan was very simple – locate the hotel, it’s on Halstead Street. No problem, we thought, find Halstead and we’re good.

We instantly found Halstead Street and headed north. This was going to be easy, we thought, as we started driving through some of the most notorious, gang-infested, violent projects in the United States. We didn’t know it at the time, and I would even venture to bet that some of the guys don’t realize it to this day, how rough and famous (or infamous) that part of Southside Chicago really was. There were people walking everywhere, and to this wide-eyed, sheltered, 16-year-old white boy, everything appeared to be moving in slow motion and all eyes were on us as we drove by. At every stop sign or red light, terror set in. Loud bass was pumping in cars behind us. Shops with iron bars across their windows and doors lined the streets. To anyone that lives in or has visited Southern California, it looked like Venice Beach times 100. I became real concerned that our hotel might really be near this ghetto.

As we kept driving, taking in all the scenery, hoping we wouldn’t get shot, we realized that Halstead Street stretched on for miles, yet there was still no sign of our hotel. Eagle was driving the rental, following Todd in the Tempo. Each stop was an obstacle course, and we did all we could to keep on each other’s tail. The crazy Chicago bus drivers did not help our cause one bit. It seemed as though their protocol was to immediately pull into our lane after picking up passengers, regardless of whether or not we were already occupying that lane. We were almost sideswiped several times by city buses, as we had to adjust to this Chicago-style of driving. We drove North on Halstead for what seemed like hours, and eventually decided that we must have missed our hotel. We decided to turn around and head south to make sure we hadn’t missed it. Again, we ran the gauntlet of buses, gangsters and stop signs, but could not find our elusive hotel. Back North again we went. This circus went on for about an hour, and it was nearing midday.

We were at a stoplight, and I remember hearing Eagle say the words that would define the rest of our day, “Where did Todd go?” At every stop sign, one or two cars would always jump ahead of Eagle, but Todd was never more than a few cars ahead and easy to keep an eye on. This time it was different – the Tempo was nowhere to be found. Our mission turned from finding the hotel to finding Todd and the Tempo. How hard could that be? If we stayed on Halstead, we would eventually run into each other. That wasn’t the case. After driving North and South several times over the course of the next hour, finding the hotel became our focus once again, as we realized Todd, Dilly and Tripp would probably just wait there for us when they got there.

We found a Seven-Eleven and pulled in to ask for directions. In those days, that’s what you did without cell phones or Mapquest – you stopped into a mini-mart and asked for directions. I made my way over to the pay phone outside to see if I could find our hotel in the phone book and possibly call for directions. There were 2 or 3 payphones and 2 of those were already being used. Before I made it to the last open booth, out of nowhere, a man stepped up to the phone and started throwing in coins. This was no ordinary man, though. This was a pimp – no, a Super-pimp, wearing a bright yellow, silk button-down shirt, tucked into vibrant green slacks, topped of with a matching green hat. I have no idea the true profession of the alleged pimp, but from all outward appearances, this man was a pimp. “The pimp” gestured to me, giving me the “hold on just a second” motion. We all waited nervously as he finished his phone call. As he finished and hung up the phone, he turned around to us and asked, “How can I help you?” as if we were waiting for his services. Bart replied, “We’re trying to find our hotel, we need to use the phone.” At that moment, the phone behind him rang, and once again, he told us to hold on a second. He picked up the phone and as he began his conversation, we were all caught off guard as the pimp propped the phone between his head and shoulder, undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his shirt. He slowly and carefully tucked his shirt back in his pants all the way around and re-zipped and re-did his belt. All three of us just stood there bewildered, thinking, “Did that just happen?” The pimp finished his 2nd phone call and said, “You’re lost”. I thought, at any moment, we were going to be mugged or shot. “Maybe I can help you out,” the pimp said. I instantly thought of the movie, Vacation, when Chevy Chase stopped to ask for directions, as his hubcaps were being stolen. I don’t even remember what kind of directions the pimp gave us – I just wanted to get the hell out of there…

To be continued……….

Stay tuned for Part 5………Still Lost

Road Trip to Wrigley: The Showdown

Road Trip part 3…. The Showdown

Princeton, Illinois, population 7500. This little town, approximately 366 miles from Omaha, which boasts Ace Hardware as its major employer, was also the home to a quaint little McDonald’s. Only 2 hours outside of Chicago, we were nearing the Promised Land with plenty of time to spare. With the sun just barely peeking up over the horizon, and realizing since we had left early, we would have the entire day to explore Chicago, we decided to stop in Princeton’s McDonald’s for some breakfast. None of us were aware of the fateful events that were just minutes from unfolding that would change the course of this trip.

We had been on the road for quite some time, and none of us was in a real hurry. We took turns ordering, using the facilities, washing up and waiting for our numbers to be called. We were seated at one table, with the exception of Brad Dilly, who was at the counter waiting for his food. An idea was instantly hatched. I don’t know who thought of it, but Bart would carry it out. I wouldn’t say that most of us were in the best shape of our lives, but we were 16, and all healthy eaters. Dilly, the most portly of the group, and probably the most out-of-shape, didn’t look like he had missed many meals.

The plan was simple enough, Dilly would sit down and start to eat, and Bart would keep track of time. From first bite to last bite, we were going to time how long it took Dilly to eat a McMuffin. Could it be done in 5 bites or less, or perhaps in 1 minute or less? We were about to find out. Dilly brought his food around to the other side of the table, and we could barely contain ourselves. I jammed as much of my sausage McMuffin into my mouth as I could to avoid laughing. The wrapper was off, and we all looked at Bart, who was looking down at the second hand of his watch. Still unaware of what was happening, Dilly took the first bite. Bart broke down into hysterical laughter, and we all followed. “What?” Dilly asked, looking at all of us with a confused expression on his face. “Nothing,” Bart replied, now staring at his watch, and holding it with the other hand like a stopwatch. “FUCK YOU GUYS!!!” Dilly yelled, as he had figured out what was going on.

What happened in the next few seconds is the subject of Folklore, as most of us were laughing and finishing our own food. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw McMuffin hurtling through the air and the next thing we knew, Dilly and Bart were going at it. The fight was on! Food was all over the floor, expletives were shouted, and fists were flying. It seems as though the whole town of Princeton was staring at us in shock, wondering what had happened to disrupt their sleepy little town and their peaceful lives. Everyone knows that good friends don’t break up a fight; they egg it on until everyone has had enough, and this case would be no exception. As we laughed and cheered and food kept flying, Bart had decided it was time to step outside to cool down. Dilly wasn’t done. He bolted out the door after Bart, and with the precision of a guided missile, launched a whole McMuffin, which hit Bart square in the back. Bart was furious, “What the Hell, Dilly?!?!”

Inside the restaurant, concerned patrons started to make their way over to where the maelstrom had occurred. I was still in complete shock, as this had happened in the course of merely 30 to 60 seconds. An older gentleman came over and said angrily, “You guys need to pick this up,” to which Dilly replied, “who made you the fucking manager?” We hurriedly snatched up the rest of our food and headed outside to see what was going on. At this time, everyone had had enough, and the fight was broken up. You could still see the adrenaline going in both Bart and Dilly, and if you looked close enough, you could see a greasy outline of where a sausage patty had impacted squarely in the middle of Bart’s back.

We hopped in our cars again, but not before Todd snapped some pictures of the attempted murder weapon, a lone sausage patty, which we left in the parking lot of that Princeton, Illinois McDonald’s.
We were now only 2 hours from Chicago as we headed back out on the Interstate. We estimated that we would hit the outskirts of town in just short of an hour and a half, which would get us to downtown Chicago between 9 or 10 in the morning. We would have a full day to visit the city……..…or would we?

Stay tuned for Part 4………Separated

Road Trip to Wrigley: Part 1

Road Trip Part 1

I feel the need to tell a story that has been kept in the hearts and minds of a few individuals, but hasn’t been told the way it needs to be told. I can remember so much of this special story, like it happened yesterday, and the more I think about it the more vivid the details become. You see, I can sit here and tell you that this is simply the tale of a typical road trip that six high-school buddies took to Chicago one weekend, but I would be doing the world a great injustice. If you break this story down into pieces, they would be insignificant. The fact that all of these smaller pieces, these side-stories, all happened in the span of 2 days, on one road trip, makes this story worthy of a Hollywood screenplay, and I want to emphasize, in no way am I using hyperbole with this tale.

Before we get started on the actual story, we have to start with the cast of characters. We begin with Todd Gillespie, the leader and consummate Chicago Cubs fan. Todd hatched this road trip plan and nurtured it through to fruition. Next, there was Bart Kukula, the crazy Polock. Always up to do anything, as long as it bordered on being illegal. Then there was Adam Tripp, the somewhat quiet, cool and confident one. Let’s not forget Brad Dilly, probably a genius, but one who always seemed to get in his own way. Myself, Don Bitler, the self-proclaimed smartass, always willing to drop a one-liner and offend someone at the drop of a hat. And last but not least, Eddie (the Eagle) Periseau, in whose memory I will dedicate this story. Tragically, Eagle’s life was cut short in 1997, as he lost his long battle with cancer.

The year was 1991. Operation Desert Storm dominated the headlines as the U.S. was finishing mop-up duty in the First Gulf War with Iraq, C&C Music Factory, Paula Abdul and Color Me Badd were on the Billboard charts, and Z. Cavaricci’s were still all the rage. The plan started off as an idea that Todd threw around. None of us were really Cubs fans except for Todd, and I believe he would have taken this trek on his own, eventually. It began innocently enough with, “We should all take a road trip to Wrigley”. “Yeah, that would be cool.” I really didn’t pay this any mind. I was only 16 and I knew my parents would never let me take a road trip with a bunch of other 16 and 17 year-olds. The idea, at least for a while, was just that, an idea. It was being tossed around in the spring semester of our junior year at Omaha South High School.

As the school year wound down, plans began to get serious. As more and more of us started to commit to the trip, I made the decision that this was something I needed to be a part of. I finally summoned up the courage to ask my parents. The worst they could say was “No”, and they initially did just that. My father, always fairly strict, thought the idea of a bunch of kids travelling so far from home was ridiculous. I decided to let them sit on it for a few days, but the seeds had at least been planted. A few days passed and I took my Mother aside and virtually begged her to let me go. She brought my Dad in, I begged some more, and finally my Dad gave me his permission in the form of, “Don’t fuck this up, kid. You’ll be grounded all summer if you do!” Tickets were bought and hotel arrangements were made. We would be leaving on a Wednesday, June 12th, to catch our first Major League Baseball game at Wrigley Field on Thursday, June 13th. The Cubs would be playing the hated San Francisco Giants.

We were to all meet at Todd’s house on Tuesday, the 11th, and we would be leaving bright and early in the morning on Wednesday. Since there were six of us, we would need two cars, and Eagle’s Mom generously rented a car. We were all gathered at Todd’s in the early evening, with the exception of Eagle. We were eagerly anticipating what type of rental car he would be pulling up to the house in. Eagle did not disappoint. He rolled up to the front of Todd’s house in a broken-down-looking, 1980’s Plymouth Reliant K. The car looked to be way past it’s prime and certainly not typical of a rental car. I wondered how and why, in 1991, a 1984 Plymouth would even be rented out. More importantly, looking at the condition of the car, we all wondered if this K-car had the guts to even make it to Chicago, an 8-hour drive. To Eagle’s dismay, we all started kicking the car. Getting angry, Ed yelled at us to stop. “Ahhh, IT’S A RENTAL!” we replied, and proceeded to keep kicking the car. Please make a mental note of the condition of the rental car, and the beating we were dishing out, as this will play a vital role in a subsequent portion of this story.

The anticipation was building as it was approaching 9:00pm on the eve of the big trip. We had all become restless and began wondering if we would be able to even sleep. “We should just leave now,” someone blurted out.
“Ha, Ha, Ha, yeah, we should.”
“You guys want to just leave now?” Todd asked all of us.
“Fuck it! Let’s just leave now!!!” we all decided.
With that, Dilly and Tripp piled into Todd’s Ford Tempo, Bart and I reluctantly hopped into Eagle’s Plymouth rental piece of crap, and we were off…

Stay tuned for Part 2…. On the Road