I was back home in northwest Iowa for Thanksgiving, and Saturday night my presence was expected at a family dinner at a restaurant. You know what this meant: using "alternative" methods of monitoring the Creighton-Nebraska game.
Namely, free WiFi and ESPN Mobile Gamecast on my iPod. Its an ingenious thing, to be perfectly honest. Much better than the desktop computer version, Mobile Gamecast strips down the interface to just the essentials: time, score, and the latest plays. Period. AND it updates automatically, so if you have to hide the iPod under the table in your lap for a few minutes while you engage a relative in discussion about any number of less important things, the game tracker will be up to date when you can next catch a glance.
Like I said, genius. Just after 8 o'clock when the iPod screen refreshed to say "Kaleb Korver made Three Point jump shot. > CREI 31, NEB 18" I summoned all of my strength to avoid making a scene at the restaurant. After all, no one knew I was doing this.
Using the "STATS" panel, I was able to click -- with trepidation, of course -- to take a peek at the rebounding and turnover stats. I was alarmed but not overly upset to see the Jays with 12 turnovers. I was downright ecstatic to see them with a 24-12 edge in rebounding, lack of Husker size or not.
During halftime, I made enough conversation to buy me a "conversation grace period" during the second half. Fifteen minutes or so later, it was back to making quick glances under the table every minute for an update.
Nebraska, as you know, had a 6-0 run to open the half. Again, I summoned strength to avoid blowing my cover. Turns out I would need more strength than I possessed. Nebraska proceeded to make a 27-6 run to open the half, not only extinguishing the Jays lead but running right past them and taking a big lead of their own. I could imagine the sea of red going nuts, and frankly it made me sick to my stomach. Or maybe it was just the mozzarella sticks. Probably the mozzarella sticks; you're really not supposed to eat ten of them before your meal. That's a lot of cheese, as it turns out. Who knew.
As Nebraska took a 45-38 lead with 9 minutes and change remaining, I excused myself to the bathroom. I needed to get more information than Gamecast was providing me. What the h-e-double-hockey-sticks was happening in Lincoln? Of course, the live stats from Creighton's website are flash and don't work on an iPhone or an iPod, but I needed more than stats anyway. I wanted analysis. So I went to the BluejayCafe, knowing it would be in full meltdown mode but that it also was my only chance to find out what was happening.
I went into one of the stalls, and pulled it up. It took longer than I figured to sift through the griping, screaming and anger salad. There was pge after page of "Josh Dotzler stinks, Dana Altman is stupid, et al", you know, the usual stuff when they're losing. Buried in there was a couple of things that helped it make sense, I was sure of it, but I was also sure that the restroom attendant was likely concerned at why I had been in there so long. So I flushed even though there was no reason to do so other than to provide a smokescreen, and exited.
The restroom attendant asked if I was alright, having been in there almost ten minutes. I told him I had been doing research. As you'd expect, this threw him for a loop. "Research? In the bathroom? Man, I've spent years here, ain't nuthin' to be learned in there!"
It was true though, and so I decided to really give him a story to tell by replying, "I'm just looking for answers, and this seemed like the place to look for them."
A nice, existential reply, right? What he came back with slayed me, though. "Well, I hope you found what you were lookin' for."
I shook my head back and forth and muttered "No", knowing this would make him think I was insane. Then I tipped him and left. When I got outside, I busted up in laughter. Hope you found what you were looking for! Wow, that's classic.
Meanwhile at the Bob Devaney Sports Center, the basketball arena named for a football coach and a cable show past its prime, Creighton was trailing 47-42 at the final media timeout. Did they have a comeback in them?
Yes, yes they did. And when my iPod lit up to say "2:13 (CREI) Casey Harriman Steal" and then "2:11 (CREI) Casey Harriman made Two Point layup > CREI 47, NEB 47" I once again had to summon uncommon strength. Also, I had to make a decision. Do I go back to the bathroom and encounter the attendant again? Do I sit here and risk making a scene? Or do I go outside with the smokers and freeze my jibblies off?
I like my jibblies and I didn't wish to engage the attendant in another convo, so I risked making a scene.
As the teams traded buckets, I took sips of beer, waiting for the next update. I felt like an olde thyme radio host waiting by the ticker tape for updates that never seemed to arrive quick enough. And when my iPod lit up with "00:19 (CREI) Josh Dotzler made Three Point Jumper > CREI 52, NEB 52" I thought about resetting the iPod. Clearly it was not loading things right. Just kidding, I was too ecstatic to have such rational thoughts.
The last update seemed like it took FOREVER to come, and when it finally did, I screamed out "Dagunduro!!!" as if I was Captain Kirk and he was Khan. Obviously, this was a strange thing to yell out at a restaurant in a small town in northwest Iowa on a Saturday night, and it didn't go unnoticed. I had to think quickly, and to be honest, my mind wasn't in the kind of shape to be doing that. But I managed to spin it into a story about some obscure TV show and I feigned insult that no one else had ever seen it and thus didn't get my joke. It worked, but only because it was family and they expect such goofiness from me.
I ordered another beer, and some pie, and a few minutes later, got a text from a buddy of mine who knew of my predicament.
"Dont bother watching the DVR of the game, you wont be able to xplain 2 Cox how your remote ended up wedged into the LED"
Fair enough. When I got home on Sunday, I deleted it, because I need to see Doc Sadler running around celebrating a game that supposedly doesn't mean anything to him about as much as I need to throw my remote across the room.
You bet.
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