I received a reminder recently that, aside from a story on floor moppers, I hadn't posted much from a recent trip to Oklahoma City for to view the NCAA Tournament. Now it's time to work on rectifying that.
When one is driving south on I-35, there's no need to look for a sign alerting you when you cross from Kansas into Oklahoma. No, the canyon-like potholes and road-shoulders littered with shredded tires provide a welcome that no sign could. "Welcome to Oklahoma. Be kind to our roads, as we sure won't fix them... Oh yeah, if you add to our roadside collection of shredded rubber, you better have Survivorman-like skills, as cell phone coverage is as scant as Aborigines in the NBA."
The trip is a scenic one. Not only does one encounter massive billboards boasting that a rest stop has "CLEAN RESTROOMS," but - on rare occasions - you might even see a person bundled up like an eskimo, perched atop an overpass waving at passing cars. It was like the guy had been hired to welcome folks to Alaska only to later find out he was horrendous when it came to reading maps.
At the Ford Center - the finest arena in all of downtown Oklahoma City - my brother in I took in some pretty good action. Between the dancing mascots* and the stranger jabbering next to me as if we were old roommates**, there was actually some excellent action on the court. We saw a Wildcat victory, a double-overtime thriller between BYU and Florida, and a Northern Iowa squad just days away from crushing the hopes of Jayhawks everywhere.
*It seems that, away from Kansas State University, dancing is a hobby embraced by mascots. The BYU Cougar showed off moves straight out of "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo," and even the Florida Gator performed moves with the flair of the most ravenous death roll. Why doesn't Wille the Wildcat dance in similar fashion? Is it because it's tough just maintaining balance with such a large head? (I can support that statement.) Is it because he's confused about why he has an animal head, yet a human body? I need answers.
**A big fan of a school that I don't exactly adore sat next to me for the second pair of games. He proceeded to fill me in on his life story (unfortunately I forgot to take notes that I could refer to later when writing his unauthorized biography, titled "There's a Point in Here Somewhere."), and also ask me on multiple occasions whether my brother and I had attended the first session of games. This would not have been a strange question, except K-State played in the first session of games, and we were wearing shirts that spelled out "K-State" in pretty blatant manner. Also, the answer to the question remained the same every time he asked it: "Yes. Sure did."
Unfortunately, our weekend in OKC wrapped up early, once meteorologists decided to begin forecasting blizzards for the city. Thus, we traveled through conditions that would have made the Abominable Snowman quiver to make it home on Friday night and watched K-State's second-round victory and KU's surprising tournament exit from the comfort of Kansas. It would have been pretty memorable to have had the opportunity to view such action from the Ford Center*, but I certainly wouldn't have changed the way things turned out.
*Contrary to popular belief, the Ford Center is neither made of Fords nor is it home to Harrison Ford.
When one is driving south on I-35, there's no need to look for a sign alerting you when you cross from Kansas into Oklahoma. No, the canyon-like potholes and road-shoulders littered with shredded tires provide a welcome that no sign could. "Welcome to Oklahoma. Be kind to our roads, as we sure won't fix them... Oh yeah, if you add to our roadside collection of shredded rubber, you better have Survivorman-like skills, as cell phone coverage is as scant as Aborigines in the NBA."
The trip is a scenic one. Not only does one encounter massive billboards boasting that a rest stop has "CLEAN RESTROOMS," but - on rare occasions - you might even see a person bundled up like an eskimo, perched atop an overpass waving at passing cars. It was like the guy had been hired to welcome folks to Alaska only to later find out he was horrendous when it came to reading maps.
At the Ford Center - the finest arena in all of downtown Oklahoma City - my brother in I took in some pretty good action. Between the dancing mascots* and the stranger jabbering next to me as if we were old roommates**, there was actually some excellent action on the court. We saw a Wildcat victory, a double-overtime thriller between BYU and Florida, and a Northern Iowa squad just days away from crushing the hopes of Jayhawks everywhere.
*It seems that, away from Kansas State University, dancing is a hobby embraced by mascots. The BYU Cougar showed off moves straight out of "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo," and even the Florida Gator performed moves with the flair of the most ravenous death roll. Why doesn't Wille the Wildcat dance in similar fashion? Is it because it's tough just maintaining balance with such a large head? (I can support that statement.) Is it because he's confused about why he has an animal head, yet a human body? I need answers.
**A big fan of a school that I don't exactly adore sat next to me for the second pair of games. He proceeded to fill me in on his life story (unfortunately I forgot to take notes that I could refer to later when writing his unauthorized biography, titled "There's a Point in Here Somewhere."), and also ask me on multiple occasions whether my brother and I had attended the first session of games. This would not have been a strange question, except K-State played in the first session of games, and we were wearing shirts that spelled out "K-State" in pretty blatant manner. Also, the answer to the question remained the same every time he asked it: "Yes. Sure did."
Unfortunately, our weekend in OKC wrapped up early, once meteorologists decided to begin forecasting blizzards for the city. Thus, we traveled through conditions that would have made the Abominable Snowman quiver to make it home on Friday night and watched K-State's second-round victory and KU's surprising tournament exit from the comfort of Kansas. It would have been pretty memorable to have had the opportunity to view such action from the Ford Center*, but I certainly wouldn't have changed the way things turned out.
*Contrary to popular belief, the Ford Center is neither made of Fords nor is it home to Harrison Ford.
No comments:
Post a Comment