1999 Big XII Championship Game - Texas vs. Nebraska - San Antonio, TX. As told by a Texas fan who lived it:
A chronology of events for Saturday, December 4, 1999, and the
early morning hours of Sunday, December 5, 1999:
6:00 Arise, play the Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking blast
6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunfels
7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the FIRST tee-time of the morning)
8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer)
8:53 Crack open second beer
8:58 Crack open...(you get the idea)
10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for smoooooth 95
10:35 Headed for San Antonio
10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities
11:10 We decide we don't have enough booze, so we double-back to a liquor
store and buy the good ol' 750 ml plastic bottle "Traveler" Jim Beam
11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud in the
sky. About 70 degrees.
11:55 I decide that we're going to kick the ****** out of Nebraska.
11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go ****** himself.
12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We're on the
second floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple
hundred of us). We're hooting and hollering like wildmen. The band
doubles back to the street right below us and serenades us with Texas
Fight and The Eyes of Texas. AWESOME MOMENT.
12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping
chests with one another, each and every one of them now secure and
certain of the fact that we are going to kick the ****** out of Nebraska.
1:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, we
hoot and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops
right below us to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska
fight songs. *Although somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve,
we remain convinced that we are going to kick the ****** out of Nebraska.
1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff the
"Traveler" and 11 cans of beer into my pants.
1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans. They are taunting me. I
am taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the ****** out
of Nebraska. I decide to challenge a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to
play what I now call and will forever be remembered as "Cell-Phone Flop
Out." Remember flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell
this Nebraska jackass that if he's so confident in his team, he should
"flop out" his cell phone RIGHT NOW and make plane reservations to
Phoenix for the Fiesta Bowl. And then I spoke these memorable words:
"And not those damn refundable tickets, either! You request those non-
refundable, non-transferable sons-of-bitches!" He backs down. He is
unworthy. I call Southwest Airlines and buy two tickets to Phoenix,
non-refundable and non-transferable. Price: $712. He is humbled. He
lowers his head in shame. I raise my cell phone in triumph to the
cheers of hundreds of Texas fans. I am KING and these are my subjects.
I distribute the 11 beers in my pants to the cheering masses. I RULE
the pre-game kingdom.
2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler and pour
my first stiffy.
2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska is fast.
Nebraska is very pissed off at Texas.
3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total offense for
Texas. Zero first downs for Texas. I'm still talking ******. I pour
another stiffy from the Traveler.
3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: the Traveler is a dead
soldier. I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While
I am standing in line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major
Applewhite and rolls out of the end zone. Safety.
3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another Traveler.
4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at halftime,
I attempt to revive the classic Brice-ism from the South Bend bathroom:
"Hey, buddy, niiiiiiiiice cock." He is unamused.
4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. I share
my beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, they
are equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase
Sprites, so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith.
Nebraska is a bunch of pussies.
4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their
lives. I purchase two more $5 beers from the Alamodome merchants.
5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. This
normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football field.
5:27 I call Southwest Airlines: "I'm sorry, sir. Those tickets have been
confirmed and are non-refundable and non-transferable."
5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession
counter. As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer can
be sold when there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am
enraged by this policy. I ask loudly: "Why the ****** didn't you
announce last call over the ****** PA system??!!"
5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a
sudden, the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts. "Whazzis?," I mutter,
awaking from my coma, "Iz we winnig? Did wez scort?" Alas, the answer
is no, we were not winning and we did not score. The largest (by far)
cheer of the day from the Texas faithful occurred when the handlers
were walking back to the tunnel and Bevo stopped to take a gargantuan
****** all over the letters "S", "K", and "A" in the "Nebraska" spelled
out in their end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick up the empty Traveler
bottle and stick my tongue in it. I am thirsty.
6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I
would taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but
I am too drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive
thought of the evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not
beaten them in October, they would be playing Florida State for the
national championship.
6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the 8:00 Texas-
Arizona tip off. We can still salvage the day! I crack open a beer.
It is warm. I don't care.
7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store. I
walk past the beer frig. I notice a Zima. I've never had a Zima. I
wonder if it's any good. I pull a Zima from the frig. I twist the top
off and drink the Zima in three swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the
empty bottle in the frig.
7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the
ingredients are, where the person usually makes the sub. There is no
one there. I lean over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of
black olives. I eat them. I am still hungry. I lean further over the
counter and grab approximately two pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of
the store grunting and eating Pastrami. The patrons in the store fear
me. I don't care.
8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and singing
Brooks and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my
singing. He suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other
good songs besides "You're Going to Miss Me When I'm Gone" and "Neon
Moon" and that maybe listening to only those two songs, ten times each
was a bit excessive. Perhaps, he suggests, I could just let the CD play
on its own. I tell him to ****** off and restart "Neon Moon."
8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud and
profane protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking
garage. I tell him he's an idiot. I tell him we will never get out. I
tell him we may as well pitch a ****** tent here. He ignores me. I
think he's still pissed about the Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle
"Neon Moon" loudly.
8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We're
going to kick the ****** out of Arizona.
9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the
bathroom to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because of
the new opportunity to do "the bathroom Brice." There are no Arizona
fans in the bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself (out loud) that
I have a "Niiiiiice cock." No one is amused but me.
9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can.
Needless to say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center,much less
Bud Light out of a can. I am stopped by an usher: "Where did you get
that, sir?" I tell him (no ******): "Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing
them up with those little plastic footballs. Would you mind throwing
this away for me?" I take the last swig and hand it to him. He is
confused. I pretend I'm going to the bathroom, but I run away giggling
instead. I duck into some entrance to avoid the usher, who is now
pursuing me. I sneak into a large group of people and sit down. The
usher walks by harmlessly. I am giggling like a little girl. I crack
open another can of Bud Light.
9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lostmy bearings.
I have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing.
10:09 Texas is being screwed by the refs. I am enraged. I have cleared
out the seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the
surrounding chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I'm OK and perhaps
I shouldn't take it so seriously. I tell him to ****** off.
10:15 After the fourth consecutive "worst ****** call I have EVER seen,"
I attempt to remove my hat again to begin beating inanimate objects.
However, on this occasion I miscalculate and I thumbnail myself in my
left eyelid, leaving a one-quarter inch gash over my eye. I am now
bleeding into my left eye and all over my shirt. "Perhaps," I think
to myself, "I'm taking this a bit seriously."
10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. I'm so drunk I am swaying
and grunting. I have a bloody napkin pressed on my left eye. My pants
are bloody. I have my (formerly) white shirt wrapped around my waist.
I look like I should be in an episode of Cops.
10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body and
make my way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good
samaritan/cop/security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, but
I merely grunt incoherently and keep moving.
10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I walk
up six flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend I will
punch him in the face for making me walk up six flights of stairs,
find the truck, and collapse in a heap in the bed of the truck. I look
around and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the
garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I take a nap.
11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver's seat. I lift
my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is
lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one
is moving. I am too tired to punch my friend. I call my friend a
"Stupid cocksucker."
11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights,
and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights,
and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights,
and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out
the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on
the second floor. I jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the
parking facility, and pee off the sixth floor onto the street below.
My friend looks at me like I just anally violated his minor sister.
I turn around and pee on the front of his truck while singing the
lyrics to "Neon Moon."
12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and
go from vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am
happy. I return to my vehicle.
12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to
my apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with a freshly opened
bottle of Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all
going to die tonight.
12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet.
We decide it would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther's.
Ed has to pee. He walks down the hall to our apartment and directly
into the full length mirror at the end of the hall, smashing it into
hundreds of pieces. We giggle uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther's.
1:17 The PollyEsther's doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts
to enter his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic
laughter, "I've been working this door for almost a year. I've been
working doors in this town for almost 5 years. And I can honestly
say that I ain't never seen three drunker mother ****** than you
three. Sorry, can't let you in." We attempt to reason with him. He
laughs harder.
1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door and
hear "Last call for alcohol!" I turn to the group and mutter: "See,
dat wasn't that ******' hard. Day don't ******' do that at the Awamo...
the awaom...the alab...****** it, that stadium we was at today..." We
order 6 shots of tequila and three beers.
2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail a cab to take us the
two and one half blocks to Katz's. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him
$10 and tell him to keep it.
2:17 There is a 20 minute wait. We give the hostess $50. We are seated
immediately.
2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of
soup, two orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a
hamburger, two cheese stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order
of onion rings.
2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads on the table.
The waiter wakes us up. We eat every ****** bit of our food. Most of
the restaurant patrons around us are disgusted. We don't give a ******.
The tab is $112 with tip.
2:46 I'm sleepy.
9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at Katz's.
She is not pretty.
