The Weekend From Hell

Ha! It SO was, on so many levels....

Firsties, The Doberge Conspiracy in Reverse TM. I'm trade marking that term y'all, for real.

I know y'all were clamoring about my Rice Update earlier and I apologize. But I was unavoidably detained by gossipping duties. And Y'all: Shizzle. Was. Hitting. The. Fan. In the Greenie Dat Nation this weekend.

ALL kinda ways....

So it kinda all started going downhill for me when Wilson Van Hooser's TD was called back for a penalty. Oy! How many of those must we endure? Robert Kelly's TD taken away at Utep. Xavier Rush's TD taken away at Syracuse. That incomplete pass taken away for the Syracuse game...and then this final indignity! Especially when they were holding ALL DAY and we were the ones getting stuck with penalties. How does that work exactly? That's what I wanna know.


These photos have nothing to do with anything other than I took them at the game and I enjoyed them. So I am sharing.

(and then I just have to mention.....did y'all notice how those hurricane-force winds would die down just in the knick of time whenever the Rice kicker would boot the ball for field goals? !!!!! Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, What did we do wrong? Please let me know when our Karmic Debts have been paid in full!)

Ok, so then we are wrapping up to head home, we are sitting on the bus completely unaware of the impending fracas which would be The Flight Home. Football Operations peeps come on the bus and announce that our usual Modus Operandi* of getting off the bus on the tarmac and whisked away onto the plane unencumbered isn't happening because for some reason the Southwest Charter is making us actually go in to the Houston Hobby Airport, go through regular security and then meet up at the gate. All 100 of us or whatever. Yeah. That went sideways.

*Look at me acting like a professional here. I've done exactly 3 trips with the Team, and I am totally inflating this for my ego. ha!


....Yes, I have to point out here that the Rice Marching Owl Band are weird. In addition to these "tongues" hanging out of their tubas, they also zip lined this mannequin into their half time performance from the stands. It promptly broke in two upon impact from smash landing onto the turf...... I didn't get it. But, I digress....

Ok, so a friend of ours whom I'll call Matlock immediately starts freaking out and unpacking his laptop case, combing through each and every pocket because, he, like the rest of us tossed his luggage underneath the bus. Which means that his car keys now may or may not be held hostage with the other luggage underneath the bus and now he won't be able to just take his bags and get in his car at the New Orleans airport when arriving at the other side. This is because the luggage would immediately get put onto the buses and only unloaded out at Wilson Center. Prior to this his cell phone fell and black-screened completely. So that was a downer also.

So then we get to the general people Kiss and Fly departure curb at the airport, every man for himself ambles off the buses. There's no escort from Southwest waiting or nothing so it is like hearding cats trying to figure out where to go. This way, no that way. Up these escalators, down the other escalators. Down one hallway, Oops, turn around to backtrack. Oy. Then finally. Make it to Security.

Ok, well the players normally get gatorade or whatnot before getting on the plane with their boxed dinner. So now Security is all kinds of up in arms because everyone's got liquid. And toothpaste in their backpack. Cause don't you know Al Qaida has chosen to infiltrate the Tulane Football team (the weakest point in our national security system) in order to stage a terrorist plot. So what was supposed to be a 7:15 take off, now is approaching 8pm. I was dying.

So we get to Nola and Matlock has decided that his keys are most definitely lost so his car now definitively needed to spend the night at Moisant. Coach and Mrs. Hullabaloo were happy to bail him out on a ride home. Except that -again- the plane gets to Nola and there's no instructions so everyone starts filing out on the jetway into the Terminal and we're told to go back. So everyone files back onto the jetway where we stand, trapped, for another 20 minutes-half hour until someone else can give us instructions on what was happening.

In the interim, we're getting conflicting reports about exiting the terminal vs. going back towards the exit stairs to the tarmac. Back and forth we shuffle. In the midst of it, a staff member who was behind Coach Hullabaloo was chatting, not paying attention that the line of people had stopped and she bumps into him - but has her hand cupped about to get something out of her bag or something and so she GRABS my husband's ass instead.

OMG, we railed on her! We were so slap happy from the craziness of the trip, that Coach Hullabaloo starts joking with her about grabbing his butt, so then I embarass her further by going ghetto and telling her to get her paws off my man. There was about to be a cat fight. up. in. here! Players were making a circle around us - like I would really claw at her or something. Hello, I'm a Newcomb girl, really. I have a modicum of upbringing. It was so funny though.

Earlier in The Flight Home we told Matlock that these things happen in 3's and so hopefully 1. losing the game 2. his cell phone committing suicide and 3. losing his keys WERE IT and nothing worse would happen.

Well, no, it wasn't.

Up until Saturday, we had a lock on Coach Rod. So we thought. At first, when a Mountaineer Fan mentioned to me over the summer that Rich Rod would most likely be Tulane's next head coach, I thought he was nuts. But then I got a text at the UH game from a friend that I'll call SchmAl. SchmAl apparently heard from a former Greenie Dat coach that RichRod - who was up in the suites during the game - was accepting our offer. Yay, much jubilation in the Greenie Dat Nation ensued. It was a happy two weeks while contract details were being fined tuned and Tammy and the Mackel Twins remained in the dark not having a clue.

When we finally got home Saturday after Rice I start seeing some twittering that Arizona was now in the mix. WTH. So then it's a fierce gossip tree to try to sort this out all day Sunday. Sunday night we are confident that the Arizona thing was just a false rumor, everything is fine - Coach Rod was coming and an announcement was being planned for Tuesday. A friend whom I'll call Mayor has a son who went to AU. Mayor's son has another friend currently still in Tucson who works in a capacity close to the Wildcat athletics - he was told by the AU AD on Sunday that Rod accepted our offer and was headed to Nola for the Tuesday presser.

Well, how dumb were we not to see this one coming from the perennially-fickle Rich Rod: Arizona uped the ante, Rod accepted and their AD flew to Michigan before he could change his mind. Again.

The Doberge Conspiracy in Reverse.*

*for those not familiar with this famous story. In 1998 Coach Rod was lead to believe by Scott Cowen and Sandy Barbour up until the night before the press conference that the job was his. Except that overnight Sam Scelfo of Gambinos Bakeries talked Scott Cowen into hiring his brother Chris, a lowly OL coach at the time, instead. Voila The Doberge Conspiracy. At 6 am, Coach Rod shows up to the Wilson Center wearing a green jacket (where does one find a green jacket I ask?) and tie - only to read in the Times Picayune that Scelfo was being announced. He was literally left at the altar and humiliated.

So Coach Rod waited 13 years to stick it to Cowen, except that I am really pissed about this because in his quest for revenge and glory he stepped all over some very important members of the Greenie Dat Nation. And that would be the members of the 1998 Team whom I love dearly and who went full court press in rushing Rod to be our Coaching Messiah. Even going so far to coordinate sneaking Coach Rod via kitchen back doors and service elevators to elude the Mackel Twins attempt at trying to land their first story. Now Arizona fans are left scratching their heads wondering how the heck they got stuck with this choice and we are left emotionally bruised.

My final words on this and I'm over it. Coach Rod was tailor made for a comeback via CUSA and Tulane. He has the #1 recruiting ground at his disposal, a spread offense conference that would be a cinch to dominate, an easy schedule, and an adoring fan base that would have given him an enormous homecoming and an even lengthier honeymoon period.

But really, y'all I feel that whatever is supposed to happen is gonna happen and I have faith. I'm over him.

Really I am. Besides, how cute is this picture?


(a little league in Houston named themselves the Tulane Greenwave and they have a cheerleader. And they came to the game, it was cute.)

Rice Rice Baby

A1A beachfront avenue! Ok....that doesn't quite work in this scenario, but whatever: Coach Hullabaloo and I are here in Houston with the team in our final mainland game of the Hutson-Toledo era. and Big News: we'll also be in Hawaii next week!

I'm preemptively writing now cuz we fly back today immediately after the game - literally they load us all up on the buses and zip straight to the airport. So I'll do a write up on Sunday since the Saints have a bye (just warning yous in advance cause y'all just race on to the webs and spike up the traffic here like a nano second after the game and I need some time to collect my thoughts).

Well it's a big day here in Houston regardless cause College Gameday is covering the SMU Houston game across town. Tis is a mini reunion of CUSA here in Houston. Hope Tulane brings it and we can therefor piggyback some media to counteract all of Tammy's bull the past few weeks. And all the blah blah about Old Man Keenum and his Cooters (aren't y'all like over it? a 40 year old up for the heisman! just kidding, he's not 40, but dernit I think I was still in college when he started playing).

And listen y'all what I want to counteract most: our woes this season are not cause we don't match up. No ma'am. Cuz after riding elevators with team members, our guys are most definitively "bigger, faster, stronger" (remember that ditty?). I was like WHOAH when I was standing next to them on the elevators. And the funniest thing was the plane ride. We took a Southwest charter and somehow the seating got bungled so instead of ample room allowing 2 to a row, everyone got crammed in side-by-side like sausages. To the flight attendant's credit, they did play our fight song over the speakers to get us riled up.

So it's almost time for kick off, so OccupyRice y'all! Let's finish strong!

Craigslist

photographic proof that the Times Picayune took a photo of a Tulane game this season. Michael DeMocker did it.

Yea yea yea. it's almost afternoon and I've totally slacked on the post-game edition.

Don't get me wrong: I was completely kvelling over the win. We even went to Tracey's to harass tiger fans even though there was no post-game radio show there. It was great. They're such weanies.

So the game. Okay. When we witnessed that long bomb from Ryan Griffin to Ryan Grant and it was actually caught and resulted in a touchdown - it seemed like it totally happened in slow motion.

Let me set it up for you....

There's not a sound. The entire Greenie Dat Nation is standing and holding their breath. Griffin is under pressure. The ball sails out of Ryan's hands in a lollipop shape out to the 20. Ryan Grant is in a tight run with a cornerback. He stretches out his hands, the defender is a few steps off his heels. The ball actually lands and stays in his hands. Eeeh, aahh, ooohhh, he trips into the endzone. The DOME ERUPTS.

!!!!!!

Girl, let me tell you. I still wasn't breathing. Peggy and I were so shocked we turned, looked at each other and let out a massive scream with our mouths wide open, our knees slightly crouched and our palms wide open at our sides in complete exclamation. Then we hugged and jumped up and down hugging for about a minute. Very Laverne and Shirley.

...and then. Rice marched down the field and made a 1st down. Because we jumped off sides. OMG SIGH. Coach Hullabaloo was so angry. He couldn't even watch that last throw by Fanuzzi's replacement. It ended up hitting the receiver right in the helmet. I had to tell Coach Hullabaloo all about it afterwards.

Our reaction to Ryan Grant's miracle touchdown was such a contrast to THAT LAME @$$ field goal on 4th and 3 at the goal line. WHAT was that story exactly? I had moved up the terrace level at the beginning of the 4th Q. The entire Greenbackers section all screamed NOOOOOO! when we saw the field goal unit jog out.

The ENTIRE Greenie Dat Nation was so disgusted, there was no Hullabaloo cheered after the score was announced. A Protest. I think we have had our fill of lame coaching decisions. We've reached our quota, so enough of that - Ok? Alright. Just so you know. It's on the record.

So we've also decided to put an ad in Craigslist for a special teams coach. Because as things are, we might as well just go and place the ball for a 40 or 60 yard scoring drive for our opponents and rest our kickers for all the uselessness that is our blocking.

Who cares about Where's Waldo - where's our special teams coach!?!

Anyways, our We Eat Rice for Lunch tailgating menu was a success. We ordered Jambalaya from Mothers, Priscilla made a yummy gumbo with white rice, Peggy brought "Owl" Tenders, Coach Hullabaloo made Rice Crispy Treats and I made Deviled Owl Eggs. and Bootie Judy provided some yummy drunken Rice Pudding.

Oh and we laughed ourselves silly choreagraphing Riptide beating up Shasta as part of a gametime performance. Who is Shasta you ask? That's the name of the Houston Cooter. Seriously. It's name is Shasta.

Booty Judy has become a fan of the Rice Owl Marching Band and their sarcasm after I posted their Tulsa skit, so we kinda took that a few steps beyond in our Riptide Stalks Shasta skit. Coach Hullabaloo rolls his eyes at the Rice band - Peggy was just perplexed, I don't think she'd ever paid attention to them. Like what's up with the Nutria Rat chasing Little Red Riding Hood, and oil drum and hurricane glasses? As Coach Hullabaloo says, they're like a halftime Renaissance Festival.

Well, here we go. UCF next week. Time to just grab onto our ankles and pray. [yes, I just wrote that - if you have a problem with it, be useful and help me with the Craigslist ad. If you haven't watched a UCF game this fall: don't. Just go into next Saturday's game blissfully ignorant.]