“You know those little monkeys they put on the back of Border Collies with the rodeos? Border Collie runs all over the place. Monkey’s just trying to hang on. No control over where it’s going. No way to get
off of without fucking dying. Crowd laughing at him as he whips by.”
“That’s you. You’re the monkey on a runaway dog.” – Sam Elliott in Landman as Billy Bob’s father
Yessir, this clip comes from Landman when Sam Elliott is telling Billy Bob Thornton that he is the monkey and Ali Larter, who plays his ex-and about to be current again-wife, is the border collie. And, by gawd, if there’s anyone else out there who’s chased the crazy, then I’m NOT the only one who – like Billy Bob – weighs risk vs. reward and says, “This may not be all bad,” instead of fleeing.
I think there’s a goodly contingent of Husker fans out there who know exactly where I’m going with this.
Now, I’m not talking about the brand who threaten never to watch again, but never really go away. They complain non-stop and have entered that plane of existence where Husker failure energizes them to that level of “SEE? I TOLD YOU!!” They just weren’t mentally built to go steady with the Ali Larter that is post-90’s Nebraska football.
Myself?
Well, here’s another example, because post-90’s fandom isn’t just about riding the crazy. It’s about developing the chops to do it over and over again.
So, post-90’s Husker fandom really is a two-pronged skill set –
1) You have to have that ability to jump into situations voluntarily which make no sense to others – but to you? They scream, hey, this could be kind of fun. For example, having thought processes such as “day-to-day life with Landman Ali Larter could work out!”. Or, “Man, the Huskers are so close. This will ROCK when we get back!”
You gotta be willing and even crave to ride that rodeo border collie, son.
2) Whether you began building it wherever before Husker fandom or have gained it as the Husker Gut Punch Catalog grew from pamphlet to encyclopedia-sized, you should now possess that Steve Martin face above as it is the armor which shields you from the damage your crazy-chasing should be causing. Man, you watched the Huskers implode in Ireland against a 1-11-to-be Northwestern squad soon to be revealed as a band of perverts.
You can handle anything,
So anyway, I’m heading to lovely Nevada for the Las Vegas Bowl and making a roadie out of it, because 1) I love the mountain and western drive and, 2) I really hate flying now. I don’t care about the timelier journey when flights are so damn expensive anymore for the honor of being more cramped and dragging my crap everywhere. I love my car and the added freedom having one provides.
And think about the insanity of it all. This is no CFP game. It’s a middish bowl game which for some reason paired up 7-5 Nebraska with one of the three 10-2 teams not to make the playoff. Thankfully, it’s not the ones who threw in the towel when they got left out and have not stopped bitching since as they have tried to make acting like whiny babies sound like a defiant noble stance as they pile up hypothetical victories in their teary minds.
So I’m going to pile up some driving hours to witness what many are expecting to be backyard thrashing along the lines of 40-something to whatever Nebraska can manage without their starting QB, their All-American running back and one of the rocks of their underrated offensive line. The upside for me is a seat in the Allegiant Stadium press box where I can continue to sharpen my muttering/cursing under my breath skills which are solid so far – haven’t been warned or booted yet.
And the thing about it – what if they win?
So how was the first day?
After a mild, misty Saturday, I awoke to wind and lots of it, straight out of the north. It made for quite a crosswind, but the driving wasn’t too bad except for the snow band, but fortunately there wasn’t that much snow and what there was blew over the roads as the temps dropped from 38 to about 12. By the time I hit Kearney, the skies had cleared.
In the middle of the blizzard, gas was needed and I was treated to this:
It’s amazing how patient you can be when there’s a long walk through the blowing tundra waiting for you aftre checkout.
The drive across Colorado to the small city of Rifle was fantastic as the winds dropped, the sun was fully out and the road was mostly clear. The dinner search was also fruitful.
This review was by someone named Camila and I did indeed order dinner from El Patron Taqueria from which she recommended the Torta Asada, a sort of chopped steak sandwich with cheese, beans, onions, guacamole and a few other things. I had never had a torta before & it was amazing. In my mind, Camila now strongly resembles a cross between Salma Hayek and Isabel Merced and we will meet in the near future at sunset on a Pacific beach and begin our romance. Over tortas from a Mexican beach shack restaurant.
Of course, she will be Landman Ali Larter levels of crazy, but I don’t give a shit.
(This is from the country club scene and his expression says it all.)
