Lubbock / Texas Tech

[Blackshirt]

Article Published: Monday, October 06, 2003

big 12 football

Tension & tortillas

 

A&M's return to Texas Tech cause for concern

 

By Bill Briggs

Denver Post Sports Writer

 

LUBBOCK, Texas - It is 1:25 in the tortilla-flippin' morning, but the party is raging again.

 

Horns blare, a Lil' Kim beat rattles the recreational vehicles and, minutes after the last snap, weary fans of the Aggies and Red Raiders peacefully gobble smoked brisket. It's surely better than the postgame feast in 2001 - when visiting Texas A&M rooters had to eat goalpost.

 

It got ugly in Lubbock after Texas Tech won 12-0 that year. In the worst moment of a volatile rivalry, a mob of Tech students yanked down the goalposts and tried to stuff them into a bleacher section thick with Aggies. A brawl erupted. The Texas governor's then-chief of staff, Mike McKinney, got slugged and bloodied by a fellow A&M backer. Tech officials apologized and vowed to snuff future fan violence.

 

Saturday night, the schools returned to the scene of the crime. A 9:10 p.m. CDT kickoff - after two full days of tailgating - infused Jones SBC Stadium with a double shot of tension. Or maybe that came from the small army of cops patrolling the place.

 

This was stop No. 4 on The Denver Post's Big 12 tour. At each football venue, I wear the visiting team's attire to test the home fans' hospitality. Before the series, 34 readers e-mailed the newspaper to vent about the Red Raiders' faithful, some calling them the nastiest bunch in the NCAA. Many complainers were A&M alums who witnessed the Tech melee and double-dog-dared me to go to West Texas.

 

"Wear your A&M gear (and) 12th Man jersey. If you make it out of Lubbock alive, you have done something incredible," wrote Justin Schwertner.

 

At the TexAgs.com chat room last week, one A&M rooter suggested I attend "in full body armor," and another wrote, "I hope his insurance is paid up."

 

So I upped my dental coverage and spent last week in the weight room. No need. No Texas chain saw massacres. Just 12 hours of rival revival.

 

* 1:25 p.m. The tailgaters, flying flags from both schools, continue their second afternoon of "game-prep" in a strip-mall parking lot next to the stadium. They suck down brisket, hot dogs and roasted corn along with a river of draft beer. Barbecue smoke swirls above their RV city.

 

Atop a pickup truck painted with the words "Geezers Gone Wild," a Santa Claus lawn ornament dressed in Red Raiders garb hoists a piece of yellow goalpost.

 

* 7:20 p.m. This is a tough ticket - unless you're in law enforcement. Police on foot, horseback, bikes and motorcycles cruise the streets and parking lots. There are cops in cowboy hats, cops on platforms, cops in a camper watching video screens.

 

One of the fresh safety strategies employed by Texas Tech athletic director Gerald Myers is to swamp the area with officers. They're assigned to arrest anyone obviously intoxicated.

 

"We have probably the biggest number of security working this game that we've ever had," Myers says. He would not reveal the size of the force. Put it this way: They have their own section of bleachers.

 

 

* 7:36 p.m. Dennis Smith, a Tech fan from Lubbock, takes a pull on a Coors beneath pictures of infamous Aggies fan McKinney. TV cameras caught the image after the 2001 fracas: McKinney's A&M hat is askew, his face bloodied. Smith smirks while reading his home-brewed caption, "Ticket to the Tech game $75.00. Stadium hot dog $3.00. Watching Aggies beat each other up priceless."

 

* 7:59 p.m. The A&M band, dressed in brown uniforms and boots, marches down Fourth Street and into the stadium. Their spurs jingle on the pavement, and Aggies fans cheer as they stride by.

 

A&M was so concerned about the band's safety, the band nearly stayed home. It took a special meeting last week of top A&M officials to OK the trip.

 

* 8:46 p.m. I take my seat smack in the middle of the Tech section above the 50-yard line. To my left is Bert, a hardscrabble guy who served on the battleship USS California during World War II. Bert once traded live shells with the Japanese navy, he tells me. His message is painfully clear: "Don't even start with me, Aggie Boy."

 

"Go team," I whisper.

 

* 9:07 p.m. The Masked Rider, a Tech student in a red cape, leads the home team on the field, galloping atop a black horse named Midnight Matador. The crowd roars. In 1994, a similar noise spooked then-mascot Double T, which threw its rider and then crashed headfirst into a concrete ramp. Double T died. Like a dad fibbing to his kids that the old family dog went to live "on a farm," visiting coach Dennis Franchione lied to his shocked New Mexico team: "The horse is gonna be OK, fellas." New Mexico lost anyway, 37-31.

 

* 9:10 p.m. Kickoff.

 

* 9:16 p.m. Tech scores on its first possession, picking apart the A&M defense with a flurry of pinpoint passes. Several fans hurl tortillas on the field, a tradition since 1989.

 

* 9:30 p.m. Tech quarterback B.J. Symons throws something, too - footballs. All night. All over the field. His second touchdown pass puts the Red Raiders up 14-0. He throws eight TD passes during the game, a Big 12 record. "That's less than three minutes per touchdown!" chirps Tech fan Dale in front of me. "It's too easy, man!" I open my mouth, but Bert flashes me a stern look. "Yes, much too easy. And for that, I am sorry," I say.

 

* 10:49 p.m. Just before halftime, the Red Raiders score again and lead 31-14. The only guy more exhausted than the A&M defensive backs is Mike Van Kleek. Wearing a green camouflage uniform, Van Kleek is one of six Tech students in the Army ROTC who fire blank shells in a black cannon each time the Red Raiders kick off, score, boot a field goal or tack on an extra point. They also trigger the big gun after the national anthem, at halftime and after the game. The cannon will roar 28 times, several after midnight. You had better be a Tech fan if you live in Lubbock. Or sleep with earplugs.

 

* 11:43 p.m. God help us, it's still the third quarter. With their team trailing 45-14, A&M band drummers Bryan Naradory and Justin Partlow wander to the concession stand for a Coke. In their buzz cuts and crisp brown uniforms, the two stand out against the milling crowd of shaggy students.

 

"We haven't given up, sir!" Naradory says. "And our team never loses. We just run out of time."

 

"Can you guys run out of time any faster?" I ask.

 

* 11:50 p.m. A Lubbock cop escorts four tipsy Tech students from the stadium. They demand his badge number. He waves and smiles. It has been a relatively quiet night, he tells me, with just a handful of people arrested for public intoxication. That's surprising, given the marathon tailgating session.

 

"When I heard the kickoff was going to be at 9 p.m., I thought to myself, 'They'd better not light a match near the student section,"' says Tech alum Chris Snead. "It might blow out the east side of the building."

 

* 12:45 a.m. The clock ticks down. About a dozen officers encircle each goalpost and watch the stands nervously. Myers has installed collapsible uprights. The field crew has been practicing, he says. They can dismantle the posts in less than a minute.

 

* 12:49 a.m. It's finally over. Tech wins 59-28. Myers is a man of his word: The field crew drops the goalposts in about 30 seconds. Ringing the field, officers stare down any students who even think of running on the artificial grass. There is no replay of 2001.

 

* 1 a.m. The crowd files quietly into the night as the public address system oozes the warm strains of "Happy Trails." Many hum that song all the way to the parking lot.

 

 

http://www.denverpost.com/Stories/0,1413,3...1679081,00.html

[RedCountry]

This might be of interest to some this week. :bump