Texas 38, Colorado 14

No question about it, Boulder, Colorado is beautiful. As for the people who go to school there, well, that may still be up for debate. And I’m not talking about beauty in the superficial sense as in, "the local female population's proclivity for superfluous body hair is disarming." No ma'am, I'm talking about a lack of inner-beauty here, and more specifically, the local population's penchant for walking up to visiting fans and telling them to go fornicate with themselves for no apparent reason other than they’re wearing orange and didn’t get the memo about the “Gold-Out” that was affixed, ever-so-responsibly, to a tree with environmentally friendly string.

Admittedly, Texas fans don’t always “Make Us Proud,” and as a visitor to the CU campus and member of the opposing fan base it would be extremely naïve not to expect at least a modicum of eye-rolling ridicule and unfriendly banter from the Buffalo faithful. It certainly didn’t help that our travel party (four ex-frat boys) chose to pre-game in two of the most popular student hangouts: The Sink and some 3-story bar called “K’s China.”

Even still, it’s pretty ridiculous how far out of the way CU fans go to roll out the unfriendly welcome mat on the doorstep of such a bastion of peace and tranquility like the Rockies. Then again, their lack of hospitality only made the 38-14 butt- whipping the Horns put on their beloved Buffs last Saturday night all the more sweet. Before I morph into a walking contradiction, I will admit that after the first few preemptive F-bombs were launched our way, we didn’t exactly turn the other cheek, much to the chagrin of my single friends who were more than willing to overlook the laissez-faire grooming efforts on the part of the local feminine persuasion.

No sooner would my eligible bachelor buddies strike up a conversation with some CU coed than one of us married guys would swoop in with some smart, cock-blocking retort that pretty much ensured they’d be playing Stands with a Boner back at the (cabin) alone and Longhorns fans would always be unwelcome in Tatonka temptress territory. Fortunately for you, the intrigued and probably befuddled reader, their loss is your gain as I recount the...


(Sadly, many of these lines are actual quotes from last weekend...apparently you get drunker faster the higher up in elevation you are. Who knew?)

“If I said your body reminded me of a Flatiron, would you hold it against me."

“You must be from Texas cuz you’re the only girl here wearing make-up.”

“Do microbrews emit greenhouse gasses becuase it smells.”

“You've seen Dances With Wolves, well I'm Dances With Cougars.”

“You know what they say about guys with big carbon footprints...”

After hearing all the pre-game hype and all the pundits making UT their shock value upset special of the week, I will admit that I was a little nervous about the game. That is until the guy next to me at the bar mentioned that CU lost six of their offensive linemen for the season and they were starting a converted tight-end at tackle. Translation: Paging, Mr. Orakpo, can you pick up a courtesy can of whoop ass?

Poor Cody Hawkins was running for his life all night long and about the only person who got in UT’s way was the genius who put a yellow t-shirt in every seat in the student section. Their little “gold-out” turned into a flag parade as t-shirts rained down on the field after just about every play in the first half. And did the Public Address announcer ever say, “Hey, Hanes tossers, keep doing it and the refs will throw a real penalty flag on the Buffaloes? Of course not. That would be too much to handle for their half-baked brains. Then again, who cares. The Horns won the Alternative Burger Bowl handily, and despite never completing a pass over 10 yards and finding new ways to avoid converting short yardage situations with our futile running game, I’m even more optimistic than ever about the...

On a fateful Saturday every October in Dallas, after only a few restless hours of sleep, I rise before the crack of dawn completely wired to find my game-day clothes already laid out as if I were a player approaching my locker to get suited up for the game. Everything about attending the annual Red River Rivalry has been thought out in meticulous detail down to the driving route I’ll take to a previously scouted parking area. As I and fellow Longhorns fans drive through the darkened streets of South Dallas, the anticipation begins to build to the point we can hardly find the words to speak. The silence is only broken when we hear the ice crack in our cooler full of beer, vodka, and Bloody Mary mix as we pass over the first parking lot speed bump. Through the early morning haze, we see the lights of the Cotton Bowl gleaming forebodingly off in the distance.

As the parking lot fills to capacity, we trade degrading remarks with the fans from the north as a thinly veiled attempt to convince them that we haven’t any doubt whose team will win the day. But with conference and national title implications hanging in the balance almost every year, we can see the anxiety in every fans’ eyes, regardless of their demeanor, because we know all too well from years of monumental victories and crushing defeats that winning the Red River Rivalry means everything, and losing...well, losing just isn’t fathomable because the pain is so intense your mind goes into shock and blocks it out.

About an hour before kick-off, we start making our way to the stadium. Approaching the gates to the State Fair grounds offers a brief respite from the feud as Texas and Oklahoma fans alike stand nervously next to each other in line like they're awaiting entry into a prison recreation yard. A coy laugh or joke from an inebriated fan usually breaks the tension until the ticket taker tears off the fair admittance end of our game tickets and then it’s right back to the business at hand, throwing more fuel on an already fiery rivalry.

After inhaling a Fletcher’s Corndog and a warm beer out of a waxy cup while appearing to be lost inside a maze of carnival booths, we look high in the sky to find the familiar concrete facade of the Cotton Bowl to recalculate our way to the ramps leading up to the gates. Every step up feels like we’re on the initial assent of a roller coaster – click, click, click – and as we pass through the entrance at the top of the hill and negotiate our way through the huddled masses of the Cotton Bowl’s cattle-herding corridors, we come upon the entrance to our seating section only to have an expanse of seemingly endless rows of orange- or red clad fans in bleachers leading down to a bright green field release a wave of emotion over us that nearly causes us to fall flat on our faces as we make our way down the stairs to our seats in a semiconscious state.

Like a slow motion action sequence in a war movie, our body temporarily shuts down because of sensory overload. We get tunnel vision and the sounds around us become muted until the bang of a drum or explosion of a cannon brings us back into the now. Then our minds hit the fast-forward button and it’s a thrill-a-minute ride as momentum swings back and forth with both teams making plays at an impossibly fast rate of speed. We’re left mentally exhausted, our brains gasping for air. And that’s just the first quarter.

To the victor go the spoils indeed, as the winning fans float out of the stadium on a new level of euphoria not previously thought possible without the aid of hallucinogenic drugs. Conversely, the fans of the losing team file out of the stadium with their heads down, hoping to make it back to their cars coming in contact with as few, gloating opposing fans as possible. Sure, a few fans from the losing side remain defiant to the end and continue to lash out at their rivals, but its futile as anyone who's ever been on the losing end of the Red River Rivalry can recognize instantly the reflection of the scoreboard in their hopeless eyes.

For the second Saturday this October is judgment day for all Texas and OU fans. And the Cotton Bowl is the closest we’ll come to purgatory on Earth and the heaven or hell that awaits us on the other side.

I’ll spare you any further paralysis from analysis except to say that I haven’t heard too many pundits mention OU’s kicking game. The Sooners aren’t exactly featuring Uwe von Schamann at place kicker these days, and if the Horns' defense can prevent Bradford and the OU offense from scoring from 50+ yards out and force them to trade touchdowns for field goal attempts, UT may be able to keep it close long enough for McCoy and the Longhorns’ offense to put some significant points on the board. And as always, the nice thing about the Red River Rivalry is that the higher ranked team doesn’t always win and anything can happen. Thankfully, we don’t have to wait until tomorrow to find out who’s going to win, we have the...

For those of you in need of sign inspiration for ESPN GameDay, which will be broadcast from the State Fair Saturday morning...

Rule #76 – No Excuses, Play like a Muschampion

Bob Stoops plays on the LPGA

Bradford chose Palin as his Hesiman running mate

Ask not what Brown can do for you

Oklahoma's state tree is the telephone pole

You can't spell C_CKS_CKER without OU

Texas 31, OUch 28

TAILGATE UPDATE (State Fair Addition)

For the fourth time in seven years (57% of time it works every time), Texas and OU enter the Red River Rivalry (Ass-Hatfields vs. McCoy’s) ranked in the top five ("it was honor just to be nominated"). Apparently somebody finally told the Cotton Bowl (Dallas City Council's Not-So-Extreme Makeover) it could use a little more capacity and now it seats 90,000 (Urinals sold separately). For those of you (Burnt Orange Dough-Nation) who were fortunate enough to have procured a golden ticket (to Willy Muschamp’s Knock the Chocolate Out Of Those Mother F*ckers Factory), here are six simple edicts to help you enjoy your time there (Tenets to win it):

1. Kick-off's at 11am (For a Top 5 match-up?), so try to get to the fairgrounds before 9am (TiVo the Smurfs)
2. Find a parking lot (pave the way), don't park in some questionable dude’s front yard (your car won't be the only thing on "grass")
3. Put your wallet in your front pocket ("Carnies got little hands")
4. Upon entering the fair (rub your ass with salt and head to the petting zoo), buy coupon tickets immediately so you can get a beer (obey your thirst) and a corndog ("I can smell you getting fatter")
5. Get to your seats early (Squatters rights), the stadium corridors are narrow (like your urethra) and get extremely crowded ("Show me on the doll where the bad Sooner touched you")
6. If a flask is a must (I'll drink to that), then replace the cleaning solution (It’s so hard to find good help) in your contact lens bottle with a clear liquor (Oh Captain, my Morgan).

Add in a little sunscreen (SPF-OU), drink some water every now and then (He who hydrates, urinates), and try to remember, it's still just a game ("It's not whether you win or lose, it's how drunk you get").


“Why does Bevo just stand there? At least Ralphie runs with the team.”
“Because it would take a hell of a lot more than eight frat hippies to get Bevo from one end of the field to the other.”

“I wish we were more like McCoy and Shipley...I need more Bromance in my life.”

“Congratulations on your ‘gold-out.’ We pretty much have an orange-out every week, we just don’t have a dorky name for it.”

“Boulder is so tree-hugger. I mean just look over there, is that a peace rally?”
“No, dumb ass, that’s a bus stop.”

“Dar-rel Scott...Dar-rel Scott...Dar-rel Scott...”

“Beat OU, Beat OU, Beat OU...”
“Man, I’d give anything to beat OU this year.”
“Yeah, I’m not saying I’d give my left nut, but I would think about it.”

OU Sucks,


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