By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Eric Nicholson
"Don't worry, it'll be fine."
Did I mention that I'm a moron?
12:10 p.m.: Thoroughly freezing my longhorns off, soaking wet, cursing the weather in this horrendous region (since when does it dip below triple digits here?), I come to realize I'm lost. That is, I don't know where the Bucks and I are parked. Convinced I'm going to die of hypothermic shock, I mutter to myself that this couldn't possibly get worse.
12:10:07 p.m.: I turn around and step in dog shit.
12:44 p.m.: By great luck, I happen upon my Honda, which, for some reason, has a tiny piece of white paper nestled under the windshield wiper on the driver's side. It's a ticket. "Yer missin' one hale of a game," Buck the Elder drawls with a crooked grin. "Sooners is winnin' big. It's almost halftime. Don't ya just luv it? Best damn day of the year, right, Buck?"
"What the hell happened to my car?"
"Oh, yeah, officer came by and said you were too close to the corner. Slapped a ticket."
"I thought you said I'd be fine."
"Oh, yeah, whale, guess not."
I tell Buck, Buck, and the dog that I'm cutting my losses and leaving before I spontaneously combust.
"Whale, sure nice meetin' ya," Buck the Younger offers. "Maybe we'll see ya next year."