An old sports-writing buddy of mine, with whom I sowed my newspaper oats in Fort Smith some 35 years ago, had tickets to the first- and second-round sessions of this year’s March Madness at Ball Arena in Denver.
About 10 years ago, we had embarked on a tradition of meeting up once a year to relive our early-20s glory days and catch a game, either here or in his native Colorado. We’ve been to Razorback games in Fayetteville and Little Rock (the year they ran out of bottled water in early September) and to CU games in Boulder. I’d recommend Folsom Field as a bucket-list destination for any football fan.
We had been scheduled to meet up this past October in Denver and then drive up to Laramie for a Wyoming Cowboys game. Mike had promised a gridiron setting equally as impressive as that found in Boulder. Unfortunately, a death in the family forced a change in plans.
Mike suggested March Madness as an alternate plan. (Now that’s what I call a Plan B.) He had gotten tickets to the first- and second-round games held this year in Denver, and my arm didn’t require twisting.
The Hogs’ late season run had me holding out hope for a chance to call ‘em in the Mile High City, but alas, the selection committee seems to relish sending Arkansas as far from home as possible.
Nevertheless, this was to be my first NCAA tournament experience in person, and Hogs or no, I was ready. Decked out in Razorback gear for each session, I didn’t stand out quite as much as I anticipated — I saw at least a dozen fellow Hog fans. It was fascinating to move about the arena, the former Pepsi Center now named for a Denver aluminum company and, of course, home of the NBA’s Nuggets, and see the hodgepodge of fandom representing teams from every corner of the country.
Not only were there fans of the tournament teams assigned to Denver — Michigan, BYU, Texas A&M, Wisconsin, Montana, VCU, Yale and UC-San Diego — but we saw fans representing schools from Rhode Island to Eastern Washington. (Interestly, of all the fans whose teams were not playing in Denver or at all, I’d say Hog fans were the most numerous. Of the schools playing in Denver, BYU brought the most fans — relative proximity and all — with the cheeseheads coming a close second.)
March Madness has earned its status as one of the country’s most prominent sporting events, and it obviously represents the NCAA’s primary, if not lone, reason for still existing. The cheapest items to be had at the concession stands were March Madness key chains and decals for $10 each. Generic March Madness T-shirts were $50 to $70 for long sleeve — and prices didn’t drop at the beer or food stands. I can only imagine how much money was made off concessions over the four sessions and two days.
Watching on my phone at the arena as the Hogs finished off Kansas and then Saint John’s across the country in Providence, many random fans approached to share a “Go Hogs” or even a thanks. There are benefits to being an underdog, after all.
As expected, this spring’s trip represented a pretty cool chapter to our annual pilgrimage. Mike and I had worked together as sportswriters for the old Southwest Times Record in the late 1980s and early ʼ90s. Until about 10 years ago, we had kept in touch but hadn’t seen each other in a long while.
During our Fort Smith days, he had the Northside beat, and I had Southside. We were lucky enough to cover the Grizzlies and (pre-Maverick) Rebels in the Joe Fred Young and Barry Lunney Sr./Jr. eras, when both schools were state title contenders on the state’s highest level (then AAAA) each year.
Back then, as early to mid-20-somethings with no money but also no debt (yet) and no worries, ours was indeed the life: work till midnight, fall into bed at 3 a.m. (after doing community service work, of course), sleep until noon, eat lunch, go to work at 2 p.m. and repeat.
Mike eventually answered the call home — he got a job as sports editor of a paper in suburban Denver — but our memories never faded. We’ve lost touch with most of our running buddies from those old Donrey days, but I’m grateful that Mike and I kept in touch.
The next chapter of our annual adventure has yet to be planned, but I’m thinking … neither one of us has been to an Army-Navy game.
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