The Shot Heard Round Jayhawk Nation

Years from now, when my grandchildren ask, "Grampa, where were you when Mario Chalmers hit the shot?"

I'll say, "Well, Little Mario, Brandon, Russell, Sherron, Darrell, Darnell, Cole, and Sasha, I just happened to be at the site of the women's college basketball championships. In a crowded bar filled with giant women wearing really baggy athletic shorts and slightly crooked baseball caps. And even though everyone in the bar was sort of manly, when that shot went down, we all screamed like little girls. It was a beautiful moment."

but seriously, for the first time in my life, while watching a kansas game outside the state of kansas, I saw people actually cheering for the Jayhawks. Cheering the Jayhawks on because we could all sense it happening. As soon as Derrick Rose missed that free throw, everyone in that bar knew that something special was about to happen. And they all cheered and screamed after every bucket in those final two minutes of regulation.

When it was over, after I finished screaming and jumping and fist pumping, and I sat in a wasted heap in the corner, totally exhausted from simply watching the television for 3 straight hours, people actually stopped by to shake my hand and offer congratulations and to tell me what an amazing game it was.

Rock Chalk Jayhawk Go KU

Gasparilla Festival

The Gasparilla Festival started in 1904. It is the event of the year in the City of Tampa. Every year, on an unspecified Saturday in late January or early February, 400,000 people gather along Bayshore Avenue to catch beads tossed to them from pirates on floats that are decorated to resemble pirate ships. In between begging and screaming for beads, and chasing after said beads, there is the requisite pounding of booze. And I'm not talking about a beer or two on a lazy Saturday afternoon. I'm talking about drinking enough to get a lazy eye and a severe limp. I'm talking about drinking to the point where you think it is a good idea to sit down in a ditch while you eat a foot long hot dog that you may or may not have picked up off the ground. (All of which I saw more times than I wanted to while attending this years' Gasparilla Festival.)

Actually, the first thing I saw when I started walking down Bayshore Ave was a girl throwing up next to a Port-o-John while ten to fifteen people stood around her cheering it on. Great way to kick off the event.

Anyway, back to the logistics of the festival. The shin-dig kicks off at 11am when a mock pirate ship, The Gasparilla, sails into the harbor and docks in Downtown Tampa. The pirate ship is met by the Mayor of the city, who hands over the key to the city to the horde of pirates. At that point, the city officially belongs to the pirates -- i.e. the drunks -- and the parade of floats, bead tossing, and boozing begins shortly after.

The whole thing sounds like a pretty cool tradition. That is, until you start asking people where the tradition came from. Most people don't really know where it came from. And all they really know is that "Gasparilla" is the name of a pirate that used to hang out in the Gulf. His real name was Jose Gaspar. And most people just assume that he must have sacked the city at some point. Because that is sort of implied with the whole Mayor and key to the city thing. But it turns out that the city of Tampa was never sacked by Jose Gaspar. Turns out that Jose Gaspar never even sailed into Tampa. Never been here. And he certainly never sacked the city.

The legend states that he controlled the Gulf of Mexico from the 1780's to the early 1800's. And he had a hideout near Port Charlotte. (Port Charlotte is about 100 miles to the south of Tampa.) No where does any legend state that he was ever in the city of Tampa; nor in Tampa Bay for that matter.

I also tried to ask people why Jose Gaspar was known as "Gasparilla". But no one in Florida seemed to know. No one in Florida seemed to care. Everyone was too drunk to figure it out. And they were too busy cheering for the girl throwing up next to the port-o-john to answer my pointless questions.

Same goes for the bead tossing/catching aspect of the tradition. Is that something Gasparilla used to do? Did he toss beads to his crew after a successful plundering? Maybe. Maybe not. Once again, no one knows, no one cares. Except for me. I wanted so badly to find out why the mock pirates were throwing beads. And why were the commoners trying to catch them? It wasn't like Mardi Gras where people expose themselves to earn their beads. No one exposed themselves at Gasparilla. And to add to my state of perplexity, people seemed to be offended when I suggested that they might expose themselves for beads. Like they were too sophisticated, or too respectable, to expose themselves in public. Yet, we were all drinking warm booze out of plastic cups on the streets of Tampa in the middle of the afternoon. Dodging large coolers on wheels below and girls in bikini tops falling off their boyfriend's shoulders above. All the while, stepping in and around puddles of urine and vomit. I certainly didn't feel too sophisticated to expose myself for some loot.

But I suppose it isn't a big deal that Jose Gaspar never sacked Tampa. And it is not a big deal that he most likely never even existed at all. (No record in US, Spain, England, or France of a pirate named Jose Gaspar.) And it is not important to know why we must beg and scream for plastic beads. What is most important is that the City of Tampa has a tradition that gives it an identity. And the people of Tampa love that identity. It is the identity of a pirate. And all Floridians love the idea of being a pirate. Even before Johnny Depp and the Pirates of the Caribbean captured the imaginations of the entire country, the Floridians were gazing out into the Caribbean and dreaming of leaving the swamp behind and sailing out into the emerald blue waters to find their treasure. They long for the good ol' days when pirates controlled the region. And every year for the last one hundred years, they have celebrated the life and conquests of the legendary Spanish pirate, Jose Gaspar. Known, for no reason at all, as Gasparilla!

I may never get to the bottom of this pointless tradition. It seems to be a bit like Halloween and St Patricks Day. No one really cares what they are celebrating, they are just happy that they have an excuse to dress up and drink a gallon of cheap vodka and throw up in a public place.

Oh well. I'm not going to act like I am above it. These are just the things that I tend to think about while I'm sitting in a ditch and eating a hot dog that I may or may not have picked up off the ground.

Eastbound

Driving eastward on I-70 on a clear December morning, I looked toward the spot on the windshield where the rearview mirror is usually mounted. Nothing there. I remember that I have a giant box behind me containing all of my worldly possessions. I look to the left mirror, then over to the right mirror, making sure the road is clear enough for this big ass Uhaul truck to switch lanes. As I look in the side mirrors (that are spectacularly effective in eliminating blind spots) I see nothing but empty road behind me. Also, off in the distance I see the front range slowly shrinking away to nothing. I catch myself staring at it a little too long. Oddly, I am not sad to be moving away from Denver.

Even though the view of the front range from Denver is one of my favorites, I do not feel the slightest anxiety about leaving it behind. I lived in Denver for seven years. I made a lot of great friends that I am sure I will talk to for the rest of my life, but it just felt like it was time to move on. I've never stayed in one city for so long. Can't handle all the baggage that accumulates when you stay in one place for so long. It felt good to throw out all my trash, pack up my necessities, and hit the road. I take one last look at that beautiful view of the flatirons to the northwest and pikes peak to the southwest, and let it go.

I look out towards the high plains in the east and jam my foot down on the pedal. Time to haul ass through one of the worst stretches of highway in the country; I-70, Denver to Kansas City.

I get off I-70 right before Salina and head towards Wichita. I'll be there for the holidays, so I have to unload my Uhaul at my sister's house and return the truck. After two weeks in Kansas, I will rent another Uhaul, repack it, and drive to Memphis in one day, Atlanta the next, catch a Widespread Panic show with Matt Hynes and his fiancee, Christy, on New Years Eve. Then its on to Tampa on New Years Day to start a new job and a brand new life.

Christmas goes well enough with the Shoffner and Rice family. The highlights include successfully babysitting my nephew and niece without setting the house on fire, my 4 year-old niece walking me through the steps of constructing the perfect bean burrito, seeing one of my crazy cousins at the christmas party when we all thought she was in jail, and listening to a cousin at my other family christmas party sing a song in Italian with a ukelele and kazoo as accompaniment.

The lowlights were making my nephew cry after beating him in video game football, and contracting pink eye and a severe head cold on christmas eve. All in all, a good christmas though.

Two days before new years, I rented my second Uhaul and set out for Memphis. An easy 9 hour drive through Oklahoma and Arkansas. Much better than driving through Kansas. I crash at a hotel one block from Graceland. I had every intention of stopping by the next morning and chatting with Elvis. Alas, I slept in and had to get on the road post haste because I had to get to Atlanta before dark to meet Matt Hynes. Sorry Elvis.

I stopped once at a Super Wal-Mart in Birmingham, Alabama to restock on my driving foods: broccoli, baby peeled carrots, red delicious apples, bananas, deli turkey, bread, and dorritos. Actually, that is my typical shopping list even when I'm not on the road. Although, I might get crazy and throw in cereal and milk when I'm at home, but I digress.

I drive out of Birmingham around 2pm. Two more hours to Atlanta. Should get there in plenty of time to find Hynes, rest a little, and go to the show. But something strange happened on the highway. the first of many strokes of bad luck that I would have to endure over the next 72 hours. It was just a little thing. But it sort of snow-balled after that. And it was the strangest thing. My phone clock jumped ahead two hours. I crossed the Alabama/Georgia border and I entered the Eastern Time Zone. It was 3pm. I had anticipated that. Then, as I was approaching the outskirts of Atlanta, I looked at my phone clock again and it jumped ahead another hour. What the hell happened? I just lost another hour. Did I just cross into Super Eastern Time? Is there something going on in Georgia that they won't tell the rest of us about? Seems likely, considering how many times I've seen Georgians behaving strangely. A month has passed and I still have no idea what the hell happened. Best explanation is that I drove through some sort of worm hole just outside of Atlanta.

Anyway, instead of arriving in Atlanta at 5pm. I arrived at 6pm. Damn! No time to rest. Gotta find Hynes and immediately get to downtown Atlanta for the concert. I drive my big ass Uhaul through the thin side streets of Atlanta looking for a street sign at dusk - the time of day that it is nearly impossible to read any street signs - and I'm driving ten miles an hour with about 200 cars inching along behind me. I can't find the god damn street sign that Hynes told me to look for. I call him up again and I talk to one of his local buddies, and the local informs that Hynes told me to look for a street sign that doesn't exist. sweet. the local gives me the proper info and I eventually find my way to the house I'd be crashing at after the show.

As soon as I park, there is a cab in front of me. I get in and we go straight to the show. I'm exhausted. Just drove 17 hours in two days without cruise control. I've been jamming down broccoli and talking to myself and swearing at other drivers for two days. And I gotta drive 8 more hours tomorrow. What the hell am I doing going to a concert?

the first set is great. I drink tall draft beers and relax to an acoustic set. The second set is even better. They play a couple of good songs and we ring in the new year. Then they play a third set. I'm done. I forgot to eat any dinner. I can't sit down or I'll fall asleep. I'm too tired to get another beer. so I just stand there and try to stay focused on the music. I'm barely conscious when they finish at 2am.

We trudge out of the arena and into downtown. Us and 20,000 other people try to flag down a cab at the same time. Somehow, one of our local friends procures a cab after only about a 20-30 minute search. I'm not certain, but I think he dropped a hundee just for the right to get in the cab. I owe that guy. big time.

I get to sleep around 3am. Wake up early because I am excited to get to Tampa and see my new home. I get on the road around 9am. Every passing mile the temperature gets a little higher and my excitement level grows a little higher. I drive through Macon, Gainesville and show up in Tampa around 5pm.

I crashed at my exgirlfriend's apartment that night. (she stayed at a neighbor's place). The next day I got up early to secure my new apartment and I found out that the owner didn't sign the contract. I spend 4 hours sitting in an office waiting for a real estate agent try to track down the guy and convince him to rent me the place.

We finally reach an agreement that allows me to break the lease after 7 months if my new job doesn't work out, and in return, he gets to keep the place on the market and try to sell it. If he sells it, I have 30 days to vacate.

I get the keys and drive my Uhaul over to my new place. When I arrive, I find that my apartment is on the third floor and in the farthest corner from the stairwell. So I will have to unload my $hit up 3 flights of stairs and over 300 yards of hallway. And the only person I have to help me is my little exgirlfriend, who I am bitterly angry at because she didn't want to stay with me in her apartment the night before.

I spend most of the evening unpacking. I get quite a lot accomplished. and my little exgirlfriend does surprisingly well at helping me with a bed, futon, chair, coffe table, entertainment system, and a few other awkward items. And we didn't even get into a big argument about the state of our dying relationship.

when she leaves tho, I realized just how alone I am here. I knew one other person in town at that point and she was at the Orange Bowl in Miami. I didn't start work for another week, I had no electricity in my apartment, I returned my Uhaul and I had no vehicle, and the "entertainment" district that I moved into turned out to be not so much of an "entertainment" district as it was just a bunch of dirty bars and dance clubs that were completely empty because it was right after new years and it was the coldest it has ever been in Tampa (25 degrees at night). The whole city felt empty. And there I was right in the middle of it, in a dark, empty fucking apartment.

I felt like I was in a ghost town. No electricity. No one on the streets. No one in the bars. I even went to a movie and I was the only person in the theater. It was creepy and depressing. One of the loneliest moments of my entire life.

After a couple of days of calling my family and friends incessantly, spending hours upon hours in starbucks, chugging down coffee while I charged my phone and laptop, then calling all my friends and family again, I finally got electricity, and I finally started my new job.

I bought a pickup and began exploring the city. I found an ultimate frisbee league and a sunday morning pickup game, and I've already made a couple of friends through that avenue.

Tomorrow is the big annual Gasparilla festival in Tampa. 300,000 people gather around the bay to watch a bunch of mock pirates sail into the bay and take over the city. There is a parade, bead tossing, and lots of drinking. I'm going with my new friend from Boston and a bunch of his college buddies. I am not planning on seeing the exgirlfriend. Should be a good day.

I'm still not sure if I will like living in Tampa, but everyday gets a little more interesting. And if anything interesting happens tomorrow, I'm sure there will be a story posted on this site shortly after.