More Cornfield Than Cowboy

January 22, 2014
   When we moved back to Arizona in 1956, I had completed the first three grades in Swea City, Iowa and although we made a couple of trips out to visit relatives in Kingman during that period (1950-55) I was pretty much raised, up to that point, on Iowa Farmer Time. Which is to say, The Land of Nice and Polite.

   So when we landed in Arizona I discovered my mother's cowboy relatives were a little wilder and rougher than anything I ever saw in the Midwest (or on TV Westerns for that matter). First of all, my mother had four sisters and they all attracted big, strapping cowboy types. And when they would come blasting in to my grandmother's house at Christmas there was a lot of cussing, smoking and loud talking. There wasn't a traditional Christmas tree. Oh, hell no—they had tumbleweeds piled up.

 
Wildcatter and heavy construction man, Bill Stockbridge, and, his then girlfriend, Patsy Guess, K-I-S-S-I-N-G at White Tanks, a makeout spot I later frequented myself.

 
Bob Guess on Shamrock, circa 1944

  I had two grandfathers, and both were quite influential in my life. One by his presence and one by his absence. My mother's father, Bob Guess, died unexpectedly, during an ulcer operation at Kingman Regional Hospital in 1945, the year before I was born. He was 55. I was named for him as was Patsy's son, Robert Jerl. I was referred to in the family as Robert Allen to avoid confusion. In spite of my Midwestern tendencies at that time, no matter where I went in Mohave County, cowboys and oldtimers would give me a pass for the simple reason I was Bob Guess's grandson. This was heavy stuff to a ten-year-old.

   Besides my grandfather, the hero of my mother's family was Billy Hamilton, Mary's only son. He was at that time on his way to becoming a World Champion Steer Roper. Here I am posing with him in the side yard of my grandmother's house. Oh, and he is tucking his boots in because, as he later put it, "I wanted to look like Toots Mansfield," a rodeo star of that era. This drove his father, Choc Hamilton, to distraction, because in those days to tuck in your boots was considered the height of Dudeness (it was actually bordering on Gayness, but that would just be wrong to say today).



Billy "Toots" Hamilton and BBB, 1956.

   I may be wearing cowboy clothes but, as you can clearly see, I'm looking more cornfield than cowboy.

“He who has daughters is always a shepherd.”
—Old Vaquero Saying

True Detective Meets True West

January 22, 2014
   Thanks to Carole Glenn, Kathy and I are watching the new HBO show "True Detective" and it's a really creative and edgy show. Kathy admits the skinny Mathew McConaghey (fresh off "Dallas Buyer's Club") resembles a certain, skinny Western nut she used to know:

One Skinny Kingman Buyer's Club Cartoonist

   Yes, found this in the pack rat condo over the weekend. I believe Ralph Rippe took this, or, perhaps it was Gary Boulanger, the New Times photographer back in the day.



  And speaking of New Times, I also found this photo of the staff in 1978, which was definitely taken by Gary Boulanger:

 
New Times Crew, Christmas 1978

   Considering how much we fought, we sure look happy. That's Jana Bommersbach on the right, and Mike Lacey, next to her, followed by Jim Larkin and two more I'm trying to track down in my dusty memory banks. It's funny, we fought in the trenches every day and here it is 34 years later and their names escape me. Eventually they all will fade into oblivion, which is part of the reason I'm doing the book. I know it's a fool's errand, but I still hope it comes off as a love letter of hope. It won't be perfect by any means, but that is always a false goal.

"In the end, perfection is just a concept—an impossibility we use to torture ourselve and that contradicts nature. We pursue it—God knows we have to, as artists—but ultimately, like [Friedensreigh] Hundertwasser says: 'A straight line is pure tyranny. In art, as in life, the love of imperfection is the perfect love.'"
—Guillermo del Toro, "Cabinet of Curiosities"

Another Day Another $10,000 Painting

January 21, 2014
   When I was just a kid growing up in Kingman I knew I wanted to be an artist but I didn't know how you became one. I had this fantasy of how I would live my life and what I would do every day:



 
Daily Whipout: "Another Day, Another $10,000 Painting"

I've got the painting a day deal down, but, so far, I'm a little shy on the back end.

"The only people left in America who seem not to be artists are illustrators."
—Brad Holland

Tiny Caskets In The Snow

January 20, 2014
   Coming to a point in the story of The 66 Kid that I've been avoiding for some time. How do you write about something that happened in your family that no one wants to talk about? Never easy, but in my case I decided to take a little different route. Went home for lunch and finished a little painting I call "Tiny Caskets In The Snow."

 
"Tiny Caskets In The Snow"

   My mother lost two girls in Iowa and they are buried at Linden Cemetery southwest of Thompson, Iowa. The two events happened about a year apart but in my memory they are one.

"Tiny caskets in the snow. Who were those little girls we'll never know?"
—BBB

Pack Rat Condo

January 20, 2014
  If it's not the Biebers (javalenas) it's pack rats. I had to sell the family '49 Ford because pack rats were eating the car to pieces, starting with the wiring in the engine and moving into the upholstery. I moved the heirloom from the outside garage to the inside garage (adjacent to the house) and it barely slowed them down. Now, I find they were launching their attacks on the '49 from a nearby condo with a view. Like an idiot, I stored my most precious family photos in a dresser drawers along the wall, never thinking pack rats could, or would, get in there. Boy, was I mistaken. When I got set to do The 66 Kid a couple months ago I went out to check on the photos and all three drawers were packed with cholla and debris.

  I cleaned out two of them over the weekend and found some gems that survived the onslaught, but just to give you an idea at how gross these little bastards are, here's the third drawer:


Pack Rat Decor

"The problem with the rat race is that even when you win, you're still a rat."
—Lilly Tomlin

First Hat

January 20, 2014
   Spent the weekend working on artwork for The 66 Kid, and also searching for my hidden stashes of photographs. The packrats got into a dresser drawer in the garage and when I went to look inside it was filled with cholla and debris the little bastards had tucked into their "condo" nest. Really disgusting and at first glance it appeared they had eaten all of the photos! I'm not kidding. I found a couple photos on the surface that had actual teeth bites taken out of them. Had to get a facemask to ward off the hantavirus, which actually killed a couple friends of mine. One was cleaning out a barn at Pagosa Springs and breathed in rat droppings and was dead in no time. In the other incident a friend of mine's mother passed away in El Paso. She and her husband went to take care of her estate and stayed in her house. Like a good son-in-law, her husband tried to clean up some of her mess and he came down with hantavirus and nearly died. Crazy stuff. Here's the online skinny on the air-borne illness:

Early symptoms include fatigue, fever and muscle aches, especially in the large muscle groups—thighs, hips, back, and sometimes shoulders. These symptoms are universal.

There may also be headaches, dizziness, chills, and abdominal problems, such as nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain. About half of all HPS patients experience these symptoms.

Late Symptoms

Four to 10 days after the initial phase of illness, the late symptoms of HPS appear. These include coughing and shortness of breath, with the sensation of, as one survivor put it, a "...tight band around my chest and a pillow over my face" as the lungs fill with fluid.

Is the Disease Fatal?
Yes. HPS can be fatal. It has a mortality rate of 38%.

   End of disease info. So, needless to say, I was wary AND worried that I had lost some of my most prized possessions. Virtually all of the cloth in the drawers (old T-shirts, etc.) were chewed up and destroyed, but in the debris were some gems that somehow survived, like this old photo of myself and my grandfather taken in about 1949 on the family farm:


 BBB and Grandpa Bell on The Bell Family Farm, 1949

I believe this is the first photo to show me with stylin' with a hat. It certainly won't be the last. In the old days, Iowa license plates had the number of the county as the first numbers, and this is a Winnebago County license number (the 99 counties were listed alphabetically). When we lived in Swea City, Kossuth County was 55. It was fun to see the different numbers on the highway and try and guess where they were from. Not sure why Iowa got rid of this because it was quite logical and fun too.

   Well, it's been 24-hours and I haven't had any symptoms, but I do have another drawer to clean at lunch today and I will photograph just how gross it is.

"The light from the oncoming train focuses the mind."
—Bruce Springsteen explaining his late life drive to release more work

How Do Artists Actually Get Paid In This Outlaw Age?

January 18, 2014
  Have you ever wondered how artists actually get paid for their work in this new pirate driven Digital Age? Me too. That's why I am going to be at this event in a couple of weeks:



   I'm hoping Buddy and Joshua can enlighten us with their knowledge. Anyway, going to be fun. It will be worth the trip just to see the Historic Cattletrack Compound in Scottsdale. A great art space and a small cocoon of the old Scottsdale and old Arizona. Hope to see you there.

"Artists and writers get paid too much."
—My first reaction when we bought True West and examined the debt-riddled books

Davy Crockett Ditty

January 16, 2014
   I remember back in 1955 when the Davy Crockett theme song was on everyone's lips, someone in Iowa came up with a parody and it started like this: "Born on a table top in Albert Lea. . ." I remember it was quite funny in a Norwegian way, but I can't remember the rest. Anyone know the ditty?

  This is as close as I can come:

“Born on a table top in Albert Lea, rode in a car when he was only three. Davy, Davy Crockett, King of The Wild Party.”
—Old Norsky Ditty

Neon In The Night And Slithering Traffic On Cajon Pass

January 14, 2014
   A couple nights ago we rented "About Schmidt" the Alexander Payne film, starring Jack Nicholson, about a widower in Omaha who goes to Denver for his daughter's wedding and has adventures along the way. This is a companion piece to Payne's new film, "Nebraska" which I believe was written by the same guy. Anyway, the film opens with Nicholson's character watching the clock on his final minutes and seconds at an insurance company he has worked for all his adult life. Afterwards, he and his wife drive to his retirement party at a local restaurant in the rain. I was intrigued by the lighting effects of wet streets and neon, so got up this morning and whipped this out.

 
Daily Whipout: "After The Rain On A Buggy Neon Night"

   Also, got inspired to do a slithering snake of headlights and tailights moving along the ridges of Cajon Pass on Old Route 66.

 
Daily Whipout: "A Slithering Snake of Traffic Traversing Cajon Pass"


"[John] Ford told [Stephen Spielberg] to consider the 'art of the horizon'—never dead center, but always at either the top or the bottom of the frame."
—Martin Scorsese, in Tell Me Something, a book of advice for documentarians

Calling All Gearheads!

January 14, 2014
   Finishing up corrections and layout issues for the first two sections of The 66 Kid. Need clarification on two items, both car related. What is the year, make and model of these two cars?





Someone answered this last one with great detail but I can't find it. Thanks.

The Creature From The Black Lagoon

January 13, 2014
   Worked all weekend on The 66 Kid, culling memories from my youth and trying to get them down on paper, both in words and in drawings. This is from a section called "Swede City Sojourn."

The Creature From The Black Lagoon Scares Local Twit
    Swea City, Iowa had a ramshackle movie theater that used to be an opera house. In 1955 the theater was on its last legs because of TV. In it's heyday, the theater would show a Swedish film once a year to cater to the Scandanavian proclivities of the old-timers who still missed the Old Country.

  One night when I was eight I went with some friends to see "The Creature From The Black Lagoon." We were the only people in the audience. About a third of the way in, my friends bailed on me and went home. I was all alone in the creepy old place and the Creature was knocking off people right and left. During one of the scariest parts, the projectionist came down and tapped me on the shoulder and said he wanted to go home and they were going to shut off the movie. I had to walk four blocks to my house. Giant trees lined the street, swaying ominously overhead, casting long, shadow tentacles at my feet. I have never been so scared in my life.

 
Daily Whipout: "The Creature From Swea City, Iowa"

   When we moved back to Kingman in February of 1956 my father took over a new kind of super station, a Flying A with a big arrow that lit up and came on in an animated motion, calling out to everyone on Route 66 to Come On In! I was so taken with the sign, that one night, while up at my grandmother's house on Jefferson Street, my cousin Robert Jerl Stockbridge, and I, stood out in the cold and just watched the sign do its thing:

 
Daily Whipout: "Flying A Sign Worship"

   And yes, I am wearing my Little League uniform. I was so proud of being on a team—The Oddfellow Yankees—I often wore it to family functions. I know, weird, but hey, I was a weird kid. Well, maybe not by Kingman standards, but you know what I mean.

"The whole secret of life is to be interested in one thing profoundly and in a thousand things well."
—Horace Walpole

White Hats vs. Black Hats

January 10, 2014
   I've long been intrigued by the white hat vs. black hat symbols from Westerns. This led to the following scratchboards:

 
"White Hat"

White Hats vs. Black Hats
   As the Western movie genre developed in the early Twentieth Century audiences seemed to gravitate towards heroes who wore a white hat, and many times rode a white horse as well. This trend expanded and developed into a well worn cliche that good guys wore white hats and bad guys wore black hats. Never mind that Hopalong Cassidy among other Western screen heroes sported a black hat, but the die was cast and the cliche lingers to this day.

 
"Black Hat"

"Sometimes, good guys don't wear white. . ."
—Song lyric from sixties rock song I can't remember the name of

A Bad Boy On A Bad Road

January 10, 2014

   In the Zone, working like crazy. Funny how a little bit of focus and concentration, a drop dead deadline and a dollop of abstinence (stopped drinking on December 15 to concentrate on finishing book project) unlocks some major doors.



   Whipped out three paintings this morning before coming into work. Here's a study inspired by Dan The Man's comment that when he drove home to Kingman from NAU in Flagstaff he was always shocked at how rough Route 66 was around the Valentine area:



 
Daily Whipout: "Warning: Two-lane Patchtop"

   Also, reworked a painting of this Bad Boy On A Bad Road:

 
Daily Whipout: "The Real 66 Kid II"

  And reworked a previous take on my family driving into a storm:

 
Daily Whipout: "We Drove Straight Into The Storm"

  The previous version was too green and patchy. Wanted to give it a little more blue to complement the orange of the tail light glow.

   Also, found some old drawings that needed a tweak here and there to finish.



 
Daily Whipout: "Coyote With A Housecat Crosses Spur Cross Road"

   This was a scene from a Honkytonk Sue episode that never ran. There's more but I need to keep moving. Really on a roll now. Seems like the more I do, the more I can do. Only been in this place several times in my life, so I can't speak to how I got here, but I am here.

"If you want something done, give it to a busy man."
—Old Misogymist Saying

Night Driving Redux

January 9, 2014

   Last night I drove down into the Beast to attend a lecture on Route 66 at Pueblo Grand Museum. Joined Dan and Darlene Harshberger for dinner then motored out to 4619 E. Washington to the museum. Professor John Craft, of the Walter Cronkite School of Broadcasting was the host. Had fun, learned a couple things for the book and need to check up on a couple of the claims: Craft claims the Jesuits planted the trees that gives Peach Springs its name? I've never heard that one and I have not read of any Jesuits in Mohave County in the olden days. Hmmmm. Gay?



   Got up this morning intrigued by nightime effect on the road. Whipped out these little studies before going into work:

 
Daily Whipout: "Night Driver"

 
Daily Whipout: "Night Trails"

   Worked on several projects this morning, including the second signature of "The 66 Kid." Wrote up several passages on Peach Springs and the fabulous Hualapais, then went home for lunch and whipped out a couple more:

 
Daily Whipout: "A Long Line of Cars Outside Truxton"

 
Daily Whipout: "Leaving Fort Sumner"

 
Daily Whipout: "Traffic On I-10 Near Tonopah"

   Not quite there, but I'm learning nightime effects. Can't quite get the glow right. Keep making the same mistake. Gee, I wonder what ol' James Marsh has to say about this?

"Learn from you mistakes—write them down and torment yourself with them."
—James Marsh

More Kicks On 66

January 8, 2014
   Finishing up the second 26-page section of the book today. Laid in all the images and did a conference call with Dan Harshberger to tweak layouts and add pullquotes and cutlines. Got some great images and maps (from Gus Walker, the Mapinator!). Going to be very sweet.

  Went home for lunch and colorized my Andreas Feininger sketch:

 
Andreas Feininger: "Eye On The Sky II"

   Actually got the lens right. He's definitely looking skyward. Also whipped out a little study of the guy who coined the phrase and lyric, "Get your kicks on Route 66."

 
Bobby Troup: "On The Road"

   Got some great quotes from the boys and got the truth about their journeys. Gee, I wonder what ol' Brett Morgan thinks about this?

"I often find the truth to be overrated. I'd rather have a drink with a really good storyteller, than with someone who sticks to the record."
—Brett Morgen

Feininger Got His Clicks On Route 66

January 7, 2014
   Went home for lunch and whipped out another take on Andreas Feininger, the Life magazine photographer who took the most famous photograph of Route 66, ever.



 
Andreas Feininger: Eye On The Sky

   I also did a scratchboard version but the board was not Essdee and it flaked a bit too much:

 
Slide #6? Feininger's take with bus in photo

   Take a close look at the details, the hitchhiker, the cars, the burger stand at left. Now, here is another frame taken, probably right after. Andrea seems to have moved his tripod back, or did he zoom in?

 
Andreas Feininger "Route 66, Arizona, 1953"

   In the end this is the classic one. Just the right number of cars, giving it a more spread out feel. The first one is too crowded, at least for Selgiman. Ha. Amazing.

"Somehow [Feininger's Slide #7] manages to reference in a single frame, the allure of the open road, the confluence of the man-made and natural worlds and the myth of the inexhaustible American West."
—Editor Ben Cosgrove, Life magazine

Delano Rocks A Flattop

January 6, 2014
  Week two of our book deadlines. Second 16-page signature due this Friday. It''s a 12-week cycle and we're running in front of a train. Worked all weekend on a variety of art for the sig, like this Hualapai flattop:

 
Delano Rocks a Route 66 Flattop

   Frankly, you haven't lived until you've seen a Hualapai rock a flattop. It's somewhere between a porcupine and a needle bed. Totally cool and totally In-din.

   Finished eight pieces of art and sat down this morning to plug the holes. Here is my view from the ktichen table at 5:30 a.m.:

 
Progress Report #3

   Worked for about an hour on new scenes and made a page full of notes in my sketchbook:

 
Progress Report #4

   Of course there were other dudes in Mohave County who rocked a flattop as well, like these cats:

 
Ducktails By Chuy

"Tell a great story, and the message will follow."
—Ross Kauggman, Born Into Brothels (2004)

A Huge Schematic Corrals Boxlip Darrell

January 3, 2014

Dan The Man Harshberger and I have been working hard on the first 16-page signature of our book project, "The 66 Kid." Woke up at two this morning concerned about having enough content. I penciled in all of the layouts and topics I wanted to cover, assigned them wing ding space and discovered I am still 50 pages short! Yesterday, I had our production manager, Robert Ray, print out a couple 192-page schematics of the book so I could start plugging holes. This was my view at the kitchen table this morning at 5:30:



 
192-page schematic and 66 Kid sketchbook, plus the "Tell me Something" book

   And here's a little closer view so you can see just how many flippin' holes I have to fill:

 
Closeup of the two-page "66 Kid" schematic

   Meanwhile, I've been working on caricatures of classic Kingman nicknames:

 
"Punchie"

   And, also this dude:

 
Boxlip Darrell: Although he grew up to be quite religious, Boxlip had a very crude mouth in high school and got his nickname from his constant swearing ("box" being a crude euphemism for a woman's private parts) and his brazen theory that if you walked into English class and blurted out crude swear-words as you walked behind Mrs. Logsdon, she would think to herself, "He can't be saying what I think he just said." Much to his classmates' amusement, it worked every day for an entire year and he never got caught.

Warning: some facial characteristics may have been changed to protect the guilty.

   There's more but I don't have time to post right now. But I will say, the book on the table, "Tell Me Something" is very inspiring. Here's a quote from it:

"Every good idea is the great-grandchild of bad ones."
—Alan Berliner, documentarian, First Cousin, Once Removed (2013)

A Big, Singular Effort Is Under Way

January 2, 2014
   Time flies where you're behind the eight-ball. Been running in front of a train for the last couple of weeks. With the March issue out the door, the book project is on the front burner with the first 16-pages due tomorrow. Been working on road pictures and that's been fun. Here's my parents tooling down Route 66 when I was just a tike:



Finished the layouts this afternoon, and decided it was time to finish the last page. Here it is:

 
The Road Is The Only Thing

   Haven't been able to spend much time here, but you know what they say about singular effort:

"You already know what a big, stupid, oafish fool you are to go after something so singularly that you lost your apartment."
—Negin Farsad, documentarian

Extortion vs. Extraordinary In Nogales

December 27, 2013

   Working hard on several cover ideas for The 66 Kid. Here's a little study I did this morning:



 
Daily Whipout, "The 66 Kid Straddles The Centerline"

Of course, the arrow is based on this classic service station:

 
Al Bell's Flying A, Hilltop, Arizona, c. 1957

   Meanwhile, here's a tale of extortion vs. extraordinary on the streets of Mexico. Last Sunday, Kathy, my son and I crossed the border at Nogales and looked for a cab driver. We traditionally like to have a cab driver give us a tour of Nogales, Sonora and see all the new building, etc. (the border town is at 500,000 souls with new arrivals all the time). The last time we did it, several years ago, the price was $30. Thomas Charles speaks fluent Spanish so he talked with one Flaco Corrillo (Flaco is Spanish for skinny) who told us he would give us a tour for $15. That was a red flag, so I was on guard. Flaco took us by the old Canal Street, which has been completely made over into a legitimate business park. Then we drove up to a ritzy neighborhood with Vegas style homes. One of them was pock-marked with dobs of plaster and Flaco told us there was a big shootout a couple of years ago with 45 narco-trafficers who were holed up in the house. Quite a few were killed and then five wounded dudes were being transported to the airport and the cops hit a speed bump and flipped killing all five of the wounded bad guys, plus the two coppers.

   On the way out to the suburbs, Flaco informed us that our $15 was up. We were quite a ways from the border by now, so I'm extra hyper-sensitive, but Tommy is in the front seat and the guy is telling him jokes and having fun. T. asks Flaco what his favorite Mexican food restaurant is, so the cabbie hangs a Uie and we barrel down to Asadero De La Salida, a little covered, outdoor restaurant. We order the special and it is fantastic. When the food came I got up and took this photo:



 
Flaco Carrillo, Nogales cab drive extraordinaire

  Flaco looks a bit sullen here, but he was quit funny, laughing and joking the entire time. Forty-five minutes later we tell him we want to go to La Roca for a nightcap before returning to the U.S. so Flaco battles his way down the main thoroughfare and we pull into the alley where the legendary La Roca sits, and it is closed. So we decide to call it a night and tell Flaco to return us to the border. He has to go back south for about five blocks, then turns into the traffic jam heading towards the border and my blood pressure is rising as we inch towards the line.

   By now, I'm really paranoid. I can see him charging us $50 or more. It's not that he didn't earn it, but I'm irritated by the way it got set up like this and I'm really nervous about what the price will be. He could charge us $75 or more. Fifteen minutes later, he pulls up to the cab station by the crossing and we all get out. He comes around to our side of the cab and Tommy asks how much we owe him. Flaco shrugs sheepishly and says, "Is $25 okay?" T. gave him $30 and we thanked him profusely for a great time.

   I wanted to hug Flaco! This totally restored my faith in humanity, not to mention Nogales cab drivers. What a good guy! Made me so happy. It was a great little Christmas present.

"Everybody in the world loves Mexican food."
—Flaco Carrillo

Kingman In The Rear View Mirror

December 26, 2013
  Back from the road trip to find the best Mexican food on the planet. We really lucked out in Nogales, Sonora and hooked up with a cab driver named Flaco Carrillo (Flaco is Spanish for skinny) who took us on a grand tour of the city, including a big house in the posh part of town where narco trafficers shot it out with the police. Flaco gave us a running commentary of the fight (quite a few cartel guys were killed and then when the wounded were being transported to the airport, they hit a speed bump killing the wounded and two more policemen). Photos tomorrow.

   Got up this morning and whipped out a little study for our book:

 
Daily Whipout, "Leaving Kingman for The Last Time"

"Must write and accuse you of making a very respectable 64-year-old lady 'steal' today."
—Excerpt from a letter we will be running in the next issue of True West

Wildcats & Mexican Food

December 24, 2013
   After our Nogales run to find the best Mexican food in the world (Asadero La Salida in Nogales, Sonora and El Zarape in Nogales, Arizona), we motored up to Tucson to take in the number one college basketball team in the nation. After landing at the Big Blue House B&B at 6th Avenue and University, we walked down to campus to get our tickets upgraded. While we were standing in line, out came these dudes.



That's Matt Korcheck, Brandon Ashley and Jordin Mayes with T. Charles outside the McKale Center ticket window. They crushed T's alma mater, NAU five hours later: 77-44.

A couple minutes later out comes one of U of A's biggest stars:



T. Bell and Nick "Bunnies" Johnson (he hops so much and so high)

And lo and behold, a couple minutes later, out comes Gabe York and that other guy:

 
Gabe York, T. Charles and T.J. McConnell

   And here's the tip off five hours later inside McKale Center:


   We had nosebleed seats, but the box office called us and said if we came by the gym before the game they'd upgrade us for no extra charger, so we ended up here about six rows from the floor. Of course I have some very superstitious classmates and most of us feel like we will jinx the Cats if we watch the game, like this guy:

"The Wildcats will win if I don't watch the last quarter."
—Bugs