Rocky Mountain Showdown

"Rocky Mountain Showdown" is what Coloradans call the annual CU vs CSU football game.  We went to the game last Friday to watch and to scout out the college rivalry scene. I drove into the Broncos Stadium parking lot a half hour before kickoff, carefully navigating the inebriated mobs of students as they charged willy-nilly across the road. Though I was white-knuckled and clench-jawed, I appreciated our kids' eyes growing wide in the backseat as they observed the college kids' behavior - a bit like being on safari in the African wild.

Once we parked, on the sidelines of a rabid cornhole game, we steered the kids to the stadium. I had Aden's arm and watched her face struggle to hide the confusion and concern as waves of beer breath and pot smoke flowed over us. She thinks she might want to go to CU next year, her one concern its party school reputation. The game did little to alleviate her fears.  I largely kept my mouth shut and refrained from lectures (especially about the bandeau bikini-tops on the girls), though sorely tempted, until the end. 

Leaving early to avoid crowds, we waltzed quickly back to our now-quiet parking spot. As I opened the car door on the front passenger side, however, a curly-headed young man slowly sat up in front of the wheel.

"Whoa," he said, "you scared me!" 

Startled myself, I asked if he was ok (he didn't look super great). He stood, a bit wobbly, revealing a shirtless chest under green and yellow striped overalls, one strap fallen askew. "Yeah, I'm ok, just you scared me," he reiterated. 

I turned to Rob, turning the car on, and said, "whatever you do, don't go forward."

As the young man went in search of his friends, or a parking lot attendant, or a restroom, we watched to make sure he seemed mobile and in control, the kids slack-jawed with amazement. One of the boys said, "He didn't even go to the game!"

At that point I couldn't control the mom lecture reflex, and told the kids they could never leave a friend in that condition, especially not in a parking lot, or in a frat house, or at a bar . . . the list goes on. Hard to believe we will have a college student next year, our heads full of questions about where she will be and what she will do there.  "Hopefully," said William, "She'll at least go to the game first."