The Rice Thresher (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 76, No. 10, Ed. 1 Friday, November 11, 1988 Page: 12 of 16
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12 FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1988 THE RICE THRESHER
SPORTS
Thresher takes Road Trip to Hell
by Wes Gere
The MOB confuses people at a mall in Springfield when they stop to practice.
Thresher wankers and Sammys the Owl eat breakfast in Poplar Pass.
Big hair. Sexual paraphernalia.
Poplaropolis, or Poplar Springs, or
was it Poplar Canyon. Those lips.
Vodka. More vodka. These are the
images from six states that swam
through nine people's minds the
Monday morning after we wandered
into Houston from a three-day trip to
Hell, Indiana Chicago, SL Louis,
Indianapolis, and Springfield all did
their part to conAise the weary,
brain-dead Thresher staffers and
friends.
The idea was to see the recently
down-on-their-luck Rice Owl football
team take on the not-so-down-on-
their-luck number-one Notre Dame
Fighting Irish. Well, we did see that,
but we don't like to talk about it The
bigeventto mostofuswas seeing the
MOB stomp the Irish band into the
proverbial mud.
The quest started Thursday eve-
ning aboard a Ford van that Harold
Turner conned the athletic depart-
ment into getting at the last minute.
The first leg of the trip was up to San
Louey. On the way there we stopped
at one of those gas stations with the
"Grab Bag" (that's what it said) of
neat sex crap on the bathroom wall
for fifty cents (Don't get the lick-it-up
flavor cream, it tastes like rotting
chocolate).
By this time I was spilling screw-
drivers all over everybody, so I'll run
over the parts I remember, like the
big arch thing in St Louis we went up
in and saw how drab and dreary a city
can look in Missouri, and how
Norbert Hugger's French friend
Cecile must have thought that two
months in the U.S. was enough for
her if all states looked like Arkansas,
and if Americans were all as obnox-
ious as I was. Oh well.
The main thing about Chicago is
you can get a cab in two minutes but
can't park in two hours. Myself, Paul
Bushkuhl (one of the Sammy-the-
Owls), and Sarah Leedy found this
out going to Rocky Horror. I thought
a wild place like the windy city would
have an intense Rocky audience, but
the people at the Picture Show were
lamer than in Houston. The lips were
just as big, though.
Then came the big, cold, wet,
drizzly day of the game. Rice was
ready. Rice was willing. Rice was half
as big.
Their nose guard could bench
our offensive tackles together. He
usually did. But our -3 rushing yards
in the second half is not the stat to
look at We passed for more yards,
and most of the Rice receivers were
usually wide open. It's not their skill,
it's their SIZE and their SPEED.
Notre Dame's first possesion of
the ball was when some guy named
Saghib returned a kickoff for a touch-
down (After a Clint Parsons field
goal. Yes, we scored first). At the
start of the fourth quarter, on the
kickoff after another Owl 3-pointer,
the same dude did it again. Damn it
That's speed.
The Owls almost pulled off a
touchdown when they were on the
seven yard-line in the third quarter.
Then Quentis Roper was pushed
down by the left tackle for a seven-
yard sack. On the next play a line-
backer fought his way through the
line and took him down again for a
loss of 13, and a 4th and 29. That's
size.
On the bright side, Parsons broke
out of his bum streak to make all
three field gole attempts. The one in
the fourth quarter was a 45-yarder.
Also we had several big passing
plays, none of which put us in the end
zone.
When the smoke cleared, the
score was 54-9 late in the fourth, but
the Rice Owls became the first team
ever to run back a blocked extra
point all the way to the other end
zone for 2 points. I guess that made
the game okay.
Mike Raphael, our infamous
back-page editor, insisted that I
mention that it is the first time a team
has scored 11 points in a game with-
out a safety. The rule was just made
this year.
But the MOB's halftime show
had the crowd cheering louder than
they did for their own football team.
They sang "Twist and Shout" as loud
as the MOB, and when the band
brought out props that looked like
two bloodshot eyes and spelled B-E-
E-R (give me a B...etc.), they went
nuts.
When the Irish kilted band came
out celebrating their 101st anniver-
sary with "the syncopated rhythms
of Gershwin," the shouts of BOR-
ING by their own fans drowned them
out
By the way, the weather in South
Bend really, really sucks.
There is one important thing
about the midwest: Stay away from
Indianapolis. It has big hair. Nothing
but heavily make-upped faces with
big, big hair on the top. There's this
huge mall-complex called Union
Station, and Deron Neblett the-
other-Sammy-the-Owl pointed out
that it's the biggest high school meat
market he's ever seen.
We stayed over in St Louis again,
where Harold, Norbert, and I retired
to our hotel room for a quick round of
butt-darts, which is an intriguing
game developed by some bored
corps members at A&M.
There was also Memphis, but we
were all plum tuckered-out zombies
by then and don't remember, so use
your imagination.
This is what the Thresher Road
Trip to Hell says about our country's
quaint and beautiful midwest, so if
this is somewhere you think you
want to go, read it again.
omic efeip IN Houston IJast.'Mu-
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McGarrity, Patrick & Sendek, Joel. The Rice Thresher (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 76, No. 10, Ed. 1 Friday, November 11, 1988, newspaper, November 11, 1988; Houston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth245706/m1/12/: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Rice University Woodson Research Center.