Chapter 12: Homecoming Weekend

For the next few weeks, things stayed in a routine. An overworked, stressful, pressure-cooker of a routine, but a routine nonetheless. We played our games, and our practices also progressed very well. My professors kept on piling on the work, but we still found a little time to goof off and relieve the pressure, if only temporarily.

We lost a non-conference game to the University of Miami Hurricanes by an embarrassingly lopsided score, but we had an excuse. More than half the team was struck by the flu that week, and a few guys, including Bryan and Rick, were so sick they didn't even make the bus trip down to Coral Gables. Even with every one of our available bench players starting, we still had to field a team that included three very ill players. Pick tried to keep the sickest players out of harm's way, but he had no choice but to put one of them in midfield. He tried to work out a substitution rotation that would spell the ill players often, but with only one half-healthy substitute, it just couldn't be done.

Martin and I were also down with the flu, though we did manage to make the bus trip. I would have been a lot more comfortable dying in my own dorm room bed instead of trying to find a comfortable position that didn't make my stomach do flip-flops on a swaying bus, but it wasn't an option for a lowly freshman like me. Even being a freshman, though, Pick and Eddie could see I was way too sick to even try to take the field. What little food I was able to force down didn't stay down, and even water was squirting out my backside like floodwaters on the muddy Mississippi. I was so miserable, I felt like I would have to feel better just to be able to die.

Our backup keeper had also been stricken, and Pick was forced to start Dan Ortega in goal. Dan was a little unnerved, having not played keeper since before high school, but he did his best. With no help from his defensive line, what with all three of us down, it was a lesson in humility for him, and for us as a team. Our small consolation was that, looking at the film the next week, we all saw where we could have exploited their weaknesses, if only we had been at full strength. As it was, losing 6-1 was about as good as we could have expected.

Homecoming for the University of Florida was scheduled for an early weekend of October. Homecoming week in Gainesville was crazy. The entire campus, students and faculty alike, was going nuts all week, and the town joined in on the celebration. Local businesses put up signs and banners, the bars were practically giving away beer, and the streets around campus, and even into the downtown area, were all decorated with flags and streamers in orange and blue.

Very little in the way of constructive schoolwork got in the way of the festivities. Naturally, we practiced every day, but classes were pretty slipshod, there was very little work assigned, and everybody seemed to look forward to the weekend. Many of the professors looked down their noses at what they probably considered to be undergraduate foolishness, but behind the scowls and the gruff tones some of them took during lectures, a tiny bit of indulgent amusement could be detected. This was underscored by the easing of the workload during the week, even by the most cynical of instructors. By the time the end of the week was approaching, the entire area around campus was overflowing with clumps of students, alumni, staff, and faculty, all gearing up for the festivities of the weekend.

And what a weekend it was. Classes had been cancelled for Friday, so everybody could either march in the parade down University Avenue, or watch the parade from a porch, curb, or lawn chair. Bryan, Melanie, Reggie, and I watched from a table outside The Glass Onion, courtesy of Skye and Stone. Joining us was Jesse and his homecoming date, Brittany Erickson, another sorority sister of Melanie's. Just before the first float slowly rumbled down the street, Skye came out with two bottles of wine and six glasses.

"It's from our personal stash," Skye said with a sly wink. "It's homemade by some friends. I think you'll like it."

Homemade hooch sounded a little dangerous, but I reached for the bottle anyway. What the hell, it's Homecoming, I said to myself. I filled each glass about halfway, and the six of us raised them in a toast to a glorious weekend.

"Cheers!"

"Halleluiah!"

"Down the hatch!"

And I brought the glass to my lips.

It was very tasty, a sweet and fruity berry wine of some sort. We all made murmurs of appreciation, and I lifted my glass and saluted Skye, inside her store, minding the counter. She smiled and waved, and Stone flashed us a peace sign from his window in the kitchen.

We cheered as the Phi Kap/Omega float went by. Captain Jack was, of course, in the pilot's seat of the nautically themed float, taking it all way too seriously. He waved down at us, looking imperial in his Horatio Hornblower getup. I got the feeling he really didn't recognize us sitting there saluting him. He turned and waved to people on the other side of the street, never changing expression at all as he swiveled back and forth in front of his big spoked wheel. We laughed a lot at Jack's expense after the float passed us by, fueled perhaps by the berry wine. We sat back and enjoyed the rest of the parade, watching the other floats rumble by, interspersed with local high school marching bands putting on their displays. We jumped up and cheered when the UF marching band came strutting down the street, blasting out the UF fight song, Orange and Blue. As the last float rolled by, we joined the thousands of others who filled the street, following the parade until it rolled into the stadium.

Later that night, the six of us crammed into Florida Field for the giant Homecoming pep rally, called the Gator Growl. We were joined by 72,000 of our closest friends in the newly renovated and expanded stadium. The festivities went on for hours, led by Albert and Alberta, the Gator mascots. The school always managed to bring in a big name from the entertainment world for Gator Growl, and the headliner for the evening was Bob Hope. I was thinking he was kind of old-fashioned for a college crowd like us, but he worked the stadium like the old pro he was. By about the fourth or fifth joke in his routine, he had us on our feet, stomping and clapping and laughing.

I should have expected it, actually. It should have been obvious to me that Hope loved college football. Why else would he host the College Football All-American show every year on television? And that observation was confirmed that night as he welcomed each starter on the team up to the stage, and had a joke prepared for each one.

When Dantrell Sinclair was introduced, for instance, Hope said, "Dantrell Sinclair, a junior halfback. That's not to say he's a junior, as in lightweight. Look at those arms!" Hope gave one of his classic pauses, and then continued. "Dantrell is fast, too. In fact, when I asked him how fast he ran, he told me he was so fast, he had already played in tomorrow's game!"

As Lamarr Elliott stepped up to stand next to him, Hope gave him one of his patented stares, looking up at Lamarr as he towered over the comedian. "The University of Florida has 30,000 full-time students," Hope said into the microphone. "Lamarr is one of the reasons they buy enough food for 34,000."

At the end of his show, the football team took the stage once again, lining up behind the comedian, and off behind the stadium, fireworks were set off across Lake Alice in a display to rival the Fourth of July.

By the time the show ended, I was hoarse, deaf, and half-blinded by the fireworks. Reggie and I held hands as we shuffled out, flowing with the tide of students out of the stadium, so that we wouldn't lose each other in the crush. Once we got out onto the street, we stepped aside and waited for Jesse, Brittany, Bryan, and Melanie.

Once we all found each other again, I said, "Where to now?" I was too pumped up to want to just go back to my dorm room.

"Party at Jeremy's place?" suggested Bryan. Jeremy Peters, one of our midfielders, lived in an apartment with three of his fraternity brothers.

"Sure," said Jesse. "Sounds good. That work for you, Seanster?"

I looked at Reggie, and saw agreement in her shining eyes. "It works," I said.

It was already kind of late, but we were all pretty wired from the rally. I wanted to stay out late and have a good time with my friends. The Homecoming game was in the afternoon, and I had to work the gift shop the first half, but that was okay. We were playing at home on Sunday, so there wasn't any real pressure to get to bed early on this night.

Reggie and I held hands and skipped down the sidewalk, feeling silly and free. Jesse and Bryan were laughing at us, and I could hear Brittany giggling. Melanie looked amused, but there was something else in her expression I couldn't put my finger on. I really didn't care, though, and I wasn't going to let her spoil our exuberant mood. Reggie and I outpaced them by about a block, and then waited for them at the next corner. The two of us were practically hopping around as we waited, and as soon as the group caught up to us, we skipped off again, leaving them behind to wallow in the echoes of our laughter.

On the last street corner, Reggie and I waited for the group, and we all walked the last half-block together to Jeremy's apartment building. Jeremy and his roommates lived on the second floor, and we climbed the wooden staircase that had been tacked onto the outside of the yellow frame house, to the plain wooden door. I had to look twice to make sure the heavy bass beat pounding from inside the apartment wasn't rattling the door in its frame. I opened it and was almost forced backwards by the wall of sound. I held Reggie's hand and forced my way into the apartment, and into the crowd already there.

It was very warm in the apartment from all the hot, sweaty student bodies crammed into the place. There were a couple of window air conditioners struggling to cool the air, but with the door constantly opening and closing, and with all the people moving about, the poor little units just couldn't keep up. The door opened into the main living room area. Through the crowd I could see bright light spilling from another room, and there was a second dim room ahead of us, which I assumed was a dining room or, more likely, a television room for the guys who lived there.

Our group kind of split up and found friends and acquaintances to greet. Many of the guys were teammates of ours, there with their dates, and it was kind of cool to see everybody on a social basis, and on their good behavior. As Reggie and I made our way deeper into the apartment, I was surprised to see Westy there, along with Jason Emerson, the kid who lived across the hall from us in the dorm. They both had girls standing with them. Westy saw me at the same time I spied him, and before I could turn away, he was waving us over to where he and Jason were standing.

"Yo, dude, what are you doing here?" shouted Westy over the music.

"Jeremy's a teammate," I said.

"No shit? I didn't even know he was on the team."

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"All the guys who live here are Sig Taus," he replied.

Well, there you go, I thought. I didn't even know Jeremy belonged to a fraternity, much less the same one my roomie had pledged. Small fucking world.

Westy suddenly remembered his manners, and he turned to his date, a short and busty brunette with big, thick glasses. "Yo, Sean, this is my date, Angelina Turner. Angelina, this is Sean Porter, my roommate."

"Pleased ta meetcha," said Angelina, thrusting out her hand. She had a twangy New Jersey accent that immediately grated on me. I silently asked myself, Why am I surprised Westy found somebody irritating? It really shouldn't come as much of a shock.

I introduced Reggie to the group, and Jason introduced his date, who was apparently Angelina's roommate. She was a very large girl with the unlikely name of Kitten Springerdale. She was hanging on to Jason's arm as if it was a turkey leg and she hadn't eaten in three days. The poor guy was hopelessly lost. She had to outweigh him by a good thirty pounds, and she wasn't about to let go of her prize for the evening. I could see the amusement on Reggie's face as she watched the two of them, but she was much too polite to say anything. I, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

"So, Kitten, are you and Jason enjoying yourselves?" I asked.

Kitten squeezed Jason's arm even tighter to her bosom, and Jason's face got even redder from the pressure.

"Oh, it's so wonderful," she gushed. "The ... what do they call it, Jason?" She turned her flushed face to him, but just as he was about to answer, she turned back to us. "Gator Growl? That's right, Gator Growl, it was just so exciting, wasn't it? Wasn't Bob Hope just the most fun?" The inflection of her voice rose with each syllable, until it screeched almost into the ultrasonic. It was nearly enough to set my teeth to itching.