It’s taken almost a decade of asking, by my very accurate count, 187 admitted State Fans and last night at the base of Wuff Mountain I FINALLY FOUND HIM. But first let’s set the scene.
BobLee & Blondie were feted Thursday night at The Carter-Finley. The 60,000 red-clad screamin’ partisans (plus a national ESPN audience) probably thought David, Chancellor Randy and/or Russell were the V-est VIPS on-hand. The overflow crowd in the Wuff Mountain RV Park & Nail Salon knew otherwise. Lordy Lordy was it a fancy shmancy affair or WHAT !!!
We were special guests of The Whites. Not The Reds but The Whites. I don’t know who The Reds invited nor do I care. The Whites and their Lupine friends were the most gracious of hosts.
They live “inside the beltline” (aka ITB) which was itself confusing. I thought Smedes “The Boy Mayor” York was the only State guy allowed to live inside the beltline and that all the rest were interned in a converted nuclear waste dump on the outskirts of Fuquay ? That was just the beginning of myths that were debunked last night (and, of course, ONE BIG ONE that was verified ….. Oh Boy!).
Actually The Whites only live about a block inside the beltline but a satellite GPS reading confirmed they are indeed residents of Raleigh’s Most Esteemed and Envied Enclave of The Pretentious, Silverspoon-fed & Successful in Their Own Right. The Whites are in that 3rd category, but don’t tell anyone.
We drove to The Carter-Finley in the Whites late-model SUV. Apparently their traditional Wuffie John Deere tractor was in the shop for a transmission over-haul.
We all wore Wranglers but NOT the Brett Favre Open-fly models. I did NOT have a can o’ Skoal to put in my back pocket but substituted a tin of Uncle Fuzzwuzzy’s Beard Wax and no one seemed to notice. Although a bleached blond bombshell named Tami or Conni or Daphne wearing a spandex catsuit and 8” stilletos seemed overly curious about what was indeed inside my Wranglers.
With all due respect to the advantages of an on-campus stadium (and advantages to an “internal investigation”) there are notable advantages to a stadium at the fairgrounds with acres and acres and acres of ideal tailgating opportunities in the same zipcode as the stadium. Specifically at The Carter is the RV Park (& Nail Salon) at the base of Wuff Mountain. There were so many humongous RVs I thought we had stumbled into an Amway Convention or the parking lot at the CMA Awards at the Grand Ol’ Opry.
Blah blah blah ….. we had us a most fine time. The Wuffs got themselves all in a tizzy in the first half as chants of “We LUV Russell” quickly became “Hey O’Brien put in Glennon you dumb jarhead ….”. Be it noted The Whites were not among such fickle chanters.
Somehow that “dumb jarhead TO’B” and Russell experienced some magical transformation at halftime. By night’s end Russell was once again The Toast of The Brickyard Bunch and TO’B had earned at least one more week to make MaryAnn Fox’s promise of a National Championship For NC State become a reality. A bunch of shell-shocked Seminoles slunk back to Tallyhassy with their tommyhawks between their legs. Pandemonium reigned all’round Wuff Mountain.
Amid all that commotion I met him …..
Like everyone in WuffNation he had heard the rumor “BobLee is coming tonight.” The “BobLee Is Here Somewhere” blimp floating overhead probably fueled that rumor.
… the blimp floating overhead probably fueled that rumor!
Driving by F-Bomb Alley on our way to the VVIP RV Park & Nail Salon I noted the usual sad souls drinking hair tonic and stabbing themselves with 10 penny nails. Always an interesting slice o’ humanity in F-Bomb Alley. No one in the RV Park seemed strange at all except maybe for Daphne in that spandex catsuit.
I was chomping on a rib from Backyard Bistro when he approached. He appeared almost normal considering where we were.
“So you’re BobLee, huh.”
“No, I’m Leroy Jethro Gibbs. BobLee is over yonder trying to open a pack of plastic cutlery with his teeth so he doesn’t have to eat potato salad with his fingers. Just kiddin’ ya. Yes, I’m BobLee.”
“I thought you’d be bigger.”
“I get that a lot. You’re a fan of Roadhouse too, huh?”
“Everybody I have in my speed dial for sure.”
“I’m a Wal-Mart State fan. Betcha never met one of us in person, huh?”
“Not one wearing shoes AND quoting Roadhouse. I have to ask you THE QUESTION I have asked 187 “I’m a State fans” over the past decade”.
“You ever had sex with a goat?”
“Sure. Hasn’t everybody?”
“Not the other 187 State fans I’ve asked over the past decade. Over on Franklin Street all the pinko commie homos say all your gap-toothed rednecks have sex with goats. You’re the first one I’ve ever met.”
“Naaah, just the first one to admit it.”
“Well that could be.”
“Whats gonna happen to Butch?”
“He’ll be gone by The Winter Solstice and will become Concierge at BOTBob Winston’s Motel 6 on the bypass in Snow Camp.”
“Is that true?”
“Must be. I read it on the Internet.”
“I REALLY have had sex with a goat.”
“I believe you. Why would a fella lie about that?”
“Why indeed. Can I have a rib?”
“Ask Mrs White. I’m just a VIP guest here.”
The Rest Of The Story: The goat-lovin’ Wal-Mart State fan proceeded to ask everyone “Are you Mrs White?” including the cat-suit gal who said “For $5 I’ll be Cleopatra.” Then Troy walked up eating a brownie and said he was “from Hickory”. I, of course, immediately asked:
“Hickory huh ….. I bet you know Chris Washburn.”
“Sure, Chris and I were in high school together in the mid 80s.”
I said: “No way! I’m from the home of Charles Shackleford!”
“No way! Are you amphibious too?”
“No, but Robert Quinn has TWO black diamond watches.”
“Are you and Blondie enjoying yourselves tonight?”
Enjoy ourselves we absolutely did on a purrfect October evening at The Carter.
Avoid the BoardMonkey “Cliff Clavin” Faction of any fan base and you can have a VERY enjoyable “GameDay Experience” wherever you are.