Marque Mouchoirs

Since most of the God-fearing western world--or at least the parts that matter--follows college football, it's probably not much of a news flash to most that Tech had a pretty good year. No, they didn't beat THE CCCI, but they did entertain me quite a bit and won the ACC championship to boot. I'll probably be accused of settling for less but I'll take that most seasons, like this one for instance. Which is probably of great comfort to the team and all who sail with it since, as a fan, I have a tremendous impact on the outcome. Or at least that's what the jumbotron always tells me.

But because they won the conference, Tech found themselves playing in Miami in the Orange Bowl. Because I'm required by law to attend any game that I can't think of a good enough reason not to, I was there. Which was actually the point of all the previous sentences of gibberish. Sorry.

This would be the point where I'm obligated to point out that I'm not a fan of air travel, but do it anyway. Therefore: I'm not a fan of air travel, but do it anyway. What's not to like? There's virtually no hassle, it's cheap and life generally doesn't get much more fun than cruising along at 30K feet with the constant fear that you're suddenly not going to be. I like to think that all planes will remain in flight as long as at least one person onboard is willing it to stay aloft. I magnanimously provide this service free of charge on all my flights. You're welcome, Earth.

I suppose that getting somewhere I want to be is actually a rather nice bonus to flying, but I must admit that one of the biggest thrills of the whole experience is the prospect of seeing famous, or at least interesting, folks in the terminal. Not Tom Cruise/lovely Gwyneth famous, honestly who gives a rat-ass about seeing them; I'm not TMZ. No, I want the obscure and esoteric. (If they must actually be famous, smoking French actresses only please.) Which is why I was giddy when I heard the terminal's voice-in-the-sky page Alejandro Pena. Who he? Only the former Atlanta Braves reliever in the early 90s.

Alas, I didn't see him though I immediately began looking around like a jackass, expecting him to be right beside me and announce to everyone, well, me, "Hey, I'm Alejandro Pena. I wonder what I'm needed for and can I eat my hot dog first." Understand, that in my world a famous person is the only individual with that name from then on. Do you know any other Fennis Dembo's besides THE Fennis Dembo? I rest my case.

Since the rich and famous--admittedly, I'm being slightly generous with the terms--are the only people that have any reason to be anywhere at anytime, it only seems fair and the easiest way to avoid confusion. I know that's a tough pill for Mr. Tom Hanks of 362 Lois Lane, Hillsboro OH 45133, his wife Greta and their two adorable children, Jennifer and Orson to swallow, but so it goes.

So having accomplished somewhat a goal for the trip, I hurriedly ran back to tell Andy my good fortune. However, before I could even get through the "Guess who" part of "Guess who I heard paged" Andy began, rather conspiratorially, "That's Romeo Crennel at one o'clock. Don't look." Now you may know your former NFL coaches who also happened to briefly coach at Tech. In some cases, I do. Sadly, in this case I did not.

A brief bio on Mr. Crennel ensued from Andy, which will not be repeated here. Suffice to say the highlight of his coaching career, and probably life, was no doubt being featured on one of those "amusing" Coors Light commercials. The ones where they take a clip from a post-game press conference and make it look like the coach is answering questions about beer from a pack of assorted goofballs. Humor does not belong in football. Beer does not belong in goofballs. Goofballs do not belong on Earth. So I guess it all evens out.

And to think I haven't even gotten on the plane yet. More to follow, though probably of equal insignificance.