“Been there many times myself. I should get frequent flyer miles,” Brian retorted. They both laughed. “I really thought you’d love the food here.”
“I do like it.” The food wasn’t the problem. His stomach was!
Justin shoveled a fork full of pasta into his mouth. He decided then and there to stop daydreaming and focus all his attention on his longtime friend. He only had so much time to plant the seeds of the Gospel into Brian’s heart. Phasing in and out of the conversation wasn’t a good first step.
Justin remained engaged throughout the remainder of the meal. They discussed all sorts of topics: life in general, women, their careers, and, of course, sports. But the Lord’s name was never mentioned. Be patient, Justin thought, finishing his meal.
They got the check at 11:45 p.m. It was Brian’s treat. They had 15 minutes to get to the rally. Normally it was only a five-minute walk from the restaurant. But with so many people filling the streets, it would take twice that long, if not longer. They had to hustle.
Ann Arbor could be likened to an atom bomb this night.
First it was packed with the power and energy of a thousand bombs.
Second was the mushroom cloud of smoke following the bomb’s impact; one small college town—one huge mushroom cloud full of people. They more than overshadowed the town, they overtook it.
Third was the explosion. But that’s where the two differed. Whereas the explosion always preceded the cloud with an atom bomb, here the cloud came first, as evidenced by the tens of thousands of people invading every square inch of the small college town.
The explosion would come at kickoff tomorrow.
Maize and blue and scarlet and gray—maize and blue for Michigan; scarlet and gray for Ohio State—shirts, sweaters, sweat-suits, jackets, baseball caps and painted faces were worn by just about everyone walking the streets. Fans, students and alumni sang their school’s fight songs. It was an amazing sight to see.
Some resident students and locals living in Ann Arbor capitalized on the mass of humanity, by charging outrageous amounts of money to park vehicles on their property and for the use of their bathrooms. If Ann Arbor was overflowing with people, why not profit from them? They’d been doing just that for many years. Nothing would change this weekend.
The profits they raked in now was nothing compared to what they would earn in a few short hours. With kickoff at noon, latecomers would be rushed, panicked even, looking for any parking space they could occupy. Not wanting to miss a single down, they’d pay almost anything—perhaps double or even triple what they were charged this night—to park their vehicles in a safe spot.
It wasn’t a bad way to make quick tax-free cash, if you had a little bit of open space.
If you did it was like gold in your hands.
The University of Michigan Planning Committee was responsible for the bonfire festivities, and it showed. Michigan regalia was everywhere. Thousands of students, alumni and fans of all ages encircled a ten-foot heaping pile of firewood. The pro-Michigan anti-Ohio State speech leading up to the lighting of the torches was delivered with great flair and eloquence.
You just had to love home-field advantage. Surely, if the game were being played in Columbus, Ohio, everything would be reversed. The hunter would then become the hunted, which was exactly how Ohio State fans felt now.
Atop the enormous pile of firewood sat a dummy. Actually, it wasn’t sitting. It was dangling with a rope around its neck, dressed in a makeshift scarlet and gray Ohio State Buckeye’s uniform. It would soon be burnt to a crisp in effigy, just like Ohio State come daybreak. At least according to Michigan fans. Ohio State fans didn’t take it personally. It was all for fun.
When the command was given to light the torches, the crowd erupted. When the torches touched the kerosene-soaked wood, flames shot 50 feet in the air, instantly killing the chill. The crowd went ballistic. Some danced around the fire. Many were too crunched together to do anything but sway back and forth with everyone else, somewhat against their will. But they enjoyed themselves, nonetheless.
Team flags were flying. Menacing signs created for the game were being held up. Large foam hands with pointer fingers pointed skyward signifying, “We’re Number One,” were raised. Sparklers were aglow.
The University of Michigan Marching Band circled the burning inferno in their maize and blue uniforms playing, Hail to the Victors—Michigan’s fight song—as the Michigan Men’s Glee Club belted out the lyrics. Michigan fans quickly joined them.
It was midnight. The Big Day was finally upon them.
Brian Mulrooney and Justin Schroeder were 50 rows back but were just as caught up in the moment as those closest to the fire. They had no choice but to sway back and forth with everyone else, mumbling the lyrics to the song.
Unlike everyone else, Brian and Justin didn’t know all the lyrics. Even so, each time the crowd shouted, “Hail,” which was often throughout the chorus, they raised their fists in the air shouting, “Hail!” at the top of their lungs. Thousands of hands went up and down in unison, as if scripted.
The celebration went on for 45 minutes before the Fire Marshall ordered the huge fire extinguished, amid a loud chorus of boos.
“They were lucky to get this much,” he grunted to himself, before barking orders to the three firemen under his employ. Most universities had banned bonfires altogether after a few students were killed in freak accidents in the past.
With the festivities over, people dispersed in all directions. Many flocked to restaurants scattered about the quaint college town for a bite to eat, before heading home or back to their hotels. Others attended “invitation only” alumni and booster parties.
Everyone else—the vast majority—converged on the many nightclubs scattered about Ann Arbor. Included in that group were Brian Mulrooney and Justin Schroeder...
10
IT WAS SATURDAY MORNING. Game day. The dawn of one of college football’s biggest weekends. For many collegiate teams, it was rivalry week. It would conclude next weekend, but the majority of rivalry games would be played this day—both in-state and out-of-state.
In a few short hours, archrival college football teams would declare all-out war on each other. The battle would take place on the gridiron and wouldn’t end until a victor was ultimately declared.
Besides the famed Michigan-Ohio State rivalry, many other storied contests would be renewed this day. Florida would play archrival Florida State. Virginia Tech would play Virginia. Auburn would play Alabama. Georgia would play Georgia Tech. Oklahoma would face Oklahoma State. USC would play UCLA. Utah would play BYU (Brigham Young University). Washington would battle-it-out with Washington State. Arizona would play Arizona State. Oregon would play Oregon State.
And the list went on...
Truly, this was the best time of year to be a college football fan.
In stadiums all across the nation, behind-the-scenes preparations were being expedited with great speed and efficiency. University employees and volunteers, team boosters, vendors and the like—thousands in all—were frantically completing their checklists. Deliveries were being made. Food was being prepared. Souvenir booths were being stocked with all sorts of paraphernalia. Ticket vendors were setting up shop. Ticket scalpers were setting up shop, illegally, of course.
The press was assembling. Come game time, those not fortunate to be up in the broadcast booths calling the games would line the fields of play, hoping to capture still photographs for newspapers and magazines, and sound bites for the evening news and the internet.
Soon, very soon, millions of crazed fans would be in their glory.
At 8:00 a.m., Detroit’s Wayne County Metro Airport was abuzz. Flights landed one after another, from all across the country and the world. Most planes were
full of Michigan and Ohio State fans and alumni.
Delta flight #1463 arrived from Columbus, Ohio a few minutes ago, loaded with over 100 exuberant Ohio State Buckeyes fans. Michigan fans inside the airport terminal wasted no time heckling them.
They heckled back. “We’re gonna crush the maize and blue!” yelled a brave OSU fan. His remark got the Buckeyes faithful going.
“Michigan’s gonna get beat up in their own house today!” screamed another OSU fan on another flight from another city.
But as these fired-up passengers continued walking the terminal, proudly sporting their school colors, they were quickly reminded that they were in enemy territory. Though only 162 air miles from home, this clearly was Wolverines country.
Many airport merchants had maize and blue “M” decals on their windows. Michigan Wolverines merchandise was everywhere: T-shirts, sweatshirts, jackets, knit hats, earrings, stuffed animals, books, calendars and posters. You name it, they had it for sale.
Airport bars and restaurants were completely packed with customers. Ohio State fans were outnumbered by at least ten to one. Each time they bragged on their Buckeyes, Michigan Wolverines fans countered. Only louder. Much louder.
It made for good fun.
Most weren’t in that much of a hurry. Kickoff wasn’t until noon, and it was only a 30-minute drive to Michigan Stadium, an hour tops with traffic. They still had plenty of time, which they used getting reacquainted with old friends. Some ate breakfast. Others drank it, while waiting for more friends to arrive from all across the country.
The airport was alive and festive. A holiday atmosphere was felt by all. And why not? This game happened only once a year, just like Thanksgiving and Christmas. For many in Michigan and Ohio, this day helped usher in the Thanksgiving and Christmas season (unless, of course, the game was played after Thanksgiving, which sometimes was the case).
People were being extra friendly toward one another, even if their teams were archenemies. But this was simply the calm before the storm. Come game time, pleasantries would be put aside, and war would break out—both on the field and off!
Even the weather was cooperating. For football, that is. Light snow was forecast and had already started falling. But not enough to affect the game or travel. Less than an inch was expected at most; just enough to bring the excitement level up another notch, if that was even possible.
Everyone knew something big—unprecedented—was about to happen.
But it wasn’t what anyone was expecting. Not even close!
JUSTIN SCHROEDER SAT ON the bedroom floor, legs spread out, wrapping the Bibles he brought for Brian, Craig Rubin and his parents. With Craig arriving after the game, no doubt it would be another late night. Tomorrow would be just as hectic. This very well could be his only chance to wrap them.
Justin could hardly contain his excitement. He wanted to knock on Brian’s bedroom door many times to rouse him from his sleep but thought better of it. Brian had too much to drink the night before. It seemed every ten minutes or so, he was at the bar ordering another drink.
The money he must have spent...
They ended up going to four different nightclubs and didn’t get home until 3:30 in the morning. Brian said he hadn’t partied like that in many years, and probably wouldn’t do it again for many years to come.
Justin, on the other hand, ordered one beer per club. He nursed his drinks very slowly, leaving most of the amber liquid still inside the bottle when they left one nightclub to go to another.
In all, he’d consumed three beers, including the one he had at Brian’s apartment. Still, it was too much for him. Justin no longer enjoyed going to nightclubs. Nor did he enjoy drinking alcoholic beverages. That kind of lifestyle no longer made sense to him. If anything, it was a shallow existence that no longer appealed to him.
The places they loitered last night were full of lost souls. Schroeder didn’t judge them or consider any of them as hopeless. True, they were lost. Most were, anyway, just like he was until God changed his heart back in his college days. Justin prayed fervently before falling asleep that the Most High would change their hearts as well.
At 8:30 a.m., just as Justin was putting the finishing touches on the last Bible, he heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by a knock on the door.
“Justin, are you up?”
“Good morning, Brian!” Justin panicked and pushed the gifts and wrapping paper under the bed as quickly as he could, then remembered the door was locked. He relaxed. Once the presents were out of sight, he opened the door.
“Good morning, pal. Are you jazzed or what?” Brian said.
“Raring to go! How do you feel?”
Mulrooney chuckled humorlessly. “Don’t ask!” It was evident he was experiencing the effects of a serious hangover. “Nothing a quick shower and some Tylenol can’t cure. I know this greasy spoon where the food’s really good. Just hope they’re not too packed. If so, we’ll have to settle for Mickey D’s.”
“Whatever. I’m hungry!”
“After the Tylenol kicks in, I’m sure I’ll be hungry too.” Brian rubbed his throbbing forehead, “Make sure you dress warm. It’s cold out there.”
“Check.”
“Give me fifteen minutes and we’re outta here.”
At that, Brian headed to the bathroom.
11
CHARLES CALLOWAY WAS AT Sarasota-Bradenton International Airport, in Florida, waiting to board his flight to New York City. Though he’d frequently crisscrossed the country on airplanes the past three years, this would be his first time flying first-class.
Excitement oozed out of him. At 42, Calloway was in better shape than many who were half his age. To stay that way, he worked out three times a week. To further complement his well-toned 6'2" physique, he was an impeccable dresser. Whatever the occasion, he was usually the best dressed for it.
From a professional standpoint, things were going quite well for Charles Calloway. Extremely well. But the same couldn’t be said on the home front.
Back in the Sunshine State for less than 24 hours, Calloway already felt the need to get away again. A day ago, he was on top of the world after returning from a successful business trip to Dallas, Texas.
When his wife, Monique, fetched him at the airport, his mood quickly soured after she went off on him, “All you ever do is work, work, work! You never spend quality time with us anymore. Not only do you miss church a lot, you never go to CJ’s basketball games anymore!”
Monique was referring to their oldest son, Charles junior, now eleven. CJ was an exceptional athlete.
A few years back, Charles never would have missed one of his son’s games. But the more his business grew, the more frequently it occurred. Now CJ was lucky if his father showed up at all. He was both mad and hurt by this.
Charles and Monique had two boys and three girls. Their eldest daughter, Frances, was ten. Then came the twin girls—Veronica and Sharneece. They were four. And finally, there was Terrell. He was two.
The married couple argued the entire ride back from the airport. When they arrived home, Charles wanted to explode. To avoid further verbal abuse from Monique, or vice versa, the man of the house retreated to the exercise room and took out his anger and frustration on his weights and exercise bike.
After twelve years of marriage, Charles didn’t need Monique to remind him again that the majority of their arguments—at least of late—stemmed from the business he started a year after the twins were born, with a network marketing company called Cell-U-Loss International.
Based in Tempe, Arizona, the company manufactured nutritional products, all of which were considered miracle products by their many consumers. They paid huge commissions to those deserving of them.
At the outset
, Charles worked his business part time and continued driving for United Parcel Service, his employer for seventeen years. When his wife Monique lost thirteen pounds in just two months’ time, from using his weight-loss products, he really saw the big picture.
What better story than his own wife losing so much weight in so little time? Calloway soon had customers coast to coast faithfully using his products and experiencing similar results. He often said it was like taking candy from a baby.
After experiencing moderate success, Calloway believed that if he really applied himself and gave it all he had, Cell-U-Loss would be his big chance to strike it rich. The thought of being wealthy consumed the entrepreneurial-minded man to the point of obsession.
Six months after Terrell was born, Calloway’s income from his part time business equaled the salary of his full-time job. With Monique’s blessing, he left his job at UPS to pursue his business career full time.
All his hard work and determination had paid off. Charles now earned a comfortable six-figure income, which allowed the Calloways to move into a 4,000 square-foot, five-bedroom, three-and-a-half-bath home on Siesta Key Beach, right on the Gulf of Mexico. Its crescent shaped, white powdery sand was rivaled by no other beach in America.
While Monique thanked God for the blessing, Charles thanked Cell-U-Loss International. And why not? The opportunity they offered was the main reason that the world was finally becoming his oyster. Calloway was already the most successful African-American distributor in the company. But his goal was to be number one, not number three—his current status—number one.
To achieve this lofty goal, Charles needed to keep the pedal to the metal, so to speak, and maintain his rigorous travel schedule. He was determined to let nothing stand in the way of his success. Or no one.
Hence, the constant friction with his wife of late.
Chaos in the Blink of an Eye Page 6