The Handfelt Happy Hour: Hawk Time!

Having not been to an Iowa football game at Kinnick since my brother's bachelor-party-gone-awry back in 2002 ("borrowing" a feather-covered grill, male spooning, Red Bull, angry strippers), I decided that we were well overdue to experience a little HAWK TIME* up close and personal, amidst a sea of black and gold. Living outside of Iowa, tickets were harder to come by (at a reasonable price at least) than a kidney donor, but thanks to former Iowa Hawkeye Gray Team walk-on Eric Peters, I was able to secure a few pairs of tickets to the Iowa/Ball State game for myself, the woman I married, the brother whose bachelor party served as a After School Special about the dangers of strip clubs, and the object of his affections (no, not a stripper), his wife Gretchen.

I demanded in a rather loud and booming voice that we go tailgating before the game, so arrangements were made to meet up with Justin and Jamie Miller before the cock crowed three times, or around 7:30am, whichever came first. Once there, I began the arduous process of making four Bloody Marys, which took upwards of six hours. This may sound extreme, but each of the four recipients of the Bloody Marys agreed with nods and guttural grunts that yes, they were indeed worth it.

While there was no argument that the Bloody Marys and Coors Lights (or as Justin referred to them, "Rocky Mountain Piss") were cooperating with our souls, the same cooperation could not be coaxed out of Mother Nature. She was a wily temptress, often times chilling our bones with her wind gusts or raining down on us like a woman scorned. At first it merely ranged from 'hardly noticeable' to 'mild nuisance', but by game time the rain had really started to fall. Despite this, the rain did nothing to dampen our spirits, nor the will to win of our beloved Hawkeyes.

The Hawkeyes took out their aggressions on the clearly inferior Ball State Cardinal team, who appeared both overmatched and woefully Caucasian. After the third quarter, the score sat at 35-0 and the rain began to fall even harder as if to mock Ball State and all they stand for, both athletically and academically. It was around this time that we decided to part ways with Kinnick Stadium and head for the shelter of our four-wheeled vehicle, sitting atop a grassy knoll.

We bid adieu to the stadium, the team, the empty Bloody Mary cups and the tailgating lifestyle and headed back to Cedar Rapids, where Lily was enjoying some solid COUSIN TIME with Griffin and Sienna, under the careful watch of my parents, Ron and Susan. A few plates of goulash ("classic Iowa!") and cans of Rocky Mountain Piss later, it was time to put to bed our children, along with our dreams of becoming Iowa Hawkeye season ticket holders. While that notion was bittersweet, the Stripper Union of Iowa surely breathed a collective sigh of relief.

*HAWK TIME of course, refers to the excitement surrounding an impending Iowa game, and must be texted or written in all caps, or if spoken, yelled obnoxiously. HAWK TIME has also come to signify and an all important events, football related or otherwise. (See: the birth of Lily - "HAWK TIME!"; finding out that Katy is making taco pizza - "HAWK TIME!"; finding out that Potbelly's now carries Sunchips - "HAWK TIME!", etc.)