Davis,  This actually sounds frighteningly like my experience at the Big 12 
Game.  However, just because I at one time worked at the Posse doesn't mean 
my character should continue to be called into question.

 



	Davis Thames@ENRON COMMUNICATIONS
	10/04/2000 09:27 AM
		 
		 To: Gerald Nemec/HOU/ECT@ECT
		 cc: Brian Hendon/Enron Communications@Enron Communications, 
Margaret_Thames@dell.com
		 Subject: The True Fan

Gerald, got a copy of this and thought you might need to see it...  Margaret, 
just so that you get a proper understanding of who I work with, rumor has it 
that Gerald used to work at the Posse.



>>>> Fan on Game Day
>>>>
>>>> This is pretty long, but it's HYSTERICAL! If you've ever been drunk at a
>>>> sporting event, or been with someone who has, you can relate.  
>>>> This is an e-mail from some guy named J.D. Horne Gerald Nemec, who, 
according to the
>>>> messages that were attached to this, is not a 21 year-old frat boy, but 
an
>>>> attorney of indeterminate age. He sent it to his friend Brian Brice and 
it
>>>> got forwarded around the country. You have to give the guy some props for
>>>> being self-deprecating...but I hope I never meet him on game day. 
>>>>
>>>> A chronology of events for Saturday, December 4, 1999, and the early 
>>>> morning hours of Sunday, December 5, 1999:
>>>>
>>>> 6:00 Arise, play the Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking blast
>>>>
>>>> 6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunfels
>>>>
>>>> 7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the FIRST tee-time of the morning)
>>>>
>>>> 8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer)
>>>>
>>>> 8:53 Crack open second beer
>>>>
>>>> 8:58 Crack open...(you get the idea)
>>>>
>>>> 10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for smoooooth 
95
>>>>
>>>> 10:35 Headed for San Antonio (Alamodome - Nebraska vs Texas)
>>>>
>>>> 10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities
>>>>
>>>> 11:10 We decide we don't have enough booze, so we double-back to a liquor
>>>> store and buy the good ol' 750 ml plastic bottle "Traveler" Jim Beam
>>>>
>>>> 11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud in the
>>>> sky. About 70 degrees.
>>>>
>>>> 11:55 I decide that we're going to kick the shit out of Nebraska.
>>>>
>>>> 11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go fuck himself.
>>>>
>>>> 12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We're on the 
second
>>>> floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple hundred of 
us).
>>>> We're hooting and hollering like wildmen. The band doubles back to the
>>>> street right below us and serenades us with Texas Fight and The Eyes of
>>>> Texas. AWESOME MOMENT.
>>>>
>>>> 12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping 
chests
>>>> with one another, each and every one of them now secure and certain of 
the
>>>> fact that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska.
>>>>
>>>> 1:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, we 
hoot
>>>> and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops right 
below
>>>> us to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska fight songs.
>>>> Although somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve, we remain 
convinced
>>>> that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska.
>>>>
>>>> 1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff the
>>>> "Traveler" and 11 cans of beer into my pants.
>>>>
>>>> 1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans. They are taunting me. I am
>>>> taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the shit out of
>>>> Nebraska. I decide to challenge a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to play
>>>> what I now call and will forever be remembered as Cell-Phone Flop Out."
>>>> Remember flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell this 
Nebraska
>>>> jackass that if he's so confident in his team, he should "flop out" his
>>>> cell phone RIGHT NOW and make plane reservations to Phoenix for the 
Fiesta
>>>> Bowl. And then I spoke these memorable words: "And not those damn
>>>> refundable tickets, either! You request those non-refundable,
>>>> non-transferrable sons-of-bitches!" He backs down. He is unworthy. I call
>>>> Southwest Airlines and buy two tickets to Phoenix, non-refundable and
>>>> non-transferrable. Price: $712. He is humbled. He lowers his head in 
shame.
>>>> I raise my cell phone in triumph to the cheers of hundreds of Texas 
fans. I
>>>> am KING and these are my subjects. I distribute the 11 beers in my pants 
to
>>>> the cheering masses. I RULE the pre-game kingdom.
>>>>
>>>> 2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler and pour my
>>>> first stiffy.
>>>>
>>>> 2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska is fast.
>>>> Nebraska is very pissed off at Texas.
>>>>
>>>> 3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total offense for Texas.
>>>> Zero first downs for Texas. I'm still talking shit. I pour another stiffy
>>>> from the Traveler.
>>>>
>>>> 3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: the Traveler is a dead 
soldier.
>>>> I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While I am standing 
in
>>>> line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major Applewhite and rolls out of
>>>> the end zone. Safety.
>>>>
>>>> 3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another Traveler.
>>>>
>>>> 4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at halftime, 
I
>>>> attempt to revive the classic Brice-ism from the South Bend bathroom: 
"Hey,
>>>> buddy, niiiiiiiiice cock." He is unamused.
>>>>
>>>> 4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. I share 
my
>>>> beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, they are
>>>> equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase Sprites,
>>>> so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith. Nebraska is a
>>>> bunch of pussies.
>>>>
>>>> 4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their 
lives.
>>>> I purchase two more $5 beers from the Alamodome merchants.
>>>>
>>>> 5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. This
>>>> normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football field.
>>>>
>>>> 5:27 I call Southwest Airlines: "I'm sorry, sir. Those tickets have been
>>>> confirmed and are non-refundable and non-transferrable."
>>>>
>>>> 5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession
>>>> counter. As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer can be
>>>> sold when there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am enraged 
by
>>>> this policy. I ask loudly: "Why the fuck didn't you announce last call 
over
>>>> the fucking PA system??!!"
>>>>
>>>> 5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a 
sudden,
>>>> the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts. "Whazzis?," I mutter, awaking from 
my
>>>> coma, "Iz we winnig? Did wez scort?" Alas, the answer is no, we were not
>>>> winning and we did not score. The largest (by far) cheer of the day from
>>>> the Texas faithful occurred when the handlers were walking back to the
>>>> tunnel and Bevo (the Texas mascot) stopped to take a gargantuan shit all
>>>> over the letters "S", "K", and "A" in the "Nebraska" spelled out in their
>>>> end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick up he empty Traveler bottle and stick my
>>>> tongue in it. I am thirsty.
>>>>
>>>> 6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I would
>>>> taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but I am 
too
>>>> drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive thought of the
>>>> evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not beaten them in
>>>> October, they would be playing Florida State for the national 
championship.
>>>>
>>>> 6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the basketball game.
>>>>
>>>> 8:00 Texas-Arizona tip off. We can still salvage the day! I crack open a
>>>> beer. It is warm. I don't care.
>>>>
>>>> 7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store. I walk
>>>> past the beer frig. I notice a Zima. I've never had a Zima. I wonder if
>>>> it's any good. I pull a Zima from the frig. I twist the top off and drink
>>>> the Zima in three swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the empty bottle in the
>>>> frig.
>>>>
>>>> 7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the 
ingredients
>>>> are, where the person usually makes the sub. There is no one there. I 
lean
>>>> over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of black olives. I eat 
them. I
>>>> am still hungry. I lean further over the counter and grab approximately 
two
>>>> pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of the store grunting and eating Pastrami.
>>>> The patrons in the store fear me. I don't care.
>>>>
>>>> 8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and singing
>>>> Brooks and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my
>>>> singing. He suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other good
>>>> songs besides "You're Going to Miss Me When I'm Gone" and "Neon Moon" and
>>>> that maybe listening to only those two songs, ten times each was a bit
>>>> excessive. Perhaps, he suggests, I could just let the CD play on its 
own. I
>>>> tell him to fuck off and restart "Neon Moon."
>>>>
>>>> 8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud and
>>>> profane protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking 
garage. I
>>>> tell him he's an idiot. I tell him we will never get out. I tell him we 
may
>>>> as well pitch a fucking tent here. He ignores me. I think he's still 
pissed
>>>> about the Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle "Neon Moon" loudly.
>>>>
>>>> 8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We're going 
to
>>>> kick the shit out of Arizona.
>>>>
>>>> 9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the
>>>> bathroom to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because of 
the
>>>> new opportunity to do "the bathroom Brice." There are no Arizona fans in
>>>> the bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself (out loud) that I have a
>>>> "Niiiiiice cock." No one is amused but me.
>>>>
>>>> 9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can. 
Needless
>>>> to say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center,much less Bud Light out
>>>> of a can. I am stopped by an usher: "Where did you get that, sir?" I tell
>>>> him (no shit): "Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing them up with those
>>>> little plastic footballs. Would you mind throwing this away for me?" I 
take
>>>> the last swig and hand it to him. He is confused. I pretend I'm going to
>>>> the bathroom, but I run away giggling instead. I duck into some entrance 
to
>>>> avoid the usher, who is now pursuing me. I sneak into a large group of
>>>> people and sit down. The usher walks by harmlessly. I am giggling like a
>>>> little girl. I crack open another can of Bud Light.
>>>>
>>>> 9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lost my bearings. 
I
>>>> have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing.
>>>>
>>>> 10:09 Texas is being screwed by the refs. I am enraged. I have cleared 
out
>>>> the seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the
>>>> surrounding chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I'm OK and perhaps I
>>>> shouldn't take it so seriously. I tell him to fuck off.
>>>>
>>>> 10:15 After the fourth consecutive "worst fucking call I have EVER 
seen," I
>>>> attempt to remove my hat again to begin beating inanimate objects. 
However,
>>>> on this occasion I miscalculate and I thumbnail myself in my left eyelid,
>>>> leaving a one-quarter inch gash over my eye. I am now bleeding into my 
left
>>>> eye and all over my shirt. "Perhaps," I think to myself, I'm taking this 
a
>>>> bit seriously."
>>>>
>>>> 10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. I'm so drunk I am swaying and
>>>> grunting. I have a bloody napkin pressed on my left eye. My pants are
>>>> bloody. I have my (formerly) white shirt wrapped around my waist. I look
>>>> like I should be in an episode of Cops.
>>>>
>>>> 10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body and 
make
>>>> my way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good
>>>> samaritan/cop/security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, but I
>>>> merely grunt incoherently and keep moving.
>>>>
>>>> 10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I walk up
>>>> six flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend I will punch him
>>>> in the face for making me walk up six flights of stairs, find the truck,
>>>> and collapse in a heap in the bed of the truck. I look around and notice
>>>> that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole 
flights,
>>>> and no one is moving. I take a nap.
>>>>
>>>> 11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver's seat. I lift 
my
>>>> head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up
>>>> all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I
>>>> am too tired to punch my friend. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
>>>>
>>>> 11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
>>>> traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and
>>>> no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
>>>>
>>>> 11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
>>>> traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole
flights, and
>>>> no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
>>>>
>>>> 11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
>>>> traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and
>>>> no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."
>>>>
>>>> 11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out the 
bed
>>>> of the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on the second
>>>> floor. I jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the parking facility,
>>>> and pee off the sixth floor onto the street below. My friend looks at me
>>>> like I just anally violated his minor sister. I turn around pee on the
>>>> front of his truck while singing the lyrics to "Neon Moon."
>>>>
>>>> 12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and go 
from
>>>> vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am happy. I return
>>>> to my vehicle
>>>>
>>>> 12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to my
>>>> apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with a freshly opened bottle 
of
>>>> Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all going to die
>>>> tonight.
>>>>
>>>> 12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet. We 
decide
>>>> it would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther's. Ed has to 
pee.
>>>> He walks down the hall to our apartment and directly into the full length
>>>> mirror at the end of the hall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces. We
>>>> giggle uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther's.
>>>>
>>>> 1:17 The PollyEsther's doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts to
>>>> enter his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic
>>>> laughter,"I've been working this door for almost a year. I've been 
working
>>>> doors in this town for almost 5 years. And I can honestly say that I 
ain't
>>>> never seen three drunker mother fuckers than you three. Sorry, can't let
>>>> you in." We attempt to reason with him. He laughs harder.
>>>>
>>>> 1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door and 
hear
>>>> "Last call for alcohol!" I turn to the group and mutter: "See, dat wasn't
>>>> that fuckin' hard. Day don't fuckin' do that at the Awamo...the 
awaom...the
>>>> alab...fuck it, that stadium we was at today..." We order 6 shots of
>>>> tequila and three beers.
>>>>
>>>> 2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail a cab to take us the two 
and
>>>> one half blocks to Katz's. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him $10 and 
tell
>>>> him to keep it.
>>>>
>>>> 2:17 There is a 20 minute wait. We give the hostess $50. We are seated
>>>> immediately.
>>>>
>>>> 2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of soup,
>>>> two orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a hamburger, two
>>>> cheese stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings.
>>>>
>>>> 2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads onthe table. The
>>>> waiter wakes us up. We eat every fucking bit of our food. Most of the
>>>> restaurant patrons around us are disgusted. We don't give a fuck. The tab
>>>> is $112 with tip.
>>>>
>>>> 2:46 I'm sleepy.
>>>>
>>>> 9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at Katz's. 
She
>>>> is not pretty.
>>>>
>>>> HOOK 'EM HORNS, BABY!!! Out-








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