Show Me some football

Football fans do the darnedest things to follow their team. Take this friend of mine (ok, it was me) who drove 150 miles to find a sports bar that was showing the Redskins-Packers game.

In Missouri for a nephew’s wedding, the search was on for an establishment with satellite television and the NFL Sunday Ticket somewhere, anywhere, en route from Columbia to Cedar Rapids. (Why isn’t there a searchable Internet database for such things?) Since the Midwest networks were airing the Vikings-Bears and Chiefs-Bengals for the noon game, it would take some ingenuity to see the Packers’ improbable fifth win in six tries.

I had initially targeted Hannibal and figured a place called Fiddlesticks, which boasts its 13 TVs, would fit the bill. A relative suggested Kirksville, “a college town,” might be a better option. After a call to Fiddlesticks determined they did not have satellite TV, I redrew my route home through Kirksville, home of the Truman State Bulldogs, and printed the results of a Google search of “Kirksville sports bars.”

This last-minute change of strategery got us on the road a bit later than planned, but I figured I could drive the 90 miles in time for kickoff, or shortly thereafter. What I forgot was it was Sunday and I was in Missouri.

Repeated calls to the prospective Kirksville sports bars rang unanswered until the maintenance man answered at a place called Rudy’s. “Yes, we have the Ticket,” he answered, “but we’re closed on Sundays.” I’m still scratching my head over that one.

Ultimately I pull into Casey’s upon arrival in Kirksville and ask the clerk for a phone book and whether he knows of any place in town with NFL Sunday Ticket. “DirectTV and DISH,” he replied. I think my jaw dropped on that one.

A customer suggested Shenanigans or Ruby Tuesday, adding “but it is noon Sunday.” Now I’m wondering when the alien abduction occurred. Shenanigans was a no go, but the gal answering the phone at Ruby Tuesday assured me that they had satellite TV at least. Except they didn’t, as I was eventually able to pry from the bartender who was busy serving communion to the crowd that had gathered for their post-church meal.

Realizing I’m dreadfully out of place – my Sunday ritual so different – I make a run for the Iowa border, calculating that I can make it to Ottumwa for the second half. Along the way, I realize I can’t even indulge in one of Missouri’s greatest attractions to Iowans. The quaint blazing red or bright yellow firework megamarts are all closed. After all, it’s Sunday.

Ottumwa is no “college town,” though it is home to Indian Hills Community College – where wayward Division I basketball players often go to resurrect their academic standing. The clerk at the Kum & Go points me to a place called the Courtside Bar & Grill.

I smile as I spot the telltale DirectTV dishes on the roof of the building. When I pull into a parking space behind a pickup truck with a Packers trailer hitch cover, I nearly pee myself. The Packers trail 14-7 at halftime as we walk through the doors of this strangely smokeless establishment that is offering patrons free chili dogs. I thank baby Jesus.

I tolerate the noisy lout at the bar with the scar on the back of his skull – well-earned, I’m certain – who seems solely focused on belittling the Packers. I tolerate the waitress, who brings me a cheeseburger and a salad but forgets to give me a fork. I even tolerate Brett Favre’s erratic play and the worst half of offense the Packers have played this season.

I’m just content to be watching the Packers, though it didn’t hurt that they got the win too. And, hey, how about that Green Bay defense? You can’t see that in Missouri. At least, not on Sunday.