Opinion column: Searching for a ticket

By Ian Gold

ST. LOUIS – I might as well have been speaking Chinese to the ticket clerk known only as “Lori.” She was attending the entrance to the Edward-Jones Dome, and I figured that after marching to the arch some pixie dust magic interference was due. Instead, neither my charming ways nor a semi-reasonable explanation of how the current ticket system isn’t democratic would coax “Lori” into letting me spin some turn-styles. This is the story of a man without tickets, just a wallet full of what he thought was a good amount of money and a dream.

9 a.m. – (Champaign) My roommate Jeremiah wakes me by knocking on my door. The knock is Donkey Kong-style, yet refreshing. It had come. I typically enjoy my rest, but with thoughts of Deron Williams muscling around Francisco Garcia or James Augustine exploiting his height advantage, I am motivated. I put on the lucky shirt and lucky hat, help a guy jump his truck and support a washed-up fast food clown by purchasing an Egg McMuffin. With karma effectively on my side, it is time to begin the adventure.

12:15 p.m. – (St. Louis) I continue to strengthen my karma by donating money to a charity; little do I know that I will need every penny I came with.

Cash rules everything around us, dollar dollar bills y’all. Scalpers are a unique brand of human being, more cunning than used car salesmen, with Jedi-like powers of coercion.

I begin to scour the scene to find out what kind of dent a ticket purchase would make into my wallet. To be exact, I went down with $420 dollars, not quite alumni money, but for a student it was feasible that I would find a ticket. But how is it that a man with three teeth and a bottle full of liquor can demand $1,200? This is the interesting part about the scalper. His street smarts are hardly in question, but for the day he is on top of the world.

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1 p.m. – Tip-off is drawing closer and the hot sun is beating down on my tiring body, but, afraid that a bottled water purchase would be too pricey, I carry on. While thinking of the wonders that await me inside the concrete structure, I think of Bill Murray and his Caddy Shack character. He needed to outsmart a gopher, vermin soon replacing the rat, and I was dealing with the rat. To get inside of the mind of my power-tripping, ticket-holding friend, I need to make an even more powerful one.

1:25 – His name isn’t audible, to me; it sounds like “Curtis.” So for all intensive purposes my travels have now picked up a toady named Curtis. I think Curtis is homeless, but he is sharp as a tack. I learn that “Chicago girls are the best looking because, like the cat said to the rat, ‘Sorry, fellow, that’s that.'” He is wearing Illini gear, which was one of his more endearing qualities. But after walking around with Curtis, I am given my sign.

3:00 – Tip-off draws closer and Curtis points out that other people have more money than us, and that’s why we can’t get tickets. Then he gives me the biggest hint of the day: Curtis tells me that when a prince comes through, he doesn’t only have his own scepter, but a big group of homies. Oh, that Curtis sure is a fiddler, but my little brother’s best friend from home happens to be in St. Louis for the game. Could that have been the prince from the now-drooling old man’s riddle? I won’t give out the fine young man’s official title, but I can tell you the 16-year-old puppet master is pulling strings.

3:30 – The breeze starts to sweep off the lake and Curtis’ smell makes me decide it’s time for us to part ways, not before he offers $5 to somebody for their ticket. I instruct him that he might have more luck with ticket attendant “Lori.” By following Curtis’ riddle about the prince, I contact the puppet master. First he laughs at both my attempts to get a ticket and the amount of money I am walking around with (thus my connection to the prince). But he tells me to enjoy the rest of the day and get back to him later. In about as comforting a way as a puberty-driven character can do, I believe that he will eventually come through in the clutch.

4:00 – Persistence is an important virtue. “Don’t ever quit” is an interesting motto, but obviously some people aren’t walking around a stadium with a homeless guy looking for the most coveted tickets in Illinois’ recent memory. I quit. I call my friends. And I go to tailgate

4:25 – I arrive at a semi-truck that has been refurbished into the ultimate tailgate vehicle. The owner – my bucket-cap-wearing savior Jeremy. If you could imagine skipping through clouds of assorted salty snacks and beer while giant TVs beam images of basketball into your brain, then welcome to Jeremy’s world.

Everything works out in the end, (insert Sex in the City quote here). I have a great time with my people in the parking lot -Illini fans that would have handed away their first born for tickets, but, when given the opportunity to enjoy themselves, still sucked the marrow out of St. Louis.

Oh, and it turns out that Curtis is a soothsayer – the young prince found tickets for Monday that were cheap enough that even Curtis could afford. Don’t riot!