High Noon in Pool

 Matterhorn - photo by JoAnn Sturman

As the college football season commences, a game I attended over 40 years ago was part of an experience I call…

High Noon in Pool

By Steven R. Oberst

Never go on a blind date. This was a firmly held conviction established during my first three years as a cadet at the Air Force Academy. In spite of numerous opportunities presented by well-meaning classmates, I always declined the offer to go on a blind date. That is, until my first class year. It was October and the middle of football season. Our squadron was planning a party to be held the evening after a Saturday home game.

The nagging started in September. “Come on Steve,” Butch pleaded, “You need a date for the big party. Let Sharon (Butch’s girlfriend who attended an all-girls school in Denver) set you up with a girl from her dorm.” After five weeks of listening to Butch pitch the advantages of having a date for the party, I relented and let go of my no blind date conviction. Butch assured me the girl Sharon had set me up with was “really nice.”

The weather in Colorado that late October day was wonderful, with game time temperatures of 72 degrees. The plan for the big day was for Butch and me to meet the girls at Falcon Stadium at noon.
Going into this date, I was not expecting the girl to be beautiful. On the other hand, I was expecting at least average. This expectation vanished when I saw my blind date several hundred feet away, as she and Sharon walked towards us from the parking lot below Falcon Stadium. In hindsight I think I went into some level of shock at that very moment. My brain was racing. What should I do?  1) Choke Butch who was standing next to me and disappear into the crowd. 2) Run to the Men’s room and hide in a stall. 3) Pretend to pass out and fall over next to Butch. Three potential courses of action that came to mind, but instead I just stood there next to Butch, frozen to the spot. 

While we stood there watching the two walk towards us from the parking lot, Butch was saying something about how great the weather was, what a great game it would be, and so on. It was all “blah-blah” to me as I stood there in silence trying to get control of the panic I was feeling. I looked at my watch. It was high noon. 

At that moment, I did think of one positive thing – I was in the ‘ghoul pool’ for the party that night. To join the “ghoul pool” for the party, one merely had to contribute a dollar to the pool. Almost everyone with a blind date joined the pool. Of course, this being my first blind date, it was also my first “ghoul pool.” Over 40 guys were in the pool, mostly 4th classmen. As my date approached, it seemed the money was in the bag.

Once the girls got closer, I remembered a character from the Popeye cartoons named Alice the Goon (for a visual image go to Google). My date for the day was the human version of Alice, but Sharon introduced her as Mary Pitts. Alice, aka Mary, shook my hand firmly enough that it made my class ring cut into my finger. She was tall and slouched so that her wide shoulders sagged forward. She had unusually long arms and wore a sweatshirt and jeans. Her dishwater blonde colored hair was stringy and short. She had a long forehead, partially covered by bangs that were worn in a bowl cut. Every basic feature of her face – eyes, ears, nose, cheeks and lips – were droopy, with an almost melted wax-like quality. Her chin was long and prominent. Yes, sports fans, she was ugly with a capital U, but at least I was in the pool. 

I was told later that we won the football game, and Brian Bream rushed for a 100 yards. I don’t remember because I spent the game in a shocked daze. In case you were wondering whether Mary had a nice personality, the answer is an unequivocal, “NO!” As I soon discovered early in the “date,” she had a sharp tongue and a sour disposition. However, she did let me know several times during the game and later, that she was very horny. While hooking up with the opposite sex was a normal pursuit for a cadet, there was no way in hell I was heading that direction. 

After the game we drove to C-Springs in Butch’s car. During the 30 minute drive, Mary sat almost on top of me in the back seat with amorous intent. I pretended to be interested in the scenery and glibly rattled on about the rock formations in the distance at the Garden of the Gods. I also pointed out Pike’s Peak and the sewage treatment lagoon near Fountain Creek. Eventually we arrived at an Italian restaurant off Nevada Avenue. Mary sure could eat, scarfing down a big plate of spaghetti, several meatballs, a loaf of garlic bread, three beers and a bottle of Chianti, at my expense of course. 

The party was held in a big barn on the Pine Cone Ranch in the Black Forest (Sadly, an area that lost a lot of homes during the huge fire of June, 2013). There was a band. I don’t recall how good they were, but I do remember they could play Louie Louie. There was also a keg of beer and plenty of snack foods (no carrot sticks or broccoli within a mile, just the unhealthy stuff). Although the term “ 6-pack ugly” originated years later, no amount of booze would have made Mary attractive. After downing a pitcher of beer in one gulp, Mary wanted to dance. Her dancing technique was basically grabbing me in a bear hug and slowly turning in a circle. 

As much fun as this date should have been for me, I was desperate for a way out of it. Butch planned for the four of us to drive up to Denver after the party. He of course would be sneaking into Sharon’s dorm room. Doing the math, I calculated I would be expected to end up in Mary’s room. Taking a break from the dancing, I got Mary another pitcher of beer. As I stood watching her chug it down, my buddy John came up to me. “Wow, Steve, she sure is one hot looking woman. How did you end up so lucky?” he said with a laugh. Ignoring his attempted humor, I let him know, that as my best friend, he had to help me out of this date and the trip to Denver. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll think of something.”

As the evening neared its fateful conclusion, I began to worry whether John would come through. A minute later he walked by a snuck a note into my hand. When Mary and Sharon left us to go to the restroom, I read the note. “In 15 minutes, take your date outside to see the full moon. When I come driving up, just follow my lead. PS: You owe me big time for this one.”

After one more bear hug dance with Mary, I suggested we go outside to see the full moon. As we walked out from the barn, I saw John’s MGB speeding up from the parking area. It skidded to a stop right in front of us, John threw open the passenger door, leaned over and said: “Oberst! You idiot! What are you still doing here? We’re on the Alpha Roster this weekend and need get back to the dorms before Major Johnston discovers we aren’t in our rooms.”

“Oh damn!” I said in my best panic voice. “Sorry, Mary, gotta go. I know Butch will get you back up to Denver safe and sound.” And, with that I scrambled into the little sports car and John floored it. Not one of my finer moments, but I did not even look back. My sole memento from the night was a Polaroid someone gave me of Mary winning a beer chugging contest held that night. 

On the following Monday, Butch started to give me crap about abandoning poor Mary. I simply held up the Polaroid and said, “You insisted my date would be really nice. Does this picture say that to you?”

Apparently she had whined the whole drive to Denver about not getting laid because of me being on the alpha something. The thought of being alone in a dorm room with Mary reminds me of a joke about the definition of “coyote  ugly,” but I won’t go there. 

Oh, and in case you are wondering, I did not win the ghoul pool. With most of the pool members being 4th classman, their votes made sure one of their classmates won the pool. Even though his date was probably a ‘4’ or ‘5’ and Mary was clearly a ‘1,’ he got the money and I got a memory to share with you. 

The next month I met a girl while attending church with my Grandmother. Maybe she caught me on the rebound, because 10 months later we were married. John was the best man.  After almost 42 years, it was the best possible rebound I could have imagined.