Ok, I’m pretty sure the last ones left.
Starting Thursday, the city where I live (that’s Austin, and no, I’m not from California, I’m from Illinois) began to teem with LSU fans. The number grew throughout the weekend, peaking right around 11:30 PM local time Saturday when the last neutral holdouts got to the bars and said, “yeah, screw it, I’m an LSU fan now.”
Driving rideshare for large slices of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, I got to know a lot of LSU fans. Here they are:
The ones who needed directions
I first sniffed the Cajun aroma around dinnertime Thursday. I was helping a passenger get his bike and its flat tire out of my trunk (we’d arrive at the bike shop—I don’t remove passengers’ belongings in the middle of rides anymore) when a truck pulled up alongside us and rolled down its window. It was a couple, probably in their 50’s, and the husband wanted directions to downtown. They’d been circling for a bit, he explained. Something seemed interesting about them, and as I told him to stay on Springdale and take a right on 7th, I noticed his shirt and felt chills grip my body.
I confirmed. He was an LSU fan. He gave a mischievous smile.
They were here.
The family of four—NOT five
I gave a ride to four people later Thursday night, and only four people. Certainly not five. Unlike the guy before me, who started giving a ride to five and then left the family on the side of the road.
In hindsight, it may not have been the quantity of them that provoked their ejection from the rideshare.
They were rowdy. They were crass. They were the ages of one contiguous family but the things they were saying were so vulgar that I’m not positive they could be a contiguous family. The car rocked for six minutes, needing no music to do so. At one point, as we were crossing West Sixth, they rolled down the back window next to a cop car (thankfully, contrary to appearances, there were only three of them back there) so they could join a Geaux Tigers chant happening at the bar behind the cop car. At another point, they rolled down the other back window so one of them could tell a stranger on a motorcycle she loved her. Repeatedly. It was harassment. I still feel guilty for not having put the windows on lock when she started murmuring about her. Anyway, this ride was at once horrifying and impressive. I’ve never been more concerned about getting a ticket while driving rideshare. Not even the time I picked up that Irish family in an illegal spot at the airport.
The three very confident young men, one of whom was nervous and making up for it with uncomfortable jokes
These guys were guys. They were also very certain LSU was going to win by at least three scores. “It’s a Big 12 defense!” One of them—the smallest, with the most Scotch/Irish complexion—seemed nervous and kept joking about how whenever he saw “Austin” on signs around town he thought it said “Autism.” The car was silent for a few two-minute stretches. I took them to Matt’s El Rancho, where the people were parking their cars all over the grass.
The couple who have evidently been taking some very uncomfortable rides
My car is not an ideal one for a rideshare. It’s kind of clean, but not that clean. It smells a little like my farts every few minutes. I forget to move the passenger seat back up after someone sits up front. I’m not sure there are air vents in the back. But this couple loved it. The guy told me so, vehemently. He also asked if I love Voodoo Doughnuts. I lied and said yes (still trying out places, and there are some wonderful ones here, and I’ll report back, but Voodoo’s overrated).
The seniors who managed to get in a fight with each other in the car and then became furious when they saw an Ole Miss flag at a bar
They were nice. Forget what sorority they were in. But a few minutes into the ride they began quarreling over whether dinner had been served at a tailgate they were at earlier.
“Well maybe YOU had dinner, [REDACTED], but the rest of us haven’t!”
“I had a sandwich, I had a brownie, I had chips, I had salad, I had…”
“I didn’t see any salad!”
As we approached their destination, we saw a man in a Kentucky jersey, which prompted a “what’s that guy doing in a Kentucky jersey?” from the back. I laughed and mentioned seeing a guy in a Michigan State polo walking into the game a few minutes earlier (I don’t know what it is about Michigan State people, but they love their polos). But they were not laughing, and moments later they saw the Ole Miss flag flying outside a bar. While it’s my impression bars fly the flags of specific teams to indicate they’ll have that team’s game on, my passengers either did not share this impression, shared the impression but were disgusted, or simply hate the University of Mississippi the way my roommate’s old roommate used to hate wearing pants (big shorts guy), because they flew into an utter and complete rage.
Probably more of them
I’m guessing there were more I’m forgetting. A moment of silence for those memories.
The juniors (?) from Dallas who talked about cocaine the whole ride
I don’t know if cocaine’s big at LSU. But I do know these gals say it is, and I know two of them (this is unrelated to cocaine from here out) really like sleep, and I know the giggliest one of them doesn’t sleep much and is always up for a Phi Psi party, and I know they all think they’ll probably come back to Texas after graduation.
***
I didn’t drive Sunday (props to me for keeping the sabbath holy), so I didn’t get to take folks on their airport victory lap, which is a feature in which I offer to crash through the gates and drive along the runways until the cops shoot out our tires in exchange for a five dollar tip, but I’d imagine those rides were also something. The lasting impression for me, though, is that LSU fans completely took over Austin. Not in their numbers. But in terms of the vibe.
This was, from Thursday to yesterday in the wee hours, an LSU city. Everyone here was either an LSU fan, in awe of their LSU fan overlords (like me), or utterly terrified of their LSU fan overlords (also like me). Today, three days removed from the game, Austinites are slowing as they approach corners, wary of being deemed Tiger Bait. Even the keyboard warriors have quieted their jabs, for chirping only sharpens the lingering pain from the claw-marks. Bartenders look tired, holding ice on that muscly bit of the hand between the thumb and forefinger that gets tired when you pour a lot of heavy bottles of bourbon until they aren’t heavy anymore. Everyone is taking rideshares to work, too tired to get up early enough to drive. Students walk around in a haze.
Soon, Austin will awake again. But for now, LSU still has its soul. And that soul is entirely exhausted.
