It’s been twenty-five years since I graduated from the CU School of Law.
It’s now been a full quarter century since my seven year stint as a resident of Boulder came to an end, and my 700-mile commute to home games from Bozeman, Montana, began.
For many years, I drove down for home games. I got to know every mile marker, every gas station, every rest stop across the very (verrry) boring expanses of eastern Wyoming. My wife, Lee, made a few of the trips, but quickly made it known that she was not interested in continuing the bonding opportunities provided by 22 hours of driving back and forth from Bozeman to Boulder. Our son, Adam, made a few trips, but also was able, in time, to find other ways to spend his weekends in pursuit of other distractions. I then recruited my friend Randy, who had no ties to Colorado – either the state or the school – to the Buff Nation, but was willing to endure the drive in exchange for a game ticket and some good football.
More recently, though, I have opted for flying down for games. The commute only takes an hour-and-a-half, and is much easier on the body and mind. With only two days out of town, packing is easy and routine. I wear my CU gear on the flight down, and have a wide assortment of CU gameday outfits to stow away, depending on the weather forecast.
For my Sunday ensemble, though, I pack two shirts. The first is a CU shirt, to be worn with pride as I stroll through Denver International Airport after a Buff victory. The second is just a regular polo shirt, devoid of logos or pronouncements of my allegiance to the University of Colorado. to be worn if the Buffs suffer an embarrassing loss.
My Shirt of Shame.
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