A BUFF FAN'S TRIBUTE TO A BUFF LEGEND: #19, RASHAAN SALAAM

                         I am deeply saddened to hear of the passing of one of the greatest University of Colorado football players ever, and one of the best running backs in college football history, Rashaan Salaam.
                 I am not just going to write all about all of his football accomplishments, or his 1994 Heisman Trophy season that made him not only a legend in college football nationally, but also made him the first and only player in CU history to win the Heisman: I want to write more about the kind of wonderful man he was, and his class off the field.  But football brought Rashaan and me together.
                 I was a Rashaan Salaam fan long before he came to Boulder: He was a Pop Warner standout from San Diego where he played at Skyline Pop Warner. My brother Tommy and I played for El Cajon Pop Warner, and there was a huge rivalry between our respective teams over the years. Skyline's program was always at the top, and they were scary good, and  El Cajon and Skyline always met in the championship called the "Super Q Bowl" (The "Super Bowl" for San Diego County  Pop Warner) many times over the years. 
                 Rashaan played 8-man football as a standout at La Jolla Country Day High School, so I was already "619" proud (San Diego's area code) of Rashaan coming out of high school, as he was representing "us," when he went to the "303," where he would make everybody proud at  CU in Boulder. 
                I have written several blogs about some of my CU Buff heroes over the years, and Rashaan was one of those heroes I wrote about. We became Facebook friends when he read some of the blogs about him. Maybe it might have been the things I remembered that were NOT in his many national press clippings that listed all of his astronomical rushing yards all season long, especially at ranked #16 Texas, the week after the Miracle In Michigan, where he rushed for 317 yards.  What I remembered, and wrote about most of all that season, was Rashaan's key and unheralded block against a rushing and much bigger defensive lineman, Trevor Pryce  of Michigan, (who became years later a great defensive linemen for the Denver Broncos.) Rashaan's block enabled Kordell Stewart to step out of the pocket, and launch a 73 yard Hail Mary pass into the Ann Arbor early autumn air to Michael Westbrook, for one of the greatest plays in Colorado Football history the week before. 
               Rashaan and I  finally met for the first time face-to-face at one of the "Rocky Mountain Showdowns" (Colorado State versus Colorado) years ago, and as soon as we saw each other, he had his trademark smile and gave me a huge hug when we recognized each other from our Facebook photos. It felt like we were lifelong friends, as we bantered about who was better, Skyline or El Cajon Pop Warner, talked about the great places we both liked to eat in Southeast San Diego, and shared stories about his and Tommy's football careers. 
               I heard his trademark belly laugh for the first time when I told  him about how I had to always tell disappointed fans, that I was not "Touchdown Tommy" Vardell; I was his older brother "Tailgatin' Teddy," (after I would come out of the locker room after visiting Tommy game after game, where eager fans awaited and long faces always were an end result after finding out I was not Tommy.) I told Rashaan I finally got sick of explaining "who I was" to the fans, so I just started signing all balls and all memorabilia, only for them to find out 20 years later  that I was an imposter, and how upset they must have been when they saw their memorabilia was signed by a worthless nobody they had ever heard of before, named " Tailgatin' Teddy Vardell."
                I have never met a more genuine, enthusiastic, friendly, warm, and funny guy in my life, or one with less ego. We became fast friends, and we would speak on the phone or check in with each other from time to time.
              Several years ago, he was our guest speaker at our University of Colorado alumni association watch party. He was a great speaker, sincere, warm and friendly to all his fans: He looked at each and every young star-struck kid in the eye, joked with them, and signed autographs, as if he had all day to chat with each and every person there.
                The most touching memory I have about Rashaan encapsulates his kind, wonderful spirit. I was delighted to attend a dinner party in his honor at Elway's steakhouse a couple of years ago with my fellow alumni in downtown Denver. At the close of the event, they called all of the great players from the CU 1990 National Championship team up on stage to join Rashaan.- Darian Hagan, Alfred Williams, Charles Johnson, James Hill-, and many others. I was already content to be in the same room with these guys. Then Rashaan took the mike from the emcee, and said "where is my 619 brother Tailgatin' Teddy!! ??... He needs to get up here on the stage with us!"
                I couldn't believe I was included in the same company, a fan among my heroes, and after I joined them on stage, we all stood shoulder to shoulder and sang the CU fight song together, and for a moment, I was a fan pulled out of the stands and onto the field, and elevated with my CU football Buff heroes.
                 It was a moment I will never forget. That gesture speaks volumes for the kind of inclusive person and big heart Rashaan had to not only me, but anybody who crossed his path.
                My sincerest condolences thoughts are with his family, the CU Buff football players and coaching staff, his close friends that knew him best, and all the fans that admired him from afar. Bless you during this difficult time.


God Bless #19, Rashaan Salaam. The University of Colorado family lost a Prince of a man.



             Your fan and friend,



                               -Tailgatin' Teddy Vardell


      

THE UNISEX BATHROOM DEBATE: A SIMPLE SOLUTION TO A COMPLEX ISSUE

                    I just wanted everybody to know that while I was at a local restaurant, I had to go to the bathroom really bad after drinking way too many glasses of iced tea. It was a very confusing decision for me, especially with this unisex bathroom debate going on. I simply did not know which bathroom I should choose and use, the one that says "MEN" or the one that says "WOMEN." (Some days I feel like like a testosterone bomb who loves to yell and high-five my buddies while watching cage fighting or football at Hooters. Other days, I feel a little more feminine, and want to watch "The Notebook" or "Ghost," all by myself at home, eat chocolates, and cry when Sam says "Ditto" to Molly.) 
                   I was unsure about how I felt this particular day about myself and what bathroom I should choose, so I decided to go wee-wee in this unmarked, unlabeled unisex urinal that was located outside and in between both the Women's and Men's bathroom doors. I certainly didn't want to offend anybody and wanted to be politically correct, so I chose to do my business at this neutral site pictured below. 
                   I would like to thank this restaurant for providing this progressive thinking answer to my immediate need and for not making me choose which bathroom to use. It is also very good and green for the environment because you flush by using a push button that squirts out just a tiny little arc of water. I think every establishment needs to provide these very cool European-looking urinals that don't put a label on anybody. 

ANTHRAX: AN EPIC BAND AND AND EPIC CONCERT

    

                    I had an absolute blast last night at the Exodus and Anthrax show..It was a packed house and first up came the Bay Area Thrashers EXODUS, who have been my favorite thrash metal band since 1985. They blasted out classics such as Bonded By Blood, Piranha, Toxic Waltz, Blacklist, War Is My Shepherd, and encored with Strike Of The Beast…A short set, but I have seen Exodus headline 6 times before over the last 28 years, so I wasn't too bummed that they were the opening act this time. Gary Holt is in my opinion, the most underrated metal guitarist in the world. He absolutely shredded.

                   Up next was the Mighty ANTHRAX straight from New York City…I have been an Anthrax fan since Norman Leggio turned me on to Fistful Of Metal back in 1985…Anthrax opened up with Among the Living and crushed through the entire side one of that 1987 classic. They then played to my delight AC/DC's TNT, and a little March of The S.O.D….After that they shredded through the entire side two of Among The Living and so all of my favorites were played such as N.F.L., Skeletons In The Closet, I am The Law, Caught In a Mosh, One World, The Horror of It All, and Imitation Of Life. They encored with I am the Man and Antisocial to end a unbelievable show. I have been an Anthrax fan for 28 years but this was my virgin time of seeing them live, and they were note for note perfect and put on a show of energy and enthusiasm. Scott Ian shredded, Joey Belladonna's vocals were incredible, and Charlie Benante was an absolute Octopus on the drum kit, blasting out fills and double bass beats that rattled and pounded your insides, and was the best drummer I have seen live since watching Norman Leggio play…

                    They were consummate professionals and it was by far the top 5 metal concerts I have ever seen..I banged my head, destroyed people in the mosh pits, and had a blast, it was a kick ass time and an awesome concert. (NOTE...My buddy Norm Leggio told me that it was John Dette behind the kit, not Charlie...He did an AMAZING job stepping in for Charlie.)....BANG YOUR HEAD AGAINST THE STAGE AND METAL TAKES ITS PRICE...BONDED BY BLOOD!!

BIG JOHN MCCARTHY: THE BEST REFEREE IN THE WORLD OF MMA

             I have been a UFC fan ever since UFC 1 in 1993, when “NHB” (No Holds Barred) was in its infancy and it was marketed back then as a form of human cockfighting, that trumpeted “THERE ARE NO RULES!!” I remember bare knuckle punches to the head and face, nasty gashes from deliberate head butts, foot stomps, kicking a downed  opponent  to the face or head, and all sorts of craziness in the early days. The UFC has gone from a spectacle of bloody bare-knuckle brawls with no weight or time limit, into the hugely popular sanctioned mixed martial art sport it is today, with time limits, weight classes and rules. 
          I myself thought I might become a mixed martial artist in 1998 as I was certainly "qualified" for hitting a heavy bag: I sparred a little bit one time with a guy with MMA experience, thinking my incredible punching power would be feared all across the world like Ivan Drago. I connected with a few punches, one to the body that made him buckle over, and one to his face that made him wince in pain,  and saw my future as a UFC champion! Yes!!!! Another Denver Tank Murdock I was!!!  Total KO POWER!!!! After about 77 seconds of punching, I became tired and sweaty as hell and all I wanted to do was put my hands on my knees and rest...I couldn't keep my hands up as the 8 ounce gloves started feeling like 80 pounds of concrete and  I started throwing these slow, wild, lazy unskilled round house punches like a drunk that missed by two feet, and my footwork was like I was stepping in post holes due to my fatigue. The headgear was hot and askew from sweat and the next thing I heard was this big THUD, which was my face and nose receiving a punch that made my eyes water and head ring like the Liberty Bell. I tried to recover and then next thing I felt was like somebody hit me with a Louisville Slugger in the thigh. That was called a kick. It did not feel good. I then received another punch to the side of the face and ear, and then another kick, and it was at that moment my fun idea of becoming a UFC heavyweight superstar was becoming not so fun. I decided to retire immediately, and have been a superb spectator ever since my less than stellar 77 seconds of being a mixed martial artist. 

              I love the UFC and am delighted it has become the biggest and hottest sport in the world and that these great athletes are getting the recognition they deserve as some are now household names. But at times, I miss the good old days of the UFC without all the hoopla, sponsors and popularity it has today. As great a job as Dana White has done since he bought it from SEG, and as great a job as Joe Rogan and Mike Goldberg do calling the fights today, I sometimes miss the only rules being no eye gouging or fish hooking, the tournament style of winner take all, and the commentary of  Bruce Beck and the late Jeff Blatnick. Their commentary reflected what they saw, often new skills in the cage that are commonplace today but back then, there were literally two kinds of fighters, Strikers and Grapplers.  I have such admiration and respect for all those warriors who paved the way for what the UFC is today: See fighterlist below:)  

              Back in the beginning, there were all these crazy names for the styles of fighting such as “Pit Fighting,” "Trapfighting," "Shootfighting" and my all time favorite, "SAFTA" (Scientifically Aggressive Fighting Technology of America.) Basically, most people’s knowledge of Martial Arts prior to UFC 1 were from badly dubbed late night Kung Fu movies or the Karate Kid or Bloodsport.  That first UFC saw giant sumo wrestlers, guys with gis, and even one guy wearing one boxing glove on his hand and bare knuckles on the other. It was unknown mayhem to see what martial art was the baddest on the planet, and NOBODY expected this tiny guy from Brazil in a gi named Royce Gracie to win it all. As far as I am concerned, every man that walked into that cage that night had brass balls as do all fighters who step in the Octagon. But the guys in that first UFC had the biggest balls of all as Bon Scott once said: Maybe a guy COULD pull someone’s heart out of their chest in a fight and show it to them!

               One man who has seen it all from the earliest days and a man I respect the most in the UFC is the incomparable referee, Big John McCarthy, who made HIS debut way back at UFC 2.  In boxing, I always loved the tiny Mills Lane, as he was the very best referee there was in the sport. He was a district judge as a profession and didn’t take any shit from any of the fighters. (I remember during the Holyfield/Tyson fight, Iron Mike told Mills Lane that his bite was a “punch” and you could clearly hear Mills Lane say “bullshit!!!.”)  He always stopped fights at the perfect time and you never had to worry about a fight being stopped early or too late.

               Big John McCarthy has those same great qualities Mr. Lane did but he is hardly tiny, and in fact looks like he could strap on the gloves himself as BJM is an intimidating presence in the cage himself and also doesn’t take any shit either.  Along with Big John’s trademark “LET’S GET IT ON!!!,” he has always done a stellar job of being a UFC referee and has always looked out for the fighters and their safety. His extensive experience has allowed fighters to continue fighting when a lot of referees would have stopped it prematurely, nor does he ever let a fight go on too long if a fighter is not intelligently defending himself. A boxing referee basically has to separate the fighters from holding and has to count them out when they go down. But Big John has to make split second decisions in MMA that are not easy to see: He has to make sure a fighter is not choked out or submitted and unable to tap out, he has to tell whether a fighter is knocked out or not, and when to separate them or not and can tell instantly if a fighter is holding the cage, delivering an illegal strike, etc. Big John misses NOTHING inside the cage and has made some great calls like these over the years when it was not obvious and has seen first hand some crazy moments. The craziest I remember was when Tank Abbott tried to literally throw Cal Worsham out of the cage back at UFC's Ultimate Ultimate in 1996.  Big John had to make decisions back then when there WERE no rules or guidelines to follow and had to make a decision to stop a fight on or let it continue just on his own common sense. He is a pioneer himself and a legend himself and still is.

                 Big John McCarthy has been a referee since the earliest days of the UFC and is still the best referee in the business. He has given the sport credibility, class and as a fan, he is an icon of the sport of MMA and I know that he is respected by all the fighters.

                 If you have not read his autobiography,"Let's Get It On " it is a MUST read for all fans of MMA. Not only is it interesting to read about Big John’s life as a former power lifter and member of the LAPD, but gives the reader a fascinating inside view of what it is like to be a referee in the UFC. He talks about all of the many changes from it being a back room spectacle on a shoe-string budget at rented halls, to the sold-out arena filled global sport it is today. There are also some great tales of humor as well  and it is an excellent book from a man who literally has had the closest view and best "seat"  in the house to all the UFC fights.

                The UFC and MMA in general is fortunate to have a man like Big John McCarthy as a referee and his awesome career is greatly appreciated by all his fans and especially an old school fan like myself. Big John, thank you sir for being a great ambassador and a class act to the sport of MMA all these years and look forward to your yelling “LET’S GET IT ON” in the near future.

******************************** these UFC pioneers pave the way thefor the UFC what it is today. Much Respect gents!! 

NHB/ MMA fighters like Pat Miletich, Igor Vovchanchyn, Nick Nutter, Allan Goes, Wallid Ishmail, Enson Inoue, Ricardo Morais, Kazushi Sakuraba, Gilbert Ivel, Vernon White, Fedor Emelianenko and Cro-Cop outside the UFC in different organizations like PRIDE and Vale Tudo, and UFC pioneers inside the UFC Octagon like Ken Shamrock, Pat Smith, Keith Hackney, Paul Varelans, Maurice Smith, Royce Gracie, Gary Goodridge, Dan Severn, Don Frye, Gold Medalist wrestler Mark Schultz, Marco Ruas, Tank Abbott, Scott Ferrozzo, ( Tank and Ferrozzo at UFC 11 was an absolute war and  is one of my fave early fights: 15 minutes of pure brawling which Ferrozzo won a decision) Kimo Leopoldo, Jerry Bohlander, Guy Metzgar, Brian Johnston, Oleg Taktarov were the "Old Guard" of the UFC. Later on, fighters like Randy Couture, Pedro Rizzo, Frank Shamrock, Mark Kerr, Mark Coleman, Bas Rutten, Vanderlei Silva, Kevin Randleman, Tito Ortiz, Chuck Liddell, Vitor Belfort, and Dan Henderson also helped pave the way and have since retired. (Belfort and Henderson, who made their first appearance at UFC 12 and UFC 17 respectively,  are the only two active fighters from those early days to still step in the cage.)

GENTLEMEN, DON'T "B.S." YOURSELF ON YOUR FITNESS AND DIET NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION

                I thought I would share a little wisdom with all you older guys like me, who might be having visions of running up and down the beach like Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa did in 1982'a ROCKY III,  with a brand new diet and exercise program for your New Year's Resolution: Especially if you are in your 40's or 50's.
              I seem to BS myself every year with the delusion that I will somehow miraculously recapture the physique I had in 1988. It is almost the end of the year, and yet again, I hardly have the UFC cage fighter physique I envisioned, as I STILL have those same hate handles and C-Cup man boobs I had way back on January 1st of this year. But I didn't realize how fat I was until I had to squeeze into a suit this past week for a Christmas Party. The "Ultimate Truth Teller" for me is ALWAYS when I try to wear a suit I hadn't worn in a year or so. My suit was a absolute pain in the ass and putting the damn thing on was a workout in and of itself. At the end of my dressing myself, I had fat-man beads of sweat on my forehead, sweat in my hot wet arm pits and also sweat in the crack of my ass from putting the damn thing on and it was absolute torture to wear from head to toe.  

               It started off bad from the very beginning:  My T-shirt was snug at the belly, not my pecs and shoulders, my tie felt like a hot scratchy hemp-noose, fully-tight and extended at the gallows around my fat neck and hefty chin: My torso in my dress shirt felt like a giant butterball turkey that was crammed and stuffed into a Ziplock sandwich bag: My belt felt like some sort of S & M device: My pants were so tight, I literally had to button them with the same force of doing crossover-cables at the gym until I could get my belly fat to ooze and settle over my belt, and then hurry and button them: My pant legs felt like I was wearing tourniquets around my thighs.  It is not a good sign of progress of fitness over the past year of if the only article of clothing when wearing a suit that is comfortable is your coat pocket handkerchief. Even my shoes felt like they were made out of wood and had lead plates in them. Hell, even my socks hurt and squeezed my fat toes, feet and ankles.  I couldn't wait to get home to burst out of that damn suit to get in my sweats and double XXL T-shirt to feel fit and slender again. Oh yeah, and all my selfies have to be taken from the neck up with my looking upwards, craning my neck to hide my triple chin and hide the Buddha physique.

              I don't know about you guys,  but what terrifies me most is thinking that I might need to use a dental mirror at age 60 to actually find my penis if my belly gets any bigger. 
        So once again, I am going to try to be like Rocky Balboa and am going to go balls out with diet and exercise until the Fourth of July, where I will look like Mark Wahlberg's stunt double with my shirt off!!!  I should realistically shoot for being brassiere free by the end of the year as opposed to looking like I did in 1988 with fantasies of chicks going gah-gah over me shirtless on Venice Beach. Right now, I look like Jabba The Hut, and that rhymes with GUT. So if you are like me, TIME TO GET IN SHAPE GENTLEMEN!!!!!

                   I have attached two pictures of me in 1988 and in 2015. I have also attached below, my diet for the last 4 months I have stuck diligently to and can't figure out why I haven't lost any  damn weight.  Any help would be greatly appreciated.

BREAKFAST : 1 cup of egg whites, one piece dry Ezekial Toast, 1 cup of black coffee

LUNCH: 1 cup of Kale, one chicken breast, one cup unsweetened iced tea

SNACK: 10 raw almonds

DINNER: One piece of steak, lean and grilled, 4 ounces with 8 boiled asparagus spears.

SNACK: Rest of the 12 ounce bag of almonds, one giant glass of chocolate whole milk. One Pizza from any pizza delivery chain, extra cheese and meats. One 12 pack of Guinness or some kind of microbrew oatmeal stout.

SNACK: One pint of Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough Ice Cream

SNACK: One plate of nachos with guacamole and a bag of melted Kraft shredded sharp cheddar cheese, and one Diet coke. (Don't leave the 350 degree oven on before you pass out.)

CHRISTIAN MCCAFFREY: THE BEST COLLEGE FOOTBALL PLAYER IN 2015

                     Christian McCaffrey is the best player in college football. I wrote this short blog below a week before the Heisman ceremony, and what I said then is true now. 

       As far as I am concerned, Christian McCaffrey is not only the best all around player and MVP of college football, but is my pick for the Heisman Trophy...WILDCAFF gets Tailgatin' Teddy's vote hands down. It is uncanny how much he has the same character as his dad did 25 years before: Discipline, poise, toughness, reliability, electric big- play ability and that intangible "IT" factor that brings a winning attitude to his entire team for 4 quarters. Off the field he is humble, polite, intelligent, and has an All-American attitude that is a throwback to when athletes truly were role models both on the field and in the classroom. Most importantly, he plays for his TEAM not his own stats, but if you Google his stats, they are absolutely mind-boggling. He just passed the legendary Barry Sanders single-season all purpose yards of 3,250 yards. 
       Christian McCaffrey is pure class and is an ambassador to what collegiate athletics are supposed to embody and represent. What is truly amazing is that he is only a sophomore!! Lisa Sime McCaffrey and Eddie McCaffrey were both tremendous athletes at Stanford themselves, so the entire McCaffrey family is that of winners...Thank you and congrats Christian on a stellar season that is a treat for all of us Stanford fans to watch each and every week.

               Christian did not win the Heisman and was runner-up to Alabama's Derrick Henry. Let it be said that Derrick Henry seems like an outstanding young man and is one heck of a great running back. But the Heisman ballot voters missed their mark with their pick of the best college football player in the nation and what the award is supposed to represent. Let it be also said, that YES, I am certainly biased: I have a peripheral friendship with the McCaffrey family and am also a huge Stanford football fan. (My brother Touchdown Tommy Vardell was a team mate of both Ed McCaffrey, Christian's dad, and current head coach David Shaw, a great wide receiver himself, while HIS dad was defensive coordinator from 1989-1991.)  A little history before I get into why Christian McCaffrey is the best player in college football.
                I am what you would call a "stellar spectacular spectator," hence why my nick name my friend Danny Lavis gave me in 1991,  is "Tailgatin' Teddy." This was after Dennis Green coined my brother "Touchdown Tommy" for his 4 touchdowns against #1 Notre Dame in 1990, (and where Ed, Tommy, David and the unranked Stanford Cardinal, at 1-3, shocked undefeated Notre Dame, 36-31 in South Bend on 10/6/1990.) 
              I watched every Stanford game this year, and watching Christian McCaffrey every play has made me feel like kind of a proud surrogate uncle from all my memories of watching Stanford football: I not only got to watch my brother's Stanford and NFL career over the years, but also got to watch Ed McCaffrey and David Shaw grow and excel in their playing and coaching careers over the past 25 years.
              I met Coach Shaw with Tommy before the Arizona State game when he was the offensive coordinator at Stanford in 2010. I have never met a more smart, cerebral football thinking coach in all my life. He is a man of humble class and quiet confidence with the "thousand yard stare" of cognitive football intelligence and it was a great experience for me as a fan, to hear him talk about the X's and O's of football. I enjoyed watching David as a great wide receiver player for the Cardinal, who made clutch catches against Colorado in 1990 and Cal in 1991 as #84. I just as much enjoy seeing him today, with that small sly smile and poker face, where he is conjuring up the next play as the Stanford head coach on the sidelines. 
               I have met Ed several times over the years, and his lovely, fun and friendly wife (and soccer star Stanford grad) Lisa.  I recently happened to run into Ed in the elevator before the CU/Stanford game just a few weeks ago. Seeing Ed this time around, it wasn't me remembering and reminiscing all the great plays #40 had at Stanford, or #87 for the NFL and Super Bowl Champion Broncos where he made all those clutch catches he trademarked: All I wanted to talk about this time around, was his son #5 Christian McCaffrey and every electric play he had displayed this season. Ed could not have been more gracious and friendly to me, especially since I haven't seen Lisa or Ed since 1993. Unfortunately in 2015,  I have gone from being the brassiere-free semi-handsome, brown-haired older brother of Tommy in 1993,  to a much older, semi-handsome, fully receding gray-haired B-cup middle-aged man with my man-boobs that I developed over the past 25 years. Ed looks like he has spent the last 25 years in one of those anti-aging cryonic tanks, as he looks like he could still strap on the pads and helmet like he did for the Super Bowl in 1998.
             Ed could have very easily had that vacant stare and said to himself,  "TED WHO??" when I approached him: But he was as classy, friendly and nice to me as he was in 1993. He was, and was deservedly so, very proud, that his son Christian was having a stellar 2015 season. (Christian once again, unfortunately, carved up my alma mater Colorado Buffaloes with 220 all purpose yards helping his team on the road to a 42-10 victory in Boulder.)
            The entire McCaffrey is pure class and should have a patent on the athlete/football genetic code of academic and athletic excellence.  (Under the Webster dictionary when one looks up "ALL AMERICAN FAMILY"  there should be a picture of the entire McCaffrey family smiling Olin Mill's style.) If you don't know about the McCaffrey clan, Google it, and you will see about 3,956 pages on their family tree and accomplishments.  
             I found out to my bafflement this week, that many of the Heisman votes were cast BEFORE Christian had even had a chance to light up the scoreboard with his stellar PAC -12 championship game where he tacked on another 416 all purpose yards, a rushing touchdown, and yes, a touchdown pass. Are you kidding me? How can they cast a ballot before seeing how he plays in the ultimate pressure game of the Pac-12 championship? As a West Coast guy, this makes me more angry than the Tree Ents in the Two Towers. That East Coast/ SEC bias was decided before he even got a chance to showcase the apex of his stellar season in the PAC-12 championship. I felt this way when Andrew Luck got snubbed a few years ago and I feel this way now. "WILDCAFF" is the best college football player in 2015 and I have no doubt people will see this in Pasadena on 1/1/2016. 
            This outstanding young man not only is a lethal weapon on special teams, but can pass, throw and run like a cheetah. He is truly the definition of an "X-Factor" with his rabbit like speed, toughness, vision, and competitive spirit: (Oh, and by the way, he is also an honors student at Stanford and happens to play the piano and plays it very well, and not just "Chopsticks.")
            He is the true ace in the hole for the Cardinal and has demonstrated that all season, being a migraine headache for every defensive coordinator he has gone up against.
            Congratulations to the McCaffrey family and especially this outstanding once-in-a-lifetime player, that comes around about MAYBE twice a century. He is a young man that has everything great  that makes him an ambassador for the All-American student athlete. 
           (Oh, one last thing, I saw this morning while having coffee and reading the newspaper that Christian was voted to the All-America Team.)
             I am looking forward to see what this young man does on the Farm these next two years, as he still counts his age in the "teens" as a young sophomore. Congratulations Christian: You make Colorado proud. You make the Vardell family proud, and I know you make your family, your mom Lisa and your dad #40 very proud. 
            Good luck against Iowa in the Rose Bowl Christian and FEAR THE TREE AND #5 MCCAFFREY!!!!!!!!!!!

 

       

                
          

A “BIG GAME” FOR THE AGES: #21 STANFORD vs. #6 CALIFORNIA, 11/23/1991

             There are truly days of Camelot in college football for their players and fans, and as corny as this sounds, sometimes they have fairy tale happy endings as well, especially if it is for your favorite team.

             On 11/23/1991, the Stanford vs. California “Big Game” was the first time in history that both #21 Stanford and #6 California were ranked in the same season and was also the first time the Big Game would be nationally televised in the prime time slot on ABC.  It was a day I will never forget, and as the brother of one of the heroes of this fairy tale story, I would like to tell you my tale through my eyes, from start to finish: So sit back, grab a beer or glass of chocolate milk, and relax and enjoy my story. Before I begin, I need to give a little background as to why this game was so epic.

             ONCE UPON A TIME, in a land far, far away in the West, the Pac-10 was absolutely stacked with tough teams all throughout that 1991 season. The Washington Huskies went on to be the undefeated  #1 1991 National Champions that year, and Stanford, UCLA, and California all ended their seasons ranked in the top 25.

             Stanford began their 1991 season unranked and with one of the toughest schedules in the nation, having to play defending national champion Colorado and highly ranked Notre Dame for their non-conference opponents, in addition to their own cannibalizing conference. Their season started on a horrific note, getting pummeled at home by Washington, 42-7, followed by a loss to unranked Arizona, (on a Dick Tomey last minute fake field goal in Tucson.)  Their next opponent was  the defending national champion and highly ranked Colorado, where Stanford showed true grit and what a great team they had, by upsetting the highly favored Buffaloes 28-21 on the Farm. This huge upset win was short lived, as Stanford once again fell to highly ranked Notre Dame the next week. Sitting at 1-3, the Cardinal’s season looked bleak with road trips to USC, Oregon, Drew Bledsoe and Washington State, and with ranked UCLA and  eventually arch rival Cal visiting Stanford to close out the season. But Stanford had an incredible mid-season  gut  check  and won  6 straight games and earned a # 21 ranking before the Cal game and were one of the hottest teams in the country. The showdown was set between 8-3 Stanford and 9-1 California.

            The Cal Bears started their season red hot, and bullied and spanked every team they played all season, their only blemish a loss to #1 Washington, a game they darn near won in Berkeley. The Bears were crass, confident and cocky.

            I had no idea how heated and how much hatred there was between these two teams and their fans. On the field, Brian Treggs boastfully stated that he would “live in Palo Alto” if the Bears lost to Stanford and Mike Pawlawski  said “I hate Stanford and every thing it stands for. All they do is spend their daddy’s money." Bob Whitfield, Stanford’s anchor on the offensive line, when asked about Tregg’s statement candidly retorted, “He sucks! They may be 9-1, but we are going to bust them up.” Prior to pre-game warm ups, the two teams met at midfield, pointing, strutting and yelling at each other similar the same hatred I saw in that movie Colors, when all the Crips and Bloods converged at the bars in the LA county jail while showing their "colors."

          This hatred the players had for each other spilled over into their fans as well.  I saw countless T-shirts Cal fans wore that exclaimed such lovely things as “STANFUCK” and “FUCK STANFORD.” There were even more brazen displays, as Cal fans defaced a Stanford statue on campus by painting it blue and yellow, and even put a Cal baseball cap on it. They also stenciled yellow painted bear claws all over the stucco walls on the Stanford campus, which both of these acts of vandalism were covertly done in the wee hours of the night before. But when I REALLY saw the true hatred, was prior to the game: Stanford was doing their traditional walk from the Stanford locker room to the stadium called “The Walk,” when these drunken and cowardly Cal fans came to the chain link fence and screamed insulting expletives and threw beer on the Stanford players. The hype and bad blood leading up to this game was a buzz you could feel all throughout the stadium.

               Once inside, all 88,000 fans were sporting their colors as well: Half the stadium was in navy blue and gold, and the other half was in cardinal-red and white. It was a picture perfect, azure skied afternoon at Stanford Stadium and the atmosphere was absolutely electric. Finally, when it was time for kick off, there was a tide of deafening crowd noise that crescendoed when the kicker's foot finally kicked off the 94th meeting between these two schools. The Big Game had officially begun.

               I am going to spare you the play-by play-here and let you see the fantastic highlight video on the link below for yourself which tells what the 88,000 Cal and Stanford fans saw that day. (Simply copy the link below and paste into your browser address window.) What I WILL share with you, however,  are some things I saw personally and within our inner circle.

                Our family, as per tradition before every home game, would go see my brother Tommy at his hotel room prior to his getting on the bus. When I saw him, he had the look of the  “thousand yard stare”. He was almost in a robotic and trance-like state, with this expression of intensity. I have never seen him so focused on what would transpire in the next 5 hours or so. My dad, who played football at Colorado and knows a little about pre-game jitters and intensity himself, was also a trifle bit concerned. He perfectly described Tommy's state as he said, "He looks and feels like a wooden Indian." There was no doubt that this Indian and Cardinal named Tommy Vardell was ready to play: When I saw him later lead his team on “The Walk” into the stadium prior to the game, I extended my fist out to  give him a little non-verbal "fist bump" for good luck as I always do; when his fist hit mine, it felt like an anvil. (This must have been like what Apollo Creed felt when Ivan Drago from Rocky 4 bumped gloves with him prior to his last and fatal fight.) 

               All the Stanford player's families had a very tight knit group who tailgated together, traveled together, watched the games together, and either celebrated victories together or consoled each other in defeat. That day I had my mom and dad, but what made it extra special was I had my two uncles Steve and Don and my cousin Blake who flew in from Texas, my aunt Patty from Colorado, and the great folks like the Baurs, the Lynches and the Whitfields just to name a few at the tailgate and to watch the game with. John Lynch's dad who owned the Mighty 690 in San Diego always through these incredible tailgates, which is where I got the nickname "Tailgatin' Teddy" after "Touchdown Tommy" was coined.

                OK, back to the game. I have NEVER been that nervous as a spectator, especially after all those Saturdays watching that "other" team across the bay all season long and knowing how great they were. But my worry soon turned to delight, as the #21 Stanford Cardinal spanked the #6 Cal Bears 38-21 at the Farm and and beat the Bears with old school smash mouth football. As a fan and spectator at the 50 yard line, to this day, it is the most spectacular football game I have ever seen. I have never been more proud of #44 RB Tommy Vardell, and all his great team mates like TE #83 Turner Baur, G #65 Brian Cassidy,  T #70 Bob Whitfield,  RB #5 Glyn Milburn, RB #26 JJ Lasley, TE #88 Paul Nickel, #18 QB Steve Stenstrom and all those other great players that played stellar on that magical afternoon. ALL of them played the game like a team of pissed off Ents, just like in the movie The Two Towers, as they stomped and smashed the Bears into whimpering bear cubs. Trees indeed.

                 Tommy played like a locomotive at full steam and was like the Energizer Bunny on methamphetamine the entire game, as #44 was unstoppable. I have never been so proud of my brother and his 183 yards and 3 touchdowns. Touchdown Tommy closed out his Stanford season in a happy ending  fairy tale. After the game, with a torn up jersey and blood running down his arm, he was truly the hero riding off into the sunset on the shoulder pads of his fellow Stanford warriors. The axe stayed in Palo Alto yet again.

                To end this story, after gleefully hugging all of my family and Stanford friends after the game, to my parents horror, I, in the spirit of my fellow Cal fans, purchased and wore a "FUCK CAL" T-shirt the rest of the evening and to the celebration at Pudley's that night. Tommy got a standing ovation when we walked in to Pudley's but to this day, I tell everybody it was Tailgatin' Teddy and my "FUCK CAL" T-shirt that got the standing ovation. GO TREES!!!!!! BEAT CAL!!!!! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=liO4n7rortg