Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, January 2, 1994 TAG: 9401020061
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: STEPHEN FOSTER STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: SHREVEPORT, LA. LENGTH: Medium
A monolithic monster of rusty metal and concrete, Independence Stadium stood still and empty by the road as if nothing of note had happened there. Hard to believe a mere nine hours earlier Hokie Pokie lunacy was erupting as Virginia Tech won a football victory against Indiana University.
For Tech fans, Friday was a party day for the ageless.
The morning of game day, fans of both sides came together for a "tailgate party" inside Hirsch Coliseum, beside the stadium. Nothing like sanctioned liquoring-up - Bloody Marys, screwdrivers and beer were served - to further craze thousands of already rowdy rabble-rousing football fans.
In the bleachers, "They sell beer here! There is a Lord," shouted a flag-waving, turkey-calling, cowbell-clanging, megaphone-blaring, 40-year-old fan, Jim Cochrane, who organized bus and plane trips to the game for dozens of Hokies.
And there was Pettus Gilman, 57, a 1958 Tech graduate, garbed in a pair of orange corduroy trousers to go with his maroon sweater. Fanatical as anyone, he coached from the bleachers and outpaced the referees whenever he could.
He hugged one man around the shoulders and told him: "When they grab you like this, it's holding." The referee on the field made the appropriate signal; moments later, Tech intercepted in the end zone.
Then there was Travis Deatherage, clad in a foam rubber mouse cap and sporting the letter "I" drawn on his chest with orange and maroon paint. He huddled with other Tech fans, who had letters painted on their chests to spell the word "Hokies."
"I knew they were going to win," he shouted as he prepared to hurdle the metal bars separating Tech fans from the field where their team was about to win 45 to 20. "I knew they were going to win."
On the field, the goal post-demolishing objectives thwarted by a vanguard of police officers, hundreds of fans, students and players ran about frantically, hugged, high-fived and danced the "hokie-pokie."
Offensive guard Jared Hamlin signed autographs for two youngsters. Tight end John Burke wore out his hand shaking it with others and fending off proposals to head to New Orleans, the classic party town just five hours away.
"I don't think so. We're probably going to stick in this area," he said and posed for yet another photograph.
Sandi Pope, Jeannie Mann and Tami Ratcliff, all class of '87 grads, locked arms and danced about on the 10-yard line. This was the first time the three friends had been together in years.
"Now it's time to go party, I reckon," said Tech senior Scott Lambert, 22.
On the buses and back to the hotels the Hokies went, but not without a few jeers and some rubbing-it-in directed at the Hoosiers marching band, as the Indiana students filed out of the stadium.
"I'm afraid he's going to wear that ponytail all night," Sarah Dugger said on the bus. She was referring to the pompom sticking out from under the cap of her husband, David, a 1981 Tech graduate.
"Normally, he's quiet and laid-back and not too terribly sociable," she remarked. "But get him around a bunch of Hokie fans and he's . . ."
Tonight, "it'll be great," he added.
At Dudley & Gerald's, a seafood and Cajun restaurant, Tech fans gorged on catfish, shrimp, oysters and alligator.
Some got over their aversion to eating what looked like bugs and went to work on platters of boiled red crawfish: Twist off the tail, suck the juice out of the head, pop out the tail meat and wash the spice off your lips with beer.
Crystal Osteen, a Danville accountant, offered up her remaining barbecued shrimp to a table of Hokies who had been waiting two hours to eat. They accepted.
Her friend, 1992 Tech grad Lisa Hoosier - yep, that's right - had led her crew to the game. "People say `Are you a Hoosier or are you a Hokie,' " she said.
"I say both. One by law and one by choice," she said.
Finally, it was time to head out on the town.
Downtown Shreveport appeared to be a wasteland of plywood, pylons, broken concrete and other construction. Cab drivers claim it has a higher murder rate than Richmond's.
In the shadowy streets and under neon lights connected to the Texas Street bridge over the Red River, the clubs were packed and charging hefty covers on New Year's Eve.
So at least one group decided to have their obligatory midnight champagne - actually Budweiser in plastic champagne glasses - and head back to their hotel.
The cabbie told them a shooting had happened earlier a few streets away. Perhaps it was that morose note that kept them quiet on the way back.
Or maybe it was passing that darkened stadium where nothing moved and remembering the victory celebration a few hours earlier that they had traveled so far to be a part of.
by CNB