That Hopkins Kid

MIZZOU was found in the nose-bleed section at Kemper

By Tom Brand

It was March, and the season of madness for basketball was just beginning. As usual, the Big Eight Conference was tough, with half the teams nationally ranked. The Missouri Tigers had climbed as high as sixth in the nation but stumbled in their final three games, losing to unranked Kansas State and Oklahoma, and then falling in their season finale to third-ranked kansas, and yes, I intentionally spelled that with a lowercase ‘k,’ as any self-respecting, chickenhawk-despising Tiger fan would, in Larryville.

Home during college was the Christian Campus House, and of the seventeen guys in the house, there was a core group who had enjoyed multiple exciting seasons together watching the Tigers at the Hearnes Center. We committed to going to the Big Eight Tournament in Kansas City that spring but were unsuccessful in securing tickets from the Mizzou student allotment. Colorado, however, had an abysmal season, so we were able to secure six tickets from there. Six was the key number; six of us were committed Tiger fans. Six is also the number of letters it takes to spell Mizzou.

Who knows what sparked the idea; maybe it was sheer school spirit, maybe it was just the adrenaline of a big game, but somehow, we decided our chests would become the ultimate fan canvas. M-I-Z-Z-O-U, painted bold and proud. Sitting together in the packed arena, we were bound to land on TV, because really, what were the chances that six other guys had the same brilliant, and slightly questionable, idea for a mid-winter basketball game? I took the M, Kent claimed the I, Joel and Chris doubled up on the Zs, Scott rounded things out with the O, and Jimmy brought it home with the U.

Imagine the disappointment when we got to Kemper Arena and were directed to our seats two rows from the top. The players on the court for the first game were just slightly larger than ants. There was no way the television cameras would even see us here, as the font size would have been too small. Our shirts stayed on, and we were certain they would likely stay on when the Tigers took the court.

One of the geniuses in our delegation must have had some insight into how poor our ticket location was, as he packed binoculars to watch the games. This proved to be our secret weapon, though, as he scanned the crowd behind the Tiger bench for open seats. We were delighted to spot four openings in the section six rows behind the players’ bench. Another two were just a few rows down in the same section.

Down the steps we headed to our new seats! No one asked to see our stubs, so we easily made our way to a prime location only minutes into the game. While unable to display our “full Mizzou,” I peeled off my shirt, we shuffled places, and Jimmy stood next to me. If M-I-Z-Z-O-U couldn’t make an appearance, at least we could show our support with an M-U spelled out.

Iowa State, whom the Tigers had squeaked out a four-point win against earlier in the season in Ames, was a formidable opponent. It was a tough battle, down to the final seconds, but a Tiger victory was just out of reach. We left Kemper in a glum mood with a two-and-a-half-hour return to Columbia ahead of us.

It was late when we got back to the house in Columbia. As I walked into my room, the message light on my answering machine was blinking. I hit ‘play’ and heard a familiar voice: “I guess you were at the game tonight. I saw you on TV. I’m sure you’re real proud of yourself.” The voice was my mom. She was right; I was real proud of myself! But I would have been even prouder if the Tigers had won the game.

Tom Brand, a native of Hopkins, graduated from North Nodaway High School and attended the University of Missouri, where he proudly served as Truman the Tiger for three years. A lifelong Mizzou fan, Tom has never set foot inside the town the chickenhawks call home, and while he doesn’t have a tattoo, if he did, it would be an MU crest inked over his heart; because no one in Missouri keeps Mizzou closer to their heart than he does. He and his wife, Beth, call St. Joseph home, where they cherish time with family, friends and a good dose of black and gold pride.