A Toast to Joe Lewis, the Greatest Boxer of His Time

Twas a cold winter day in the Midwest.  A few of the natives and I awoke after slumbering in my Iowa home, rounded up our gear, stepped outside, and decided that 15 degrees was too warm for a journey to Omaha, Nebraska in a vehicle that actually had a working heater (us Midwesterners are a bit masochistic).  After a short 2.5-hour drive, the three of us reached Council Bluffs, a friendly Iowa city that housed our hotel for the weekend, and killed some time until the rest of the band arrived.  Apparently, the TSA prohibits people from bringing more than 3 ounces of heat onto a plane, so the band was unable to bring any sizable amount of warmth with them.  

We were shortly off to rally the volleyball team outside their hotel.  The band played fiercely for our goddesses, despite the icy cold death rays that Mother Nature shot at us.  We then headed over to the Qwest Center and brought funk to the legions of funkless Nebraskans, Penn Statians, and Texans that came to see their beloved teams play (the stalwart Stanford Fans having already been thoroughly funked).   After giving Texas a fair head start, the Stanford women dominated the game and finished 3-2, securing a spot for the Saturday game.   Most of us returned to our hotel to make merry and/or play Risk.  A few stayed behind at the center and watched some more intense volleyball.  I hear that the innumberable throngs of Nebraska fans can be quite loud.  

Friday, the traditional day of rest in many modern religions, saw the band exploring Council Bluffs and Omaha.  Some of us went to the zoo and threw snowballs at the animals, while others surveyed the local thrift store scene and bought up the county's supply of flannel and three-piece suits.  For dinner, we had steak.  Some establishments are not quite used to the amount of awesome brought by the band, so we tip well to compensate.   The rest of the night saw us fighting off the giant alien robots that frequently attack the area.  

Saturday.  The band was up at the crack of noon, preparing for the epic battle that was to unfold that night.  We again rallied the team before the game, this time in zero-degree-freeze-your-snot-in-your-nose-Mother-Nature-is-Not-in-a-Good-Mood-and-Father-Nature-is-likely-Sleeping-on-the-Couch-Tonight weather.  The game was hard fought, but the Stanford Women fell to the onslaught of the Cyborg-Go-Go-Gadget-Volleyball women from Nittany.   The band retired to our hotel, and drowned our sorrows in more Risk.  Most everyone returned to California on early flights.  The locals and I drove back to our abodes the next day, this time in zero-degree-25-mph-wind-gusts weather in a vehicle that again had no heat.