EDITOR’S NOTE: Michelle Nixon, who is joining the Gator Country staff as a television/video specialist, had a road to Damascus experience recently while driving home to Jacksonville to visit friends and family. Unlike the Apostle Paul, she wasn’t struck blind but her guilty conscience needed to be unloaded. At our urging, she is going to confess her sins to the entire Gator Nation. We ask all of you to open your hearts and offer the hand of forgiveness.
By Michelle Nixon
My guilty conscience finally got the best of me. There I was, driving home to Jacksonville when I saw the billboard. In big, bold words it said, “Would you be free from the burden of sin?” I thought, oh, if you only knew how much.
In smaller print it said that I should confess my sins and repent if I truly want to be free. Instantly, I thought, I want to be free of the burden I’ve been carrying since January 8, 2007.
I know what you’re thinking. You know that date. We all know that date. Every Gator will never forget January 8, 2007. That’s the day we blew the doors off the Ohio State Buckeyes, 41-14, in the BCS National Championship Game in Glendale, Arizona.
Were you there? I was. I was in that stadium for every glorious moment when our beloved Gators destroyed the Buckeyes.
Notice I said in the stadium. I never said anything about getting in with a ticket. You see, I didn’t have one.
I am a BCS national championship game gate-crasher.
There. I said it. I am already feeling better but there is more to tell.
Will you hear me out? Will you forgive me, Gator Nation?
Let’s start with how it all happened. Like most criminals — in this case I should add that I am a reformed criminal — I never wanted to commit that first crime. My intentions were honorable. I really am a good person. Please don’t let this confession permanently taint your image of me.
As I said, I had honorable intentions when I began the 2,100-mile journey to Arizona. I didn’t have a ticket when I left but I figured that with the $400 I had saved and my charming personality, someone would feel sorry for me and sell me a ticket below the outrageous prices the scalpers were getting.
At the time, I was working at a Jacksonville gym. A friend told me that The Florida Times-Union was looking for Gator fans traveling to Arizona for the festivities. I emailed my plans and intentions and received a call right away from a sports writer who wanted to follow my story.
FIRST STOP, LAS VEGAS: I arrived in Vegas with two friends and got into the party spirit immediately. Naturally, there was the urge to turn my $400 into instant wealth. Slot machines are everywhere and they all promise these million dollar jackpots. How tough can that be? And then there are the black jack tables. I saw “Rain Man.” I can count. Well, maybe not like Ray in the movie, but I can count to 21. Too much math, I decided. Poker? Everybody tells me I have an innocent face. Too innocent. Nobody would believe me if I bluff. So when the Jacksonville sports writer called the next night, I told him I was heading to Arizona with the same $400 I started with in hand, determined to get a ticket to the game. He laughed. A lot. I went to bed thinking I would show him!
NEXT STOP, GLENDALE: The three of us hopped in the rental car early Sunday morning and headed south through the desert. Destination Glendale. Somewhere around Hoover Dam one of my friends called and told me there was a story about me on the front page of the Times-Union. Me? I booted up the laptop and there it was: “Michelle Nixon, a fitness consultant from Jacksonville might want to hit up the ATM again … and again.” Okay, I admit that got under my skin. He was trying to be funny at my expense. He was hearing all those stories about $1,500 tickets so he probably thought I was pretty naïve. Maybe I was. But I was also determined that this was one battle I wasn’t going to lose.
GLENDALE: You see the stadium from 20 miles away. From that distance you think you’re personally involved in the movie “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” The stadium does have that mother ship look to it from a distance. I keep noticing people out in their front yard raking their sand or re-arranging their rocks. The only place you see grass around this place is on a golf course. That’s also the only place you’ll find trees. The stadium is named after the University of Phoenix. They don’t even have a football team, which I think is pretty weird. A school that doesn’t have a football team has its name plastered all over a football stadium. I think they sell rattlesnake jerky in the convenience stories. No luck on tickets but it’s Sunday. The game is not until Monday. I’m still in good shape.
GAME DAY, STADIUM PARKING LOT: My game plan springs into action at 7 a.m. I’m in the parking lot of University of Phoenix Stadium wearing a cardboard poster held up by a tape necklace that reads “NEED A TIK.” At 7 a.m. there are already 50 vehicles in the lot. People are getting into the game day spirit thanks to a never-ending supply of adult beverages. One drink becomes three. By 10 a.m. there are plenty more cars in our lot and in every other parking lot. My finger is tired from holding it up. Nobody wants to sell a ticket for less than $1,000. I decide to up the ante. I’ve got another $300 socked away for emergencies. This is about as close to an emergency as it gets. I just hope whoever sells me that ticket for $700 will walk with me to the nearest ATM. It hits me. We’re in the middle of the desert in a parking lot by a space ship. Let’s hope someone remembered to put an ATM somewhere handy.
A RAY OF HOPE: While I’m worrying about finding an ATM, Patrick and Billy arrive. They are total strangers but they are UF grads and they have club seats so that makes them long lost cousins. If you’re a Gator, then you’re related, especially to Gators that have club seats for a national championship game who are trying to convince you and whoever will listen that they’re going to help you get into a game. Sounds good, but how? They don’t have an extra ticket to sell me and this charm route complete with the sweet smile and innocent face hasn’t gotten me very far. This is when I decide that when charm and good looks fail, you must find alternatives. I am about to discover I have a dark side. Patrick, Billy and I hatch a devious plan to get me in the game. No ticket? No problem. At least no problem as long as I don’t get caught. I’m thinking maybe I should call a friend and tell her if she hasn’t heard from me in a few hours, call the Maricopa County Jail and find out how much money it’s going to take to bail me out. But that’s a negative thought. No negatives now. I’ve got to be brave. Someone pour me another drink of that liquid courage. Quick.
IF FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED: I have a plan, $400 still in my pocket and another $300 in an ATM if only I can find it. Maybe I don’t have a ticket and that was my goal to begin with but by now I am convinced that I will see the Gators win the national championship even if I have to become a hardened criminal to do it. My conscience has been appropriately numbed. Another shot of that courage, please. Whatever it is we’re drinking is drowning out the fear. I am confident. I am devious. I am as good as in the stadium. Well, I thought I was. Two hours until kickoff and we walk confidently up to a gate. I’m holding Billy’s tickets. He’s trying to distract the attendant with five $20 bills. When in doubt, try a little bribery. The plan worked so well when we were practicing it an hour ago. The little geek holds his ground. We have whiffed.
WHY DIDN’T WE THINK OF THIS EARLIER?: As we are talking about who and what went wrong with our ingenious plan, we spot a gate with only one attendant. Another plan is hatched. This one so devious that it either gets me in the game or else lands me in the Maricopa County Jail. Adrenaline is about to burst through the levee that is my heart. I have an innocent face. I know I must look like the single most guilty human on the planet. My heart is going to explode through my rib cage and stick to something any moment now. Here we go. Billy walks up to the female attendant. He’s 6-2 and talking non-stop. Patrick, who is 6-3, is right behind him and he’s also talking away. They are my shield. They have created the distraction. I pirouette 180 degrees and snake my way past Patrick into the stadium. I’ve got my cell phone to my ear and I’m talking away. I’m praying nobody calls while I’m doing this. If they do, I’m dead. I’m walking backwards, acting like I’ve been there awhile waiting on my friends. Billy and Patrick are in the stadium now. Suddenly, I realize what I’ve done. I’ve actually crashed the gate. I’m in the stadium. As long as nobody asks me for a ticket I’m home free. An hour before game time and we’re taking pictures from the second row. I call the sports writer in Jacksonville and tell him I’m not only in the game but I have my original $400, too. Print that! I am feeling very good right now.
ONE MORE DISTRACTION REQUIRED: Getting me into the club seats with Patrick and Billy requires one more devious act. One more distraction is needed but by now we’re professionals at this gate-crashing thing. This time my tongue doesn’t feel like the venue where the Chinese army is holding war maneuvers. My stomach isn’t twisted in a knot and my heart is beating gently, not pounding out of control. This is too easy. Not only am I in the stadium but I’m in the club seats. I celebrate by buying an $18 round of drinks and an oriental chicken salad in the club lounge. This is how we hardened criminals celebrate.
THE GAME: Okay, I got nervous when Ted Ginn Jr. ran the first kick back for a touchdown. Silly me. Urban probably let them have that just so they wouldn’t feel bad. The rest of the game is your old fashioned Southern take it behind the woodshed beat down. When the confetti flies after the final gun sounds, I am not feeling the least bit guilty. I’m too busy celebrating. I’m a Gator. I’ve climbed the mountain.
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER: Racked with guilt that has been building for 18 months I see the sign and know I have to confess my sins. My friends at Gator Country hear my quivering words and offer me their hankies to dry my tear-stained face. Okay, I made that part up. I didn’t cry. Guilt? Okay, maybe I faked that a little bit. Well, okay, if you insist. I faked it a lot. I don’t plan on crashing another gate as long as I live but as I’ve found out, plans were meant to be altered with just a split-second’s notice. I’ll put it like this. Pity whoever thinks they’re keeping me out of a stadium if I don’t have a ticket and my Gators are playing. I’ve been there, done that and I’m prepared to do it again.
Sincerely,
Michelle Nixon, also known as “The Sports Goddess”