Note: Today's guest columnist is from The Insider who goes back in time to that fateful night in Mankato......

I remember a warm, humid evening in 1991 or so...

Training camp had just begun. The warm, humid air, and the drunken coeds were a lethal combination. I was standing in the Albatross bar drinking my fill of two-buck schooners, when I suddenly felt the urge to get something to eat.

Once I managed to make my way out of the bar into the parking lot, I headed next door to the now-defunct Hardees restaurant. I should mention that three henchmen, my normal nightly “pub crawling” companions, were with me.

We paused to engage in some cat calling at the ex-girlfriend of one of my amigos, who was busy purging her nightly cache of beer onto the sidewalk. We were then full of ourselves for showing her who was boss.

As we headed over to Hardees for some well-deserved saturated fat, our lives were about to be forever changed. I heard the roar of a Corvette, and a brand new one at that.

Then I heard a voice, that unmistakable voice. It was our Pro Bowl defensive tackle Keith Millard. You always knew when he was around. Well, ol’ Keith was trying to dock his new spaceship in the U.S.S. Hardees drive thru. Keith made the approach like a champ, stopped the car, and appeared to be digging under his seat for change.

I then noticed him flip open the glove box. Let's remember that this is a TRUE sports car - no automatic transmission here. Let’s also remember you have to keep your foot on the clutch if you’re gonna stay in gear and try to Multi-Task (trademark) at a fast food drive thru window.

Ol' Keith kept revving the engine, trying to impress the drunken women who seemed to be everywhere that night. In doing so, however, his mental awareness slipped, and so did his clutch. Then, like a great white shark leaping out of the water to eat an unsuspecting seal, the car seemed to just flip over.

I remember seeing this almost in like a "Matrix" type fashion. The whole world stopped for a second, and all you could see was Millard doing the "I've never been in a canoe before" type of flip.

From the now-steaming pile of fiberglass and metal emerged what I can only describe as the angriest human being ever to walk the earth. What followed was a chain of expletives, kicks to the already-defeated car and punches thrown at phantom aggressors that would have made Mike Tyson feel much better about trying to eat someone's ear.

We all stood back and waited for him to evaporate into a mushroom cloud of fury. The fact that everyone was laughing at him only spurred more anger. The car was completely on its side and was threatening to fall on its topside.

When he let go of the clutch with the engine revving high, it sent the car
careening up the wall of landscape timbers at about 150 mph. The result was
a quick climb up a two to three-foot wall, and the car plopped onto its side,
teetering dangerously.

I was literally in hysterics as I shoveled my sack of cheeseburgers into my gullet. A few people offered Keith help, and he yelled, "DON'T TOUCH IT!" at the top of his lungs.

Now, had Keith been drinking? I'll leave that up to you. I know everyone else in that bar, including about 20 Vikings, were all imbibing that night.

About that time, the curfew bell was ready to go off for all the Vikes. That meant get your ass to the Gage towers or face the wrath of Montgomery Burns. A stiff fine would also be waiting in your stocking the next morning.

We all dispersed as a wrecker came and righted the mighty USS Millard. The rest of the details were a little fuzzy to me. I was now more interested in the abundance of CHICS in the parking lot looking for a ride home.

Yes, this would make me look very cool. I did not flip my car.

Posted by maasx003 at May 16, 2005 06:27 PM | TrackBack