(April 9, 2016) It was a little past 6 a.m. this morning and I was on the way to the New Orleans airport. Leaving that city on a Saturday morning when a whole weekend could be played there might not make much sense. But, I had a game to go to back home. That’s what I told the cab driver, L.C., from the back seat of his Suburban as we pulled onto I-10 from the French Quarter.
One of your kids’ games? He asked. Nope, I said. College game. Spring game. I’m a big fan, I said.
L.C. told me that his father was too. His dad was the biggest college football fan ever, he said. When he died, he left L.C. the house and to take care of his mom. Then Hurricane Katrina hit. And it was left in ruin. The family had to move to Houston for months. His brother and family went to Birmingham, Alabama. L.C. returned to Louisiana, but his brother stayed in Alabama; said the kids were doing well in school there.
I told L.C. I used to call my dad after every game. And talk. We were passing by Metairie Cemetery when I said that. L.C. said, me too…man I miss him.
He loved his college team, L.C. said. And you know, it wasn’t LSU or any team around New Orleans. It was “Oklahoma,” L.C. said.