Relic

January 1990, my father had the semi-inspired notion of taking me to the Orange Bowl. We would see the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame try and derail the freight train that was the number one ranked University of Colorado Buffaloes. There was a matter of getting tickets and transportation, but that seemed a small matter, remedied rather quickly with his connections to the athletic department at CU and his buddy with a plane. Tickets and transport secured, we flew out of the snow and into the sunny skies of Miami. Eventually.
First, we had to navigate a full day's worth of winter weather between Colorado and Florida. At one point, we came down through clouds for what seemed like hours until we dropped abruptly onto the runway at Little Rock, Arkansas for fuel and a little warmth. Riding in what was essentially the luggage compartment of a single engine Beechcraft was like taking a trip in a meat locker. A meat locker attached to an dozen lawnmowers that made conversation impossible. We made a quick stop at Orlando to see the World of Disney, primarily because it seemed like a bonus to tack on to the voyage. Then we shoved off for one last hop to the bottom of Florida which was suffering through a cold snap itself, with temperatures in the sixties.
I was up early the morning of the game. I went for a run and returned to the house where we were staying, thanks to another clever coincidence that my father had arranged, that had a pool. I dove in and swam a couple laps before toweling off and meeting my father and his pal to prepare for the big night.
The bus ride to the stadium was quiet, but filled with anticipation: Big Time College Football. We found our seats in the throng of humanity, looking out from beneath the overhang of the upper deck. Not the greatest seats, but we were in the stadium. The first half was a flurry of missed opportunities, as neither team managed to score a point, even though the Buffaloes had their chances. Then came the spectacle that is the Orange Bowl halftime show. I don't know what was going on, since the show isn't geared to the people in the stands, I just remember seeing an elephant relieve itself with great gusto on Notre Dame's sideline. I felt this was a sign of things to come.
Apparently it was, since Notre Dame went on to score three touchdowns to the Buffaloes' one in the second half. Final score: Twenty-one to six. The bus ride back was quieter than the one there, and my father and I shared some wild talk about what might have been and what could be the next year. Through the crowds, I held on to my souvenir program and Fed Ex plastic tumbler. These were stowed away along with me in the back of the Beechcraft as we were up at first light for our flight back to the land of the once and future number one ranked college football team.
A few years later I moved to California. Somewhere in there CU did manage to win a national championship, but my father and I watched on TV that time. I kept the plastic tumbler and dealt with the grumblings of my future wife as I brought it into her cabinets of more mature glassware. As time went by, more plastic tumblers came to keep it company. Souvenirs from other sporting events and concerts, but as the years wore on the paint faded and I was left with a dim reminder of that trip down south.
When that single engine Beechcraft crashed with my father inside, that cup came back into heavy rotation for my morning orange juice. It was a link to our past. It has grown brittle with regular washings. I started giving it a rest, using it only on special occasions, but this Saturday morning, it gave up the ghost. It is no longer a serviceable drinking vessel. It is now more of an artifact in that shards-of-pottery kind of way. I will hold onto the pieces in the same way a museum would hold on to Anasazi crockery. Bits of a bygone era. The past.