Eleven years later, I am still a stranger to the city of San Antonio; it took me more time than I care to admit to find my destination, Sangria on the Burg, a buzzing Tex-Mex brunch stop. When I entered the building, I knew I would have to take note of this place for future visits; my old friend Bubba really does know how to pick a restaurant. It also seems he knows how to pick a table; once I was finished taking in the liveliness of my surroundings, it took me half a second to find the hometown hero, sipping at a cup of coffee, with another waiting across the table from him. I smiled ear to ear at the sight of him; even after ten and a half seasons of ISFL success, there was still a warmth towards other people that emanated from him.
Bubba spent most of our breakfast in quiet thought; I peppered questions in between mouthfuls of hotcakes, but largely, it felt appropriate to leave him to reflect on being back in San Antonio. “The Marshals took a chance on me when other teams were afraid to,” he reminded me at one point, “Taco and Stringer, they gave me an opportunity not knowing what I might become, and I can’t be anything be grateful to them for everything they ever did for me”. He never once looked at me while he said this, almost as if it weren’t intended for me specifically, but the restaurant, even the city at large. This was a former third round pick, who had done everything to make San Antonio proud, returning to thank them for being a stop along the journey.
As we climbed into Bubba’s vehicle, the same old Ford Expedition he had been driving since day one, I asked him what the city of San Antonio meant to him, and how the team’s move to Minnesota had impacted him when it was announced. “I guess to me, I see it as a general manager trying to change the narrative. I love this city, I love the Marshals, and I’ll never let the memory of that team die. But I’m not going to blame Peter for trying to escape the crushing weight of the Luchadores. I don’t know if that’s a decision I would have made, and having worked with him so closely the past seven seasons, I’m not sure he looks back on that decision with particular fondness, but he did what he felt was right in the moment. I don’t harbor any resentment for him there, because I don’t treat it as him killing the Marshals. Marshals never die”. I nodded knowingly; despite the team’s departure from the city, and even despite the expansion bid from Dallas, most of the people of San Antonio, to my knowledge, still bleed green. Peter Brand’s DSFL tenure was always met with mixed reviews, but this is a city that to this day watches the Grey Ducks with fascination, even if they aren’t necessarily rooting for them.
The drive to Denver from San Antonio is a two-day commitment, one which I was more than happy to be a part of; to some of my colleagues, this was a lot of time to commit to a project, but to me, Bubba Thumper’s story was always worth the time I spent on it. Plus, knowing that this trip would take two days, we had planned to stop for the night in Amarillo, and any stop with Bubba was guaranteed to be an adventure for my stomach. I asked what his plan was for the evening; he grinned and began telling me all about the experience of the GoldenLight Café.
And, of course, it was everything he had described and more. Despite the limited menu, the food was outstanding, and the environment even more so. I didn’t recognize the artist performing that evening, but her voice was smooth as silk, floating through her works and drawing the cheers and applause of the crowd time and time again. “The best part of this place,” Bubba noted to me, almost yelling to be heard over the roaring crowd, “is that my talent can take a backseat to a voice like that every single night”. He smiled as he sunk back into his seat, hungrily eyeing the patty melt sitting before him. This was Bubba in his element; I couldn’t help but smile with him.
While we waited to check into our hotel, Bubba made an offhand comment that caught me by surprise: “I never thought I’d be so nervous to return home”. It stuck with me the whole night, and into the next morning; what could one of the best defensive tackles in Yeti history have to be nervous about in his return to Colorado? Come morning, he had an answer ready, before I even had the opportunity to ask. “I’ve played forty-one games since the last time I set foot on Colorado’s turf. I’m a different player than I was then, and the Yeti are a different team. The management is different, the fanbase is different. There’s a lot they could resent me for. So, of course I’m nervous. I look like a player who decide to walk from a team and a fanbase who loved me. And I don’t know if I’ll be welcomed home with open arms, or if I’ll be given a cold shoulder. Not knowing how you’re going to be treated in a state you love, by a fanbase you love, that’s tough to swallow”.
We made a stop by Amarillo’s Scratch Made Brunchery before hitting the road, and I posed a difficult question for the man sitting across from me: what would he do if the people had turned cold to him? He sighed heavily and took his time before he offered a reply. “I guess I feel like I’ve been there before. I haven’t really interacted with the fans in Colorado at this level before, but the team, and the management staff, I’ve had some conversations there, and they’re not always friendly, you know? And some of these people used to be my favorite people in the business…I guess they still feel a bit betrayed. I’m not sure there’s a good way of addressing that. So, I guess I don’t know what I’d do in that position, because I don’t know what I should be doing in the situations I’ve already been in”. Bubba looked silently down at his cup of coffee, and I absorbed the gravity of the information he was hitting me with. I had always thought this man would be welcomed back as a hero, and here he was, questioning whether he may have played long enough to become the villain.
Our drive to Denver was mostly silent; Bubba was once the type of person who couldn’t go a mile in silence, but time had changed him as it changes us all. It took until Colorado Springs for me to work up the nerve to remind him what the league community as a whole thought of him; I had the privilege of sitting shotgun with a living legend, and if the Yeti couldn’t recognize that, that was their problem. He chuckled to himself and gave another thoughtful reply: “if you know anything about the Colorado Yeti, you know not every legend there is a good one.”
I then reminded him that he wasn’t alone; Ashley Owens and Thor Kirkby were making their first trips back to Colorado since being traded to New York as well. He smiled at the mention of the duo; “those two, they’re two of the best in this business. I’m thankful to still be playing alongside them at this stage of my career”. We spent the rest of the drive discussing some of the players he’d had the privilege of playing alongside in his career. “I’ve had the great privilege of playing with some of the all-time greats,” he said with a smile. “Mo Berry and Tony Gabagool, they’re both players who in my opinion belong in the Hall. Steco Ocewilder, Immanuel Blackstone, I had extremely good fortune in who lined up next to me here. Plus, players like Louisiana Purchase, Pete Parker, hell even Rotticus Scott, those are the types of players you want to have your back as a defensive lineman. And obviously offense ain’t my specialty anymore, but hard to ignore players like Richard Gilbert and William Lim, and harder still to ignore the likes of Mo Magic and Greedy Sly”.
I jokingly asked Bubba how he felt about the possibility of sacking Caliban; he laughed, and then settled in before giving a response, “obviously I’ve made my living hitting the quarterback, and I’m not going to try any less to hit Caliban. That’s my bread and butter, and I’m good at it. But I’m also not the type of person to just walk away from a dropped quarterback, and I’m going to afford Caliban the same courtesy if I hit him. If he hits the ground because of me, I’m going to be the one helping him back to his feet, otherwise I can’t justify hitting him again. Except maybe Wolfie; I probably could have justified hitting him again”. We laughed together, and Bubba finished his thought, “my one disappointment is that I’ll never be able to sack Wolfie and have it count”.
We pulled into the parking lot of the evening’s restaurant of choice, the Ginger Pig, and I was happy to see the recognition in the faces of the people of Denver; this was Bubba Thumper, the big man was home. Bubba had barely even left his seat before the Yeti fans swarmed him, excited to see the former champion returning home, and Bubba gladly greeted the fans, taking every picture, signing every autograph, etc. This was the welcome I had counted on, and the welcome he had hoped for; the state of Colorado was glad to see their star come home, and he was overjoyed to be there.
I asked Bubba over a plate of char siu how it felt to be home. He smiled, a goofy grin I had come to love, and said to me, “if there’s one thing I love as much as the sport of football, it has to be the state of Colorado”. And I understood him; he gave his all for the Silverbacks, but to him, that was just a day job. This state, these people, were the ones who gave him a home, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to give them a show in his return.
Bubba spent most of our breakfast in quiet thought; I peppered questions in between mouthfuls of hotcakes, but largely, it felt appropriate to leave him to reflect on being back in San Antonio. “The Marshals took a chance on me when other teams were afraid to,” he reminded me at one point, “Taco and Stringer, they gave me an opportunity not knowing what I might become, and I can’t be anything be grateful to them for everything they ever did for me”. He never once looked at me while he said this, almost as if it weren’t intended for me specifically, but the restaurant, even the city at large. This was a former third round pick, who had done everything to make San Antonio proud, returning to thank them for being a stop along the journey.
As we climbed into Bubba’s vehicle, the same old Ford Expedition he had been driving since day one, I asked him what the city of San Antonio meant to him, and how the team’s move to Minnesota had impacted him when it was announced. “I guess to me, I see it as a general manager trying to change the narrative. I love this city, I love the Marshals, and I’ll never let the memory of that team die. But I’m not going to blame Peter for trying to escape the crushing weight of the Luchadores. I don’t know if that’s a decision I would have made, and having worked with him so closely the past seven seasons, I’m not sure he looks back on that decision with particular fondness, but he did what he felt was right in the moment. I don’t harbor any resentment for him there, because I don’t treat it as him killing the Marshals. Marshals never die”. I nodded knowingly; despite the team’s departure from the city, and even despite the expansion bid from Dallas, most of the people of San Antonio, to my knowledge, still bleed green. Peter Brand’s DSFL tenure was always met with mixed reviews, but this is a city that to this day watches the Grey Ducks with fascination, even if they aren’t necessarily rooting for them.
The drive to Denver from San Antonio is a two-day commitment, one which I was more than happy to be a part of; to some of my colleagues, this was a lot of time to commit to a project, but to me, Bubba Thumper’s story was always worth the time I spent on it. Plus, knowing that this trip would take two days, we had planned to stop for the night in Amarillo, and any stop with Bubba was guaranteed to be an adventure for my stomach. I asked what his plan was for the evening; he grinned and began telling me all about the experience of the GoldenLight Café.
And, of course, it was everything he had described and more. Despite the limited menu, the food was outstanding, and the environment even more so. I didn’t recognize the artist performing that evening, but her voice was smooth as silk, floating through her works and drawing the cheers and applause of the crowd time and time again. “The best part of this place,” Bubba noted to me, almost yelling to be heard over the roaring crowd, “is that my talent can take a backseat to a voice like that every single night”. He smiled as he sunk back into his seat, hungrily eyeing the patty melt sitting before him. This was Bubba in his element; I couldn’t help but smile with him.
While we waited to check into our hotel, Bubba made an offhand comment that caught me by surprise: “I never thought I’d be so nervous to return home”. It stuck with me the whole night, and into the next morning; what could one of the best defensive tackles in Yeti history have to be nervous about in his return to Colorado? Come morning, he had an answer ready, before I even had the opportunity to ask. “I’ve played forty-one games since the last time I set foot on Colorado’s turf. I’m a different player than I was then, and the Yeti are a different team. The management is different, the fanbase is different. There’s a lot they could resent me for. So, of course I’m nervous. I look like a player who decide to walk from a team and a fanbase who loved me. And I don’t know if I’ll be welcomed home with open arms, or if I’ll be given a cold shoulder. Not knowing how you’re going to be treated in a state you love, by a fanbase you love, that’s tough to swallow”.
We made a stop by Amarillo’s Scratch Made Brunchery before hitting the road, and I posed a difficult question for the man sitting across from me: what would he do if the people had turned cold to him? He sighed heavily and took his time before he offered a reply. “I guess I feel like I’ve been there before. I haven’t really interacted with the fans in Colorado at this level before, but the team, and the management staff, I’ve had some conversations there, and they’re not always friendly, you know? And some of these people used to be my favorite people in the business…I guess they still feel a bit betrayed. I’m not sure there’s a good way of addressing that. So, I guess I don’t know what I’d do in that position, because I don’t know what I should be doing in the situations I’ve already been in”. Bubba looked silently down at his cup of coffee, and I absorbed the gravity of the information he was hitting me with. I had always thought this man would be welcomed back as a hero, and here he was, questioning whether he may have played long enough to become the villain.
Our drive to Denver was mostly silent; Bubba was once the type of person who couldn’t go a mile in silence, but time had changed him as it changes us all. It took until Colorado Springs for me to work up the nerve to remind him what the league community as a whole thought of him; I had the privilege of sitting shotgun with a living legend, and if the Yeti couldn’t recognize that, that was their problem. He chuckled to himself and gave another thoughtful reply: “if you know anything about the Colorado Yeti, you know not every legend there is a good one.”
I then reminded him that he wasn’t alone; Ashley Owens and Thor Kirkby were making their first trips back to Colorado since being traded to New York as well. He smiled at the mention of the duo; “those two, they’re two of the best in this business. I’m thankful to still be playing alongside them at this stage of my career”. We spent the rest of the drive discussing some of the players he’d had the privilege of playing alongside in his career. “I’ve had the great privilege of playing with some of the all-time greats,” he said with a smile. “Mo Berry and Tony Gabagool, they’re both players who in my opinion belong in the Hall. Steco Ocewilder, Immanuel Blackstone, I had extremely good fortune in who lined up next to me here. Plus, players like Louisiana Purchase, Pete Parker, hell even Rotticus Scott, those are the types of players you want to have your back as a defensive lineman. And obviously offense ain’t my specialty anymore, but hard to ignore players like Richard Gilbert and William Lim, and harder still to ignore the likes of Mo Magic and Greedy Sly”.
I jokingly asked Bubba how he felt about the possibility of sacking Caliban; he laughed, and then settled in before giving a response, “obviously I’ve made my living hitting the quarterback, and I’m not going to try any less to hit Caliban. That’s my bread and butter, and I’m good at it. But I’m also not the type of person to just walk away from a dropped quarterback, and I’m going to afford Caliban the same courtesy if I hit him. If he hits the ground because of me, I’m going to be the one helping him back to his feet, otherwise I can’t justify hitting him again. Except maybe Wolfie; I probably could have justified hitting him again”. We laughed together, and Bubba finished his thought, “my one disappointment is that I’ll never be able to sack Wolfie and have it count”.
We pulled into the parking lot of the evening’s restaurant of choice, the Ginger Pig, and I was happy to see the recognition in the faces of the people of Denver; this was Bubba Thumper, the big man was home. Bubba had barely even left his seat before the Yeti fans swarmed him, excited to see the former champion returning home, and Bubba gladly greeted the fans, taking every picture, signing every autograph, etc. This was the welcome I had counted on, and the welcome he had hoped for; the state of Colorado was glad to see their star come home, and he was overjoyed to be there.
I asked Bubba over a plate of char siu how it felt to be home. He smiled, a goofy grin I had come to love, and said to me, “if there’s one thing I love as much as the sport of football, it has to be the state of Colorado”. And I understood him; he gave his all for the Silverbacks, but to him, that was just a day job. This state, these people, were the ones who gave him a home, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to give them a show in his return.