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Bluejays get a step back to analyze where they’re at.

NCAA Basketball: Gonzaga at Creighton Steven Branscombe-USA TODAY Sports

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Odds & Ends

I know this is a complete waste of a sub-header because there won’t be a line on this game but for consistency purposes I added it in. Please skip this portion of the story and continue reading. Thank you for caring.

Do not gamble on sports or else someone cool is going to kick your ass and take your ill-gotten gains.

Series History

Creighton has an undefeated record against Coe College, winning two against the Kohawks in the year of our lord 1928.

In January a fiesty Coe squad welcomed the Bluejays to Cedar Rapids and dang near pulled the upset, but lost 40-36. On the return trip in December of that calendar year, Coe met their match, and got ran out of the building as the boys in white and blue won 35-18.

Verba de Ludis


When Williston Jones first set his eyes on the east bank of the Cedar River he nearly wept. He had visions of this moment. Visions that came to him when his eyes were closed on a sweet summer day in northern Illinois. Visions that came to him when he’d chewed too much coca plant with Abe Lincoln. Visions that left him in a state of mental paralysis, knowing he’d never be whole until he embraced the fine soil that butted up against a majestic sliver of aqua.

Williston had plans. They were grandiose. Spectacular. Plans that featured a small militia of men that were in search of great profits.

When Williston was able to gather raw materials to build a dwelling suitable for himself and his unruly gang of raccoons he built a mansion that would make any east coast elite shake their fist in anger. Adorned with a gorgeous parlor with an adjoining guest house, Williston manufactured an impressive library with books he’d never read, for he was illiterate. He just liked to smell them.

“This,” Williston pondered in the parlor, “will be a meeting place of great minds seeking straight cash.”

Unsure of how to actually turn a profit, Williston sought the help of a farmer from down the road. The farmer was a man of simple means but his farm featured a bronze statue of a barn that was an exact replica of the barn directly west of it. This was a sign of great wealth but very poor ideas. The malicious grifter had found his mark.

bronze barn with regular barn

Williston approached the farm with caution, knowing farmers could be armed with angry words or guns, and knocked gently on the front door of the rancher’s home.

“Who dun tappa the door,” a trembling voice inquired from the dark hovel.

“It is I, the great Williston Jones, and I’m here to ask you for advice!”

A long, pregnant pause rippled across the adjacent cornfield. Beads of sweat slipped down Williston’s face and pooled on his dirty collar in the unbearable summer heat.

A face that’d seen a lifetime of sun exposure and fights with possums turned from around the corner, revealing a man brandishing a yam like a six-shooter aimed head-level at Williston, ready to fire at any moment.

“Mighty fine weapon you’ve got there partner,” Williston yelled in an obscene tone, the sweat from his scalp now creating a reservoir of fear and moisture on his chest, hysteria beginning to creep into his psyche. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

The farmer immediately burst into a smile. “Oh shoo, yeah fella, apologies for the pew pew, I know not how to fire but know how to hold! Whassa your name?”

“Name’s Williston Jones! What’s yours?”

The farmer pointed to a photo of himself hanging on the wall behind him.

“That’s me. Danny Coe. Good to looka your eyes fella.”

Daniel Coe, literate

The two talked for about two hours, with Williston on the offensive from the moment he was allowed into Coe’s home. Coe wasn’t a great speaker but was well read and an excellent listener. He listened to Williston plead for money. He listened to Williston beg for a chance and then a second chance. He listened to Williston negotiate himself down to nothing, then try to re-negotiate for more than he initially requested. He listened to Williston’s plan to form an educational institution with an emphasis on churning out good Christian boys who’d seek profits at all costs. He listened and said very little.

Between Williston’s pleas and short spurts of sobbing sprees, Coe pondered. He pondered about the future of Cedar Rapids and how it can grow and become a leader in industry during the industrial revolution. He thought a lot about his cornfield and the potential uses of it. He thought about his bronze statue of his barn in front of his regular barn.

Eventually, Coe decided to promise Williston a lump sum of cash with the condition that he force his students to learn to farm.

Williston looked longingly out the window at the donkeys, horses, and mules grazing in the pasture near the bronze barn statue, sighed, and agreed to the terms. Coe promised the funds would be arriving shortly from his banker in western New York.

Williston Jones just made his first profit.


Beatrice Melvin had never been west of Buffalo before.

The daughter of a banker, she had the wealth to pursue her own interests, attend college, and marry another rich banker to double her wealth.

Instead, she enjoyed a life of crime and science. She called it crimence and her father absolutely hated crimence. He said she was the product of the devil and regularly banished her to Canada.

The one thing that Beatrice and her father had in common was their collective love for the game of townball. They enjoyed attending games and hollering insults at those snooty ballplayers from Albany. Had it not been for Beatrice’s love of statistical analysis and pickpocketing, she might have had a future in owning a baseball franchise.

Instead, she was sent on a mission to deliver funds to a small Iowa town called Cedar Rapids. Her father entrusted her with $2,500 that was requested by a farmer named Daniel Coe. Beatrice sewed the cash into her petticoat, hopped on a stagecoach headed west, and bid farewell to all the suckers she’d pilfered for the past decade.

Beatrice made sure she brought essential tools for the road: an inanimate carbon rod, an inverted microscope she stole from some rube from Louisiana, five ‘D’ batteries that she could huck at passersby, and an electric saddle that was capable of sending 50,000 volts into an ordinary mule and supposedly power it to become faster than any Kentucky thoroughbred.

electric mule

The journey forced Beatrice and her driver, a washed-up inventor named Jon Couch, into the city of Cleveland. While in Cleveland the two enjoyed some Cuyahoga River Moonshine, a spirit so potent that it caught on fire at random intervals and killed more than it intoxicated.

This fueled the two for quite some time. Beatrice managed to steal quite a few jugs of the gasoline-like substance and stowed it in the back of the stagecoach. With no real ability to control the horses and a deadline that wasn’t all that pressing, the two meandered about aimlessly.

When the stagecoach reached the outskirts of Toldeo the two settled in for the evening. As Beatrice slept, Jon continued pounding moonshine. He’d become enamored with the dangerous concoction and soon became so belligerent he attempted to fight his horses.

The horses, named Sven and Boatwright, teamed up to push Jon into a flooded creek. Jon’s lifeless body caught fire and floated down the creek, leaving Beatrice alone to traverse the rest of the journey solo with two very cunning equines pushing on.


Williston Jones needed his army of profiteers.

Without them, he’s nothing. He needed supporters and like-minded individuals but in a city on the grow he had slim pickings.

He visited the saloon, but the folks were too old and drunk on shine. He visited the day school, but he only found children learning how to make shine.

When Williston visited the church he was met with an all male 17-piece choir that sang songs about a mule fueled by God’s love that could run faster than the speed of light. This piqued Williston’s interest a great deal.

“Hello young men!” Williston hollered.

“Hello young man!” the choir sang back.

Williston Jones, illiterate

“What is it that you boys are singing about?”

In unison the choir replied, “We’re singing about the prophet of course! The excessive prophet! The quick prophet! The prophet of our dreams!”

Williston’s hands became sopped with sweat as he’d found the right set of guys to acquire currency. He thought to himself, “boy howdy these boys want profits as much as I do!”

Williston choked on his words as he tried to explain the plan he’d set into motion to form a college just down the road, one that sought this similarly sounding but very different profit. Before he could finish the seventeen guys exchanged excited glances and agreed to become the first students of what they’d believed to be a religious seminary.

The pack of eighteen marched down the road to Williston’s raccoon-infested abode and settled in as the first curriculum was drawn up.

They slaved over ideas all night. Williston told his students about the substantial loan coming from Danny Coe, that they’d be able to erect buildings and grow crops soon enough. Most importantly, they’d be able to receive the profit they’d been waiting for.

In the wee hours of the evening, just before bed, there was a unanimous decision on the name of the school:

The School of the Profits Prophets

Just as the night broke into dawn, a man named George Carroll strolled up to the guest house riding one of Danny Coe’s prized mules. Carroll was a noted horse thief and had recently been ousted from the choir. Drunk on shine, Carroll was going to get his revenge.


Beatrice awoke to the sound of steamboats squatting on the Mississippi River. Sven and Boatwright made great progress through the night without the excess weight of Jon holding them back.

The passage through Davenport was quick and seamless. Their arrival in Cedar Rapids was less than a day away.

As the stagecoach crossed over Cedar Bluff, just about an hour southeast of Cedar Rapids, our lovely party was ambushed by moonshine traders. The traders took Sven hostage and prompted Beatrice to exit the stagecoach with no weapons and especially no high-brow talk of making peace in the robbery.

Beatrice exited but had an excellent bargaining chip in the jug of Cuyahoga River Moonshine. The traders, coming from the west, had never heard of this ultra-special concoction.

“Would you ladies like to try a taste of Cleveland’s finest?” Beatrice inquired.

“Hey now, we told you no east coast peace treaties! This is the wild west where everything is chaos and nothing makes sense,” one of the bandits shot back.

“Yeah, but you haven’t had shine like this. Gather round, take a swig of the swill and see if your stature squirms after a simple sip,” Beatrice pleaded.

A tense situation soon devolved into a friendly chat about the burning notes the shine left on the back of everyone’s palate, the chemical aftertaste becoming an agreed upon strength of the awful swill, the bandits soon warming to Beatrice’s charms, and her knowledge of townball took them over, hook-line-and-sinker.

When the blackout hit the bandits within an hour, their central nervous systems collectively shutting off, Beatrice robbed each bandit, stole the barrels of moonshine they hid in the brush, retrieved Sven from their capture, and dashed out of the bluffs like a bat out of hell.

To celebrate, Beatrice drank from the loot she’d acquired, became extremely intoxicated, and upon the approach to Cedar Rapids, took hold of the reigns right at dawn.

The stagecoach barrelled into town with reckless abandon.

As she approached Williston’s home she lost complete control. Williston heard the ruckus and headed outdoors, finding George Carroll dismounting a mule and brandishing a very small yam.

Danny Coe wasn’t too far behind. He had a much bigger yam and much angrier words to yell.

With the chaotic scene unfolding the choir boys planted themselves at the windows of Williston’s guest house to watch the drama unfold. The raccoons joined them.

Sven and Boatwright came to a complete halt before the collision occurred with the mule, sending Beatrice, her electric saddle, microscope, batteries, carbon rod, and Cuyahoga shine through the air. All that was left in the stagecoach was Beatrice’s petticoat, which got caught on a nail.

Williston knew he had to act fast. If he managed to save the mule he might be able to gain more favor with Coe which would in turn increase his profits. He stepped in front of the mule, got hit in the face with the ‘D’ batteries, the saddle landing on his back, sending 50,000 volts through him, and the inanimate carbon rod smacking him directly between the eyes.

Beatrice landed softly on the back of the mule. Drunk but safe.

Then the Cuyahoga River Moonshine and microscope made impact with the ground simultaneously, creating a gigantic electric explosion.

When the smoke cleared, the mule, the woman, and the very greedy man had...



Mike Lowell just finished his third cup of cold brew coffee.

In just under five hours he’ll be playing third base for the Miami Marlins in a regular season tilt against the Arizona Diamondbacks.

He thought it was going to be a regular Tuesday night. His Marlins are still in contention, the Diamondbacks have fallen out of the NL West race, and he’s full of caffeine - the real performance enhancing drug.

He thought it was going to be a regular Tuesday. He was lying to himself.

This was going to be an exceptional Tuesday.

As Mike walked to his car across the street he was met with a loud bang, followed by the distinct odor of jet fuel. In a bright flash, a woman and a mule appeared before his eyes.

So as it turns out, the combination of all those things that occurred back in 1853 created a tear in the space-time continuum, bringing Beatrice, the mule, and Williston 152 years into the future.

Their existence in this world was futile. Well, for Williston at least.

Williston immediately devolved into hysterics and panic and got hauled off to the looney bin. He lived out the rest of his days receiving zero profits and getting spoon fed tapioca pudding.

Beatrice fared rather well, especially in 2005. She got herself some JNCO jeans and a Big Dogs t-shirt, some Dada supremes with spinners in the ankles, realized that the time-traveling mule could make her some serious coin, and coasted through time like it was going out of style.

She saw the pyramids get built, the Roman empire rise and fall, the American empire rise and fall, and of course she saw some cool space stuff like [REDACTED].

Yet it was on this day, August 10th, 2005, that she decided to try to impact history. Before she was a mere observer to the throes of history, vowing never to intervene.

Now, she had a mission.

She was going to stop Mike Lowell from executing a hidden ball trick against her great-great-great-great-great nephew’s baseball team.

Beatrice approached Mike Lowell outside the coffee shop and told him it’d be in his best interest not to perform any trickery that night. Lowell, taken aback, assured her he wouldn’t be up to no good.

She didn’t believe him.

She bought a ticket directly behind the Diamondback bench. In-between every inning she yelled at her distant relative and told him to expect a hidden ball trick by Lowell in the 8th inning.

She got no response from the bench. She hoped she did all she could.

Let’s see how it played out:

I guess you really can’t change history, huh?


Daniel Coe ended up taking the money that was left behind and invested it into the school. It was a while after his death that it started making a profit, but at least his legacy lives on in his bronze statue of his barn. Oh and they named the college after him.

George Carroll kept stealing horses until he fell in love with one and married it.

The seventeen kids in the choir ended up writing classic songs like, “Mo Bamba” “Mambo No. 5” and the entire first edition of NOW MUSIC.

Beatrice Melvin found out the hard way that she can’t change history and she’s also immortal. Watch for her every now and then, you might see her and her magic mule.

The End

Song of the Day - $4 Vic / Nothing But Me And You - El-P