"Nothing to it," said Stewart.
A 40-mph tail wind speeded the journey home. The players dipped into snack bags of sandwiches, milk and apples, and slowly wound down. Despite his bad night, Kennedy did not brood. He had rejoiced with the players at the finish, pounding backs and pumping hands, and did not sulk on the ride home. "I hate it when a guy sulks because he hasn't done well, even though the team wins," he said.
The lights of Kansas prairie towns bled into the lights of Missouri prairie towns. The team was received at the Columbia Regional Airport by a small delegation of relatives huddled in the hangar office.
"When the football team came home from beating Alabama, the road to the airport was so jammed you couldn't get here if you wanted to," Kennedy said.
"Everybody's probably home studying," Kim Anderson said, smiling.
"That's all right, tomorrow night's Face Time," said Van Rheen.
One block south of Broadway in downtown Columbia, at 10th Street, virtually under the same roof, are the La Cantina d'Italia restaurant, the Harvest Moon restaurant (conceded to be the best in town) and a sprawling, low-slung disco lounge with wooden accents called Harpo's. On any Thursday night, Harpo's is the dead center for the consumption of draft and bottled beer. Harpo's features unlive entertainment (tapes, a radio), an obscure fireplace, pinball and bowling machines, Tiffany lamps and a 50� drink called a Mau Mau. None of these is the principal attraction. Thursday night is Face Time at Harpo's, the appointed hour for a massive exchange of check-outs: J-schoolers in their Woody's wear, Ag-schoolers in their pointed boots, athletes in their motley styles, lady professors in their tight jeans—they all crowd in by nine, all the seats and booths taken and the waitresses lost in a hive of table-hoppers and minglers.
"Hey, Jimbo, where's the chicks?"
"Hey, Moose, you're sweating."