The Fellowship of Madness

I love living in Tulsa. I have visited many different towns and cities in our fine country, but I have to call one place "home," and that one place for me is Tulsa. I love it 365 days a year, but one in particular.

The second Friday of March Madness is time to gather at Doug's house. Doug opens his home to a bunch of guys who have a couple of ties: Most of us went to St. James United Methodist Church together in the 1980s. We all like basketball, but not all like the same teams. And all of us love to eat.

So tomorrow night I will wait in my driveway for Mike D. to swing by and pick me up in his late mom's 1985 Honda. I'll toss my food contribution into the backseat, strap in, and away we go.

Well, we don't go far. Doug lives about ten minutes away, and that's if Mike takes the wrong turn into Doug's neighborhood, which has been known to happen. Mike and I are usually the first ones to arrive. One year, we even beat Doug. It turned out that Doug's daughter was in a basketball playoff game and was running late. We figured that was Doug's personal problem and was not to deter us from our goal: good seats in front of the TV before the others arrived.

We used to be banished, er, assigned by Doug's gracious wife, Cheryl, to an upstairs room that had a TV, a bench press, some metal folding chairs, and three beanbags. It was our goal to get the beanbags. Four hours of sitting in a metal chair takes a bit of the joy out of the evening, but only just a little. But last year Doug had gone uptown--he bought a big screen TV and set it in his living room. Lots of comfortable seats and much closer to the food.

The food. Everyone brings something, There is no coordination of effort to assure we hit all the food groups. Some years all we have are bags of chips. Other years it's all desserts. Dr. Tim, a dentist, usually brings the best desserts. Drumming up business? We don't care. Scotty brings the same things every year: A box of ho-hos and a bag of Twizzlers. One year Scotty was in South America teaching a class on oil well management and missed the party. But his daughter came by my house with a grocery bag on Friday afternoon.

"This is from my dad for tonight's party at Doug's," she said. Inside the bag: a box of ho-hos and a bag of Twizzlers. Scott is a good man.

Dave is also consistent in his offering. A few years ago at the Tulsa State Fair, Dave wandered into a tent where some guy was demonstrating a powerful blender. The man was shoving all kinds of fruit into the pitcher and grinding it to a thick liquid state.

"This machine makes perfect fruit smoothies--a delicious and nutritious way to start your day."

Dave had never seen such a machine, but he knew he could not live without it. Somehow he talked Clair into letting him buy the thing. Ever since, Dave comes to Doug's armed with the powerful Fair Blender and an bag of fresh fruit. By halftime we have fresh fruit smoothies--which help wash down the cookies, chips and dip we have been feasting on.

Two or three years ago, Dave missed the party to take his son camping with the Boy Scouts. He caught crap from the rest of us for a year, and I don't think he will repeat the same mistake again.

I already know that Kalin will be bringing guacamole and chips. Now the secret to great guacamole is to serve it fresh. By fresh I mean minutes, not hours, old. The guac that he brought last year was so good I swear Kalin mixed it up on the hood of his car just before he walked in the door.

We watch two complete basketball games. Well, two games are on, and our eyes are looking at the TV, but we usually find some interesting topics to discuss. Suffice it to say that we solve all of the world's problems in one evening. All. For four hours on a Friday night in March, everything is as it should be.

Unless, of course, Dave goes camping.