The effect is deliberate and manages to feel oddly authentic instead of kitschy. When the Little Pub Co. bought the building as it was slated for demolition, they completely gutted it and started from scratch. But they wanted it to retain an old neighborhood bar vibe. Employees and family members have been carving their names into the walls and booths, and vintage photos of them hang in the spaces between the retro signage.

There’s no table service, so we grabbed a booth and studied the chalkboard menu before heading back to the counter to order. Having heard good things about the barbecue, we both ordered combination plates, one with brisket and hot links, and one with brisket and pulled pork. Three homemade sauces are offered: a Kansas sweet, a tangy mustard vinegar and a smoky chipotle. The bar serves up old school beers in cans and a few newer standards on tap. I got a Shiner Bock in a can just for the novelty.

The place was smattered with an odd mix of clientele: A guy in work clothes played rounds of video golf by himself in between bites of his chicken wings (smoked instead of fried—a specialty of the house); a woman decked out in designer knock offs flirted with the friendly bartender; a skinny white guy dressed exactly like LL Cool J circa 1992 and his friend ordered another round.

As soon as they called our order up, we dug into the enormous portions. Corn on the cob, perfect fried okra and killer baked beans rounded out our platters. But the meat did nothing to compete with the sides: It was barely room temperature and surprisingly fatty. While the mustard vinegar sauce, became more and more appealing the more we ate, the other sauces lacked noteworthy qualities. In fact, I found myself wishing I had just ordered a bunch of side dishes, which is never a good sign at a barbecue joint.

But the crowds dig The Old Man—which is something that needs to be noted. The place is usually filled with happy drinkers and diners. Surely, the patio and volleyball courts will only get more popular as the summer goes on.

That’s just how it goes. Restaurants and bars are more than just eating and drinking establishments. They are cultural institutions where we meet friends and make friends, celebrate and commiserate and, yes, even remember what life was like in 1987.

The Old Man
Two Stars
4381 W. 120th Ave., Broomfield
720.536.4821
Bottom Line: Fun atmosphere, but the food leaves something to be desired.

[What’s Next] With construction underway, we wait to see what other businesses come aboard before passing judgment on the new development plan.

“They (screwed) me over,” Andriese says of Riddell.

He has reason to be cranky. He’s been commuting four hours each way from Aspen every weekend to make practice for two and a half months, but he still doesn’t have pads or a helmet. A former defensive back at Grand Valley State in Michigan, he’s itching to hit somebody again. He thinks the Dawgs, who will play their inaugural season in the minor league Colorado Football League this summer, will give him that chance.

But it hasn’t been easy so far.

“Commuting sucks,” Andriese says, sidling up to the pickup filled with the pads that offer so much promise. “But I have my whole life to build a career. How much longer do I have to play ball? Hey, if you know anybody who needs a property manager down here, let me know.”

But high hopes that the equipment snafu has been settled are blowing away like the burger wrappers that tumble across the tilted kids’ soccer fields behind the massive, still expanding Life Fellowship Family Bible Church, where the team holds practice.

The rep, a sour-faced, lanky guy who warns everyone to keep their distance—“I’ve got a bad virus,” he says—has only brought four helmets and two sets of pads. Not even close to the team’s order, according to the ever quotable defensive coordinator Rich “Redbeard” Leamon, 55.

Worse, Andriese’s helmet is too tight, and the rep hasn’t brought the $295 pads he ordered.

Redbeard kneels on the asphalt, looking only slightly less defeated than New York Giants quarterback Y.A. Tittle in that legendary 1964 photo after a loss to the Steelers.

“This equipment thing is turning into a cluster….,” growls Redbeard after the Riddell rep insists the order is right. “Do you have the paperwork?”

No, says the rep. He’ll have to go home to look for it.

•••

As Dawgs’ general manager Eric Chacon, 38, is fond of saying, welcome to workingman’s football.

Welcome to a game in which regular guys with tolerant wives and girlfriends cling to fading gridiron dreams, paying $190 each (“But you get to keep the home and away jerseys,” Chacon notes) for the privilege of participating in legalized battery.

By day, the men who make up the Dawgs serve as personal trainers, sporting good sales managers, car salesmen and landscapers. There’s even a ceramic glazer and a fifth-grade teacher. A few days a week, they get to transform from professionals to boys playing ball.

“I love the contact,” says Elliott Thompson, 27, who played at Denver’s Thomas Jefferson High School. He sat on the bench for four years at UCLA and played with the CFL Denver Pirates before joining the Dawgs. “I do it because where else but football can you? You can’t get angry and hit the boss. But”—he waves a hand vaguely toward the field—“I can hit him.”

Officially, the Dawgs are run by GM Chacon and his best friend of 15 years, head coach Adam Scully, 35. Chacon only played junior-high ball at Frederick Junior/Senior High School, but notes, “I’m a big fan.” Scully played in high school back east, and spent the 2000 season with the Mile High Eagles semi-pro club.

But if you’re measuring by charisma, volume and for lack of a better term, recruiting, the Dawgs are Redbeard’s outfit. Perpetually tilted forward as if his lower vertebrae are filled with broken glass, pot-bellied, weather-beaten, funny and un-P.C.—Howard Stern is a piker, in comparison—you hate to walk away from him, afraid that you’re going to miss the next pithy quote.

Redbeard played schoolboy football in Brooklyn, N.Y., and attracted enough attention to win a scholarship at Ivy League Penn.

“But I didn’t want to play with a bunch of (pansies),” he says, his true language unfit to print. He wanted to play for powerhouse Penn State.

His words are salty, but he can’t seem to help himself. And you believe him when he says he holds no prejudices. He just means that if the Quakers of Penn lined up against the powerhouse Nittany Lions, the U.N. might have to declare genocide.

But before JoePa (Penn State’s legendary coach) could come calling, Redbeard was drafted and sent to Vietnam. After returning home, he eventually suited up for the Red Raiders of Texas Tech, but by his own admission was a benchwarmer.

He went into coaching, at Adams City and Skyview (Thornton) high schools, then was head coach for the defunct CFL Red Raiders.

And now the Dawgs are Redbeard’s boys. The team is built mostly with alumni from Skyview High and the Red Raiders, with a smattering of players from other local minor league teams, a few newbies and guys who’ve played indoor ball. We’re not talking about that Arena Football League, the one with owners like John Elway and Jon Bon Jovi; to the Dawgs that off-off-Broadway league looms as awesomely as NFL does for high-school kids.

Still, Redbeard loves them all.

When a player finishes a play with a shoulder injury, he hollers for his second-string quarterback, Ely Aungst, 22. He is a short, polite, blue-eyed kid who played for Redbeard at Skyview before doing a recent hitch as a Navy field medic in Iraq.

“I’m not good with shoulders,” Redbeard says, and for now, Aungst is the closest thing the Dawgs have to a trainer. “If somebody shot you, he could take care of that.”
Aungst takes a look, but can’t offer much help. He downplays his service to the nation in Iraq, seeming grateful to have been stationed at a naval base there, where playing pickup football was the only violent action he saw.

John Byrd, 38, is one of the few Dawgs who can claim to have made a living playing football, in the National Indoor Football League and United Indoor Football League, whose teams play for small crowds across the Midwest. He reels off the names of teams that even the most die-hard football fans probably never heard of like he’s ticking off a list of morning chores: the Fargo Freeze, Madison Mad Dogs, Sioux City Bandits, Tri-City (Nebraska) Diesel….

•••

“Don’t touch the quarterback at all! We ain’t got a (whole) bunch of ’em this year,” Byrd shouts, watching a scrimmage on field. He turns his gentle, icy blue eyes back to the conversation. “Listen, I did it all backwards.”

He played one year in high school at Cheyenne East, then went to the University of Wyoming. He isn’t specific, but hints that he was too immature to succeed in an environment where there was “a code of conduct, and you actually have to do what people say. You don’t question. I wasn’t mentally prepared to play football.”

He left UW and wound up playing for the Cowboys’ archrival, the Colorado State Rams, in Fort Collins, where he had more success.

From there, he just wanted to keep playing, and make a living at it. He earned a modest living playing indoor ball, bouncing around from one little-known squad to another. He received $200 per game, a motel room and a few meals. He was even able to afford a “fully furnished, two-bedroom” house for himself and his family.

He wasn’t being watched by millions, maybe, but he was doing what he loved best.

It wasn’t until the birth of his oldest son, now 8, that Byrd says he really got it: Football might be fun, but it’s also work.

“Once Javian was born, it became a job. My wife and I worked hard at me being a paid, professional football player,” Byrd says in a velvety voice you’d never expect from a defensive back who hits hard enough for the victim’s mother to feel the pain.

But he retired from play-for-pay in 2007 to become a recording studio engineer, and now, “I’m out here at age 38 because this is fun, period,” he says, nodding. Not too much pressure; no more packing up the wife and kids to relocate to another drab, cold, backward burg. “I was late today, and didn’t nobody says (crap)! They were all just, ‘Hey, how you doin’?’”

His wife makes a good living, Byrd says, and now he just wants to help his three kids “get to college and get a degree.”

•••

When the weather is decent, a few supportive wives and girlfriends will swing by practice and toss a blanket on the brown-green spring grass. Moms keep one eye on the Dawgs at work and play, the other on squealing kids, while girlfriends push up their already short shorts to take full advantage of the Colorado spring sun.

“It’s still exciting for me,” says Lori Garcia, 32, who is here to watch her boyfriend, defensive captain and long-time CFL veteran Michael Bracken. “For a lot of guys, this is their last hurrah.”

Garcia and Ava Martin, 39, who’s here to watch her friend Ronald Cothran, look at each other and crack up, as if they know something that the hopped-up, sweating Dawgs don’t.

“Mike is limited now,” Garcia says, sounding as certain as a coach at a post-game press conference. “I’ve put him on the two-year plan, and then that’s it.”

At the other end of the spectrum from experienced players like Byrd and Bracken is Mike Vigil. The 24-year-old Thornton High grad played peewee junior high football, but developed Osgood-Schlatter, an overuse disease that causes near-crippling pain in the knee joints of kids.

“I love football, but I’ve been nine years out,” says Vigil, now a ceramic glazer, sounding grim. “I want to play halfback, but I’ve never carried the ball before. But I’m out here going for anything. I just want to play again.”

At 5′8″ and 220 pounds (“They’re all the same size I am,” he declares defiantly. “If you’ve got pads on, you don’t get hurt.”), it’s all but inevitable that when he sees some action, the coaches plunk him and his low center of gravity on the offensive line. Playing right guard, he spends a few plays looking around for somebody to hit, then heads back to the sideline.

While many of the more experienced players shout out testosterone-fueled jokes, liberally drop F-bombs and horse around like high schoolers who still think life is about getting laid and playing ball, Vigil stands apart, stoic as a Marine, blond hair pressed to his skull with sweat, casting a steely, unfocused gaze across the field. Somewhere out there is a dream.

“If I can get myself in shape,” he murmurs, “I want to try out for the Colorado Crush (the Denver-based Arena Football League owned by former Bronco hero John Elway).”

•••

Then there’s Thung “Tom” Khamsitthisack, who discovered the Dawgs after soccer practice one day. The 38-year-old father works as a supervisor for a medical supply company. He’s slight, almost elfin, 5′5″ in a pinch. Always smiling. He never played a down of football before handing over $190 for the privilege of playing for the Dawgs, but he betrays no doubts that he can achieve that uber-American male dream of becoming a football hero.

“I saw them in practice and asked to try out,” he says. “My speed is good: 4.3 or 4.4 (seconds, in the 40-yard dash). I’ve got good hands. I burned (Coach Scully’s) best cornerback.”

When Khamsitthisack lines up (padless; he left his gear in Coach Scully’s truck, and so far this practice, the coach is AWOL) with the other, bigger receivers to take passes from quarterback Jason Burch, he looks like what he is: a city-league soccer player and Tae Kwon Do expert.

But sure enough, when he takes off, he blazes his pattern. It’s catching that’s giving him trouble. After he drops his second ball, Burch gives him a shout of encouragement.

“Hey, Tom, maybe you should slow down so you don’t make everyone else look like crap!”
Other players murmur that this strike of Laotian lightning better slow down if he doesn’t want to blow his hammy for good. He pulled it a couple weeks ago, and violet-yellow bruises still streak his leg from knee to buttock.

“It’s OK. I’m about 65 percent,” Khamsitthisack says. “They wanted me to look at kicking, but I don’t want to kick no more. I just want to play football.”

•••

About halfway through practice on this given Sunday, GM Chacon hustles across the field to spread some kick-ass news: “We just signed a guy who was just released from the (NFL’s Seattle) Seahawks.”

That guy is Kevin Prosser, 29, a Gateway High School grad who played running back at Northern Colorado. He doesn’t have pads yet, but Chacon is trying to scrape together enough gear to let him suit up. The excited GM wants to see what the pro can do.

“This is just so I can keep myself together. You’ve got to keep yourself up,” Prosser says, waiting for a helmet and shoulder pads. “But I just love the game. As long as these are guys who are committed, who love the game, I’ll play with any of them.”

Prosser rather modestly suggests that his time with the Kansas City Chiefs, the Tennessee Titans, the Seahawks and the Barcelona Dragons (of the NFL’s defunct European league) “paid the bills.” A deep trawl through Google—admittedly not the final word, despite its reputation—nets his name on stats for the Eastside Hawks of the semi-pro North American Football League in 2004 but not in association with any of the NFL squads he says he played for. Other Dawgs are casting sidelong glances at the pro, with equal parts skepticism, hope and pugnaciousness. They’re not gonna be intimidated by any NFL dude, and of course, if he’s good….

Eventually, Prosser pulls on pads, helmet and a Nebraska Cornhuskers jersey. His attire fits since everyone is sporting a hodgepodge of gear. Some are clad in bare pads, others sport high-school colors to and some wear semi-pro team shirts—red, black, blue, white, you name it.

After a few ho-hum plays, Prosser reels off a 25-yarder, but the truth is, James and bowling-ball back Jay Wright, 29, do just as much or more damage out of the backfield during this scrimmage.

•••

Wright’s teeth are covered in gold, and he’s in there giving high-fives and chattering even when other players are getting reps. Like everyone on the field, he just loves the game.

“Yes, coach?” says the former Manual High star, when I approach him for questions—it appears names and faces are still a blur, 10 weeks in. “Yeah, this offense is kind of built for me. People don’t usually like to go with a smaller back.”

By now, it’s 4:01. Practice started late, so these dreaming Dawgs will keep playing until 4:30 or so. Andriese, the Aspen commuter, has settled for some pads he didn’t want, and donning his too-tight helmet, he’s switching out at safety with defensive captain Bracken, 38, who plays with fierce intensity and rallies the troops even from the sideline, cursing his D when they let a big play get away from them.

About that cursing. That’s just the Dawgs’ bark. Redbeard is always quick with a crude joke or bit of tangy wisdom—“You guys know what red wings are?” the coach asks, eliciting laughter and groans when he provides the answer. It’s all locker-room, all the time with this team, and that’s obviously part of the appeal.

A week earlier, Coach Scully reminded the team that kids and families were present, meaning they needed to behave. That didn’t stop team members from making jokes about “grabbing the coach’s balls” after Scully said he was missing a few footballs from an earlier practice. Moments later, after someone mentioned the Colorado Havoc, a team of Canon City prison guards (a la “The Longest Yard”) from Florence, someone dropped an F-bomb in relation to the police.

It was C.C. Losli, 37, a big-bellied, bald, very aggressive 14-year CFL O-lineman who works as a cop in Georgetown. His son Tyler, 14, serves as a kind of assistant to Redbeard, setting up cones so the beefy offensive-line crew can work on blocking patterns. To Tyler, who’ll start playing at Standley Lake High this year, the Dawgs are big time. To his dad, they’re a way to blow off steam.

“I just love the game,” Losli says. “Out here, I’m allowed to hit people.”

Normally on Sundays, the team heads up to the Fox & Hound for a little food—it’s no NFL-style banquet, but hey, it’s free—courtesy of one of Scully’s pals. But Scully still hasn’t shown up today, so the pub is off.

“Has anybody heard from him?” Redbeard bellows about halfway through the scrimmage.
But nobody’s seen the coach all day. Several players are missing, too.

“We need to start taking attendance,” Redbeard says grumpily. “What happened? Are these guys sick? Did Osama get them? Did they get picked up by the New York Giants? What the…”

With the equipment screw-up, players hanging around without pads, guys who haven’t seen any football action since junior high (or ever), you might think the Dawgs would be down.

Not a chance. They’re warriors out here, never mind that they’re going back to the grind tomorrow morning. They’re grown men, reliving boyhood dreams with every snap. Few may come to watch them play, but they’re watching each other, and that is honor and glory enough.

No coach? No problem. GM Chacon raises his hands, palms-up, and smiles.

“Adam’s gone, so Redbeard took over. You do what you have to do,” He shrugs. “That’s just what happens when it’s workingman’s football.”

The Broomfield Dawgs open the season June 7 at Mountain Range High School.

Bliss!

Imagine my crestfallen, empty stare as I was told, at 12:30 on a Tuesday, that there would be no space for me. “Really?” I whimpered. I was handed a card and urged to make a reservation for later in the week.

This, of course, I did, and came back two days later even more agog with anticipation. How does this little house on the prairie, about which I had never heard a single word, pack its dining room full of reservations, on a Tuesday? It was more than I could puzzle out; that is, until I
sat down.

On this visit, I was welcomed warmly and led to a delicate little table for two alongside one of the windows. Most of the tables are larger, anticipating groups of greater size, of which there were many on this day as well. In addition to serving lunch and dinner, after all, the Hilltop also doubles as a conference and events center and is clearly hooked in to the local business environment. Aside from the hosts and myself, I’m pretty sure everyone else wore a nametag to lunch.

This is not to say that the space is anything but the height of warmth and personality. Evocative of the most homely of Commonwealth dining rooms, the main space at Wildflowers is a study in the décor and feel of the British Isles. Decorative plates line the walls, and beautiful china and tea sets sit with panache in a half dozen or so chests and cabinets. The odd bit of lattice work and a healthy dose of plastic green ivy remind one of the unassuming and overwhelming comfort of the local pub.

So does the menu. Featuring dishes from England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland—and even finding room for, believe it or not, a vegetarian option—the docket at Wildflowers is an homage to the kind of stick-to-yer-ribs, no nonsense food that few chefs in this country have paid serious attention to.

My turning away two days earlier proved a boon. On this day, it was cold and snowy, and nothing could have been better than a pint of Tetley’s (a Yorkshire cream ale, $4.50) and a big, steaming bowl of potato and leek soup ($3.95). Served alongside a complimentary garlic and herb scone (right out of the oven), the soup, after a healthy dash of both salt and pepper, was very nice indeed. Like most of the Old Empire’s offerings, it relies on the diner to season to taste, but this should not be read as a criticism.

The same holds true for my second course, the always reliable Shepherd’s Pie (one of a series of “Londoner” pies, $8.95). Packed with ground beef, peas, mashed potatoes, tasty gravy and just a little bit of cheese, this dish was totally satisfying in its brash simplicity.

I was utterly full at this point, of course, but couldn’t steer clear of the enticing Pudding Menu, from which I chose the colorfully named Spotted Dick ($4.95), a delicious mélange of sweet spongecake, decadent pastry cream, and raisins. Alongside a pot of the ol’ black stuff (that’s tea, folks, not the Guinness), it allowed me to while away the early afternoon in grand style.

Good thing I had a reservation this time around.

Wildflowers Tea Room and Restaurant

303.469.3900
9009 Metro Airport Ave., Broomfield
Bottom line: This straightforward cuisine is not for everyone, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a friendlier or more unique dining experience in the Front Range.

What’s Next: The Dawgs scrimmage the Colorado Cobras on May 24—a preseason matchup featuring both Hnida and Mendoza. It’ll be a media circus.

So when Eric Chacon fired off an email with “Stop The Presses…:)” as the heading and described the intro to this story, I was a little apprehensive. Chacon is the general manager for the Broomfield Dawgs, a start-up minor league football team that will begin play in June.

We’d assigned a writer to find a feature about the guys who love the sport so much they’ll pay to play in a semi-pro league long after their careers should have ended.

It will be a great tale, complete with all the bumps and bruises that come with tackle football.

But then the Dawgs signed Rafael Mendoza to be their kicker. By the time our story on football dreams hits stands in June, Mendoza’s tale will be trampled on by every other news agency.

So we picked up the sexy, scandal story, too.

You may recognize the name. Mendoza was the University of Northern Colorado punter who was stabbed in his kicking leg by his backup in the fall of 2006. It made national headlines, and was northern Colorado’s Nancy and Tonya, except Mendoza and Mitch Cozad were friends prior.

“When I first got stabbed, I didn’t believe” it was him, Mendoza, a Thornton native, tells me over coffee a week ago. “The week before, I took him out to dinner.”

Mendoza agreed to talk with Yellow Scene Magazine because he felt it was time to get his side of the story out. For too long, he’s been told by others to clam up.

Mendoza lived in fear following the attack, but he used a new found closeness with his family to get through the tough times. His fiancée, Meghan Gregory, was his rock through it all.

Not wanting Cozad to get the best of him, Mendoza rushed back to the field shortly after the attack.

“I wanted to show him he couldn’t stop me,” he says. It wasn’t until his senior season this past fall—a year after that attack—that he began to find the form that left him thinking about playing well beyond college.

His last punt in a Bears’ uniform skyed 68 yards—he averaged more than 40 yards a kick throughout the 2007 season. The stabbing set him back, though, severely hampering the chance of making the pros (already a tall order before the injury).

It seems Mendoza is content if the NFL never pans out (though his agent has been in contact with the Jacksonville Jaguars). He’ll just go on living the typical life of a 23-year-old whose career was sidetracked by a stabbing. He seems to be on a good track: Mendoza coaches middle school track, works for the family demolition and brick business, and is set to be married to his college sweetheart next summer.

The only unsettled business is a simply question he wishes he could ask Cozad: “Why?”

Other than that, Mendoza’s moved on.

“I try to put everything else behind,” he says.

Yet the getting stabbed by the backup story still has some legs.

The Dawgs’ general manager truly wants the attention. Chacon needs to put butts in the seats—it costs a lot of money to run a team.

The media attention is expected to peak during a scrimmage May 24, when the Dawgs play the Colorado Cobras, who recently signed place kicker Katie Hnida, another player with a leg who made national headlines for all the wrong reasons. Hnida was a University of Colorado football player who became the center of the CU football recruiting and sex scandal when she claimed she was raped by a teammate and mistreated in general.

“It is going to be a big media thing,” Mendoza says of the Hnida vs. Mendoza storylines that will be all the rage of local news following the game. “I’m used to it. It’ll just be an everyday thing.”

That’s kind of the sad part of this story, the fact that this story has become an “everyday” occurrence for Mendoza. Prior to the attack, Mendoza was making the transition from a rugby style kicker to the types pro scouts drool over—majestically arching boots that give the coverage team time to make a tackle.

Then Cozad decided he wanted the job—at all costs. On Sept. 11, 2006, he attacked his teammate in a parking lot, striking a nerve in Mendoza’s leg.

Cozad is serving a seven-year sentence for second-degree assault, and anytime someone contacts Mendoza, he is stuck wondering if he’s getting a call because of that fateful night.

Mendoza has permanent loss in flexibility and cannot sit for too long without feeling discomfort. Behind the physical restraints, it’s going to be tough to erase some of the doubts that every chance he is offered is based on the stabbing and not on merit.

“That was always my goal, try to further my career and make it somewhere…now I’m the punter that got stabbed,” he says.

To be honest, he seems able to deal with it all, so long as he gets to wear shoulder pads and play football—even if it is in the relative obscurity of Broomfield Dawgs minor league football.

“I love football,” he says. “I love playing, and if I never get a shot, I’m still going to find a way to play football.”

His lair migrates from section to section of the third level of the Pepsi Center. But the cost of the seats never changes.

They are five bucks apiece.

When you consider that I have found 75-cent parking a short walk from the arena, I have been watching one of the best teams in the NBA for 50 cents less than it costs to buy a beer in the concourse.

One of Carmelo Anthony’s socks costs more than I’m paying to attend games. And it’s all thanks to the largesse of the Nuggets.

Rocky’s Den tickets are not available for every game (call 303.405.1100 on game
day for availability, if they are, purchase them in person after noon).

Certain teams and players have enough drawing power that robust pre-game sales shut down the den. For instance, if you want to see the Lakers and Kobe for five bucks, forget it. But I did see LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers for a fiver.

Midweek games are your best bet. So, of course, are teams with losing records. But with determination and a lunch hour, you can be a live witness to Melo’s slashing drives to the basket and Allen Iverson’s incomparable cross-over dribble.

Of course, “view” is a relative term. Sitting a few rows from the court at a recent Colorado 14ers game at the Broomfield Event Center, Walt and Bobbi Spader sum up just what I might be missing.

“You’re up close,” Walt, a Broomfield City councilman, says of his season tickets to watch the Nuggets’ developmental team. “You get to hear the conversations between the players and the refs and the players and the coaches.”

“Sometimes,” Walt’s wife, Bobbi, chimes in, “I can scream at the refs and they can hear me.”
“It’s so much better being next to the floor,” says Jim Miller of Westminster, who on this night has brought his 2-year-old son, Cole. Cole is just mesmerized.

Ask Kim Wright what she expects to see at a 14ers game in the Event Center as opposed to the Nuggets’ games and she says, simply: “The players.”

“At the 14ers games,” Manuel Soto acknowledges, “you can see people get a lot more physical. Obviously, it’s a lot better.”

And perhaps a tad more familiar.

Across the arena, down by the court, Quincy Hayes and Donald Chiles cheer on their favorite 14er, former Denver East star Keniel Dickens. Nearby, Dickens’ dad, Keith, watches, too.

Down here you see the speed of the game. And you can even offer helpful tips to the players. As the 14ers line up for a foul shot, Chiles locks eyes with Dickens, who is roughly 65 feet away.

“Turn it up; turn it up,” Chiles shouts to Dickens.

The 6-foot 8-inch ballplayer grins at his friend. That doesn’t happen in Rocky’s Den.
Still, as both a confirmed basketball fan and cheapskate, I remain proud to root for the home team without spending a fortune. Courtside seats at 14ers games cost 40 bucks apiece. And the lower
level, where the Spaders, Wright, Soto, Hayes, Chiles and Dickens sit, go for $19 per game.

For me, $19 is one dollar short of watching AI slice to the basket for four games.

Sure, I may not be able to hear the whack of flesh when players set picks or see drops of sweat flying from foreheads. But I can see the whole floor to understand how the coaches design offenses and defenses. And I can yell and holler as loud as I please, knowing full well that though I wrote about Iverson during his troubled high school career and my son once played on a summer league AAU team with him, AI would not remember me if we stared directly into each other’s faces, unblinking for 30 seconds.

I may spring for a 14ers game soon. It is, as Walt says, fun to watch because “all the guys on the 14ers hustle. …That’s the only way they’ll make it to the big time.”

Still, my heart will remain with the big time. I am proud to have found a deal that lets a bottom feeder like me go to 20 games a year for the cost of a single game on the lower deck.

That’s why I was so happy the other day when a scalper accosted me.

“You need tickets for tonight?” he yelled.

“Not unless you’ll sell them to me for five bucks apiece,” I shouted back.

Funny, I don’t hear that much hootin’ or hollerin’. Nor do my peepers spy too many hands waving high in the North Metro sky. Basically, no one ever follows through with that list of four or five things that’ll make the upcoming year that much better than the preceding one. Yet, each year, come mid-December, we all fall into the same old trap—committing to lose weight, save more money and walk the dog once more daily.

It’s really an outlandish tradition. Must we really wait until the holiday season before setting goals to better ourselves?

Yes, I hate New Year’s resolutions. Yet, I, too, fall into the same charade year after year. It probably has something to do with penning a column during the slowest of news times. For the last few years, I’ve taken to telling others what they should approve upon. I have a pen and an outlet—if perhaps too big of an ego.

It’s all in good fun, though.

Let’s start with Broomfield Event Center big shot Gene Felling, who has given hope to the fledging arena. He tells us he wants to spend more time with his family and enjoy the Colorado lifestyle. Sounds a bit cliché, if not cheesy, but we’ll give him a pass since he’s spent the last few years living in congested Los Angeles while his Colorado-based family likely rubbed it in. We simply hope he continues to lure big acts to Broomfield, giving the North Metro area a claim to coolness.

Longmont City Council member Karen Benker, who lost her bid for mayor in November, says she wants to lose the weight gained while campaigning. We just want her to continue to be a steward for the community and a leader for all those fresh faces on city council.

And let’s hope the state legislature resolutes to come to an agreeable healthcare solution without bloodshed between political parties. We think universal healthcare in some form will work, but anything that makes affordable care more accessible is fine by us.

Every Longmont resident should put on their list a goal to vote during the Jan. 29 election regarding a church’s attempt to build a huge development—it would be sad if a tiny portion of the population decide such an important issue.

Everyone else should drive less, ride the bus, read more of everything and eat healthy food from local vendors as often as possible.

To be fair, I’ll tell you what goals I’ve begrudgingly set for myself. First off, I will run a marathon this year. This is the second time in my illustrious career that I have promised to finish a 26.2-mile run in print. The first time around didn’t turn out so well. It’s a fresh slate in 2008, right?

Beyond that, I’ll continue to work on improving your favorite magazine (not Oprah, dummy, The Yellow Scene); find the means to buy a hybrid automobile so I don’t pollute so much, or at least donate to a worthy carbon offsetting organization; tell my girlfriend she’s the prettiest woman around more often (this mention is a good start); and reduce my stubbornness from a nine-plus (out of 10) to a six.

Make your list, and let’s talk in February to see how we’re doing.

Conscious Alliance
2525 Arapahoe Ave., Suite E4-182, Boulder, 720.406.7871

Community Food Share
6363 Horizon Lane, Longmont, 303.652.3663
Improves the lives of the hungry by delivering nutritionally balanced meals each.

Emergency Family Assistance Organization
900 Arapahoe Ave., Boulder, 303.442.3042
Provides community safety net for families who can’t meet their basic needs.

Flatirons Habitat for Humanity
2540 Frontier Ave., Boulder, 303.447.3787

Longmont Meals on Wheels
910 Longs Peak Ave., Longmont, 303.772.0540
Provides hot, nutritious meals for seniors and for individuals unable to prepare meals.

Louisville United Methodist Food Baskets
741 Jefferson St., Louisville, 303.666.8812
Delivers food baskets to low-income residents of Louisville and Lafayette.

Boulder County Meals on Wheels
1255 Centaur Village Drive, Lafayette, 303.665.0566
Provides home-delivered meals to the needy.

Outreach United Research Center
303 Atwood St., Longmont, 303.772.5529
Unifies resources to help people with short-term hardships meet basic needs.

Sister Carmen Community Center
701 W. Baseline Road, Lafayette, 303.665.4342
Offers non-discriminatory emergency assistance to area residents.

Colorado Therapeutic Riding Center
11968 Mineral Road, Longmont, 303.652.9131
Serves those with special needs through therapeutic riding and equine activities.

Health
Boulder County AIDS Project
2118 14th St., Boulder, 303.444.6121
Provides support, advocacy and education to those infected with or affected by HIV.

Clinica Campesina Family Health Services
1345 Plaza Court, Lafayette, 303.665.3036 x236
Serves as a medical and dental care provider for low-income families.

HospiceCare of Boulder and Broomfield
2594 Trailridge Drive, Suite A, Lafayette, 303.449.7740
Provides compassionate end-of-life care and education to our community.

Longmont Emergency Unit Inc
1010 Alta St., Longmont, 303.776.6180
Responds to emergencies 24 hours a day, including first aid, extrication and water rescue.

Sense of Security
P.O. Box 6098, Broomfield, 303.480.3558
Provides financial help and enhances quality of life for breast cancer patients.

Dental Aid Inc.
877 South Boulder Road, Louisville, 303.665.8828
Provides affordable oral care for low-income residents of Boulder and Broomfield counties.

Social Issues
Attention Homes
3080 Broadway Suite C, Boulder, 303.447.1206
Provides residential treatment and counseling to at-risk youth in a home-like environment.

El Comite de Longmont
455 Kimbark St., Longmont, 303.651.6125
Acts as a negotiating body for concerns brought forth by the Boulder County Latino community.

Empowerment International
2339 Santa Fe Drive, Longmont, 303.823.6495
Breaks the cycle of poverty and creates lasting change throughout Central America.

First Nations Development Institute
703 Third Ave., Suite B, Longmont, 303.774.7836
Works to restore native control and culturally-compatible stewardship of the assets they own.

Intercambio de Comunidades
2885 Aurora Ave. #36, Boulder, 303.996.0275
Builds bridges of understanding across cultures and creates a more integrated community.

Native American Rights Fund
1506 Broadway, Boulder, 303.447.8760
Defends the rights of Indian tribes, organizations and individuals nationwide.

Safehouse Progressive Alliance
835 North St., Boulder, 303.449.8623, 24-hour Crisis Line: 303.444.2424
Provides safety to victims of domestic violence and strives to end violence against women.

Safe Shelter of St. Vrain Valley
P.O. Box 231, Longmont, 303.772.0432
Provides safety and support to women and children who are affected by domestic violence.

The Inn Between of Longmont Inc.
250 Kimbark St., Longmont, 303.684.0810
Offers transitional housing and services for the homeless to help them achieve self-sufficiency.

Education
Alternatives for Youth Inc.
24 9th Ave., Longmont, 303.776.8184
Provides services that promote social and academic success for youth and their families.

Boulder County Partners
1430 Nelson Road, Suite 206, Longmont, 303.772.1411
Helps in the lives of at-risk youth by building a positive self-image through mentoring.

Butterfly Pavilion and Insect Center
6252 W. 104th Ave., Westminster, 720.974.1864
Fosters an appreciation of butterflies while educating the public about conservation.

Center for Safe Schools and Communities
450 Tynan Court, Erie, 800.221.4125 x04
Helps disturbed students achieve academic and behavioral success.

Jared Polis Foundation
1725 Walnut St., Boulder, 303.442.1130
Encourages the community to be proactive by supporting education and technology.

Rocky Mountain Equi-Rhythm
7156 Johnson Circle, Niwot, 303.919.3946
Uses the healing power of the horse-human relationship to assist at-risk populations.

St.Vrain Valley Parenting Center
803 E. 3rd Ave., Longmont, 303.776.5348
Provides the building blocks for healthy families through education and support services.

WOW! Children’s Museum
110 N. Harrison Ave., Lafayette, 303.604.2424
Engages families in learning.

Project YES
104 West Baseline Road, Lafayette, 303.926.0306
Provides leadership opportunities for young people through the arts and service learning.

Animals
Birds of Prey Foundation
2290 South 104th St., Broomfield, 303.460.0674
Treats injured and orphaned wildlife, primarily raptors, such as eagles, hawks and owls.

Colorado Horse Rescue
10386 N. 65th St., Longmont, 720.494.1414
Provides emergency relief and care services for abused and neglected horses.

Creative Acres
P.O. Box 1143, Brighton, 303.659.4792
Offers a no-kill free-roam animal sanctuary and training center.

Humane Society of Boulder Valley
2323 55th St., Boulder, 303.442.4030 x655
Protects the lives of companion animals by promoting relationships between pets and people.

Knick O’ Time Horse Rescue & Rehabilitation
9993 N 65th St., Longmont, 303.359.2273
Rescues and finds new homes for abused and slaughter-bound horses and other equines.

Longmont Humane Society
9595 Nelson Road, Longmont, 303.772.1232
Prevents cruelty to animals, and strives to instill empathy and appreciation for animals.

Wild Animal Sanctuary
1946 WCR 53, Keenesburg, 303.536.0118
Rescues exotic wildlife and endangered species such as lions, tigers, bears and wolves.

Environment
Center for ReSource Conservation
1702 Walnut St., Boulder, 303.441.3278
Leads Colorado residents, businesses and governments towards a sustainable future.

The WILD Foundation
3025 47th St., Boulder, 303.442.8811
Works to protect wild places because wilderness areas provide essential benefits.

Western Resource Advocates
2260 Baseline Road, Boulder, 303.444.1188
Protects the West’s land, air and water.

“We’re constantly tripping over one another,” says Ayers, a single mother who doesn’t have time to work because of her parenting duties.

That should all change by the end of the summer, as construction has just begun on her two-story, North Boulder townhome. The stay-at-home mom is able to afford it through the Flatirons Habitat for Humanity home ownership program. “I keep pinching myself,” the 40-year-old Boulder native says. “We drove by (the construction site), we saw that some walls had gone up—we were squealing.”

Generally, you could chalk this story up as your typical Habitat tale. Family in need of steady housing qualifies for the program, Habitat builds the home (with the help of the soon-to-be homeowner), and everyone lives happily ever after.

But this North Boulder project that will see nine units built for low-income families is being built by green standards, meaning homes will expend less energy, saving resources and a few bucks for the families moving in.

It’s the first environmentally-friendly project, dubbed Harmony Haven, that the Flatirons Habitat has worked on. It is the start of its new, green construction standards that puts it in elite company. Out of the 1,700 some-odd Habitat branches nationwide, only Flatirons and a New York City outfit have made green building a permanent commitment.

“We’re so enviro friendly in this community, it’s just the right thing to do,” says Jan Hawley, Flatirons Habitat development director.

The Harmony Haven homes will feature Energy Star-rated appliances, dual flush toilets, compact florescent light bulbs, tankless water heaters, Xeriscape landscaping and oodles of extra insulation. Homeowners will save nearly $300 a year in utility costs, and the homes will produce 1.3 fewer tons of carbon dioxide and save 3,500 gallons of water annually. All of these upgrades, which only add about 2.5 percent to overall construction costs, give these homes a 91 Energy Star rating, above the state’s typical range of 79 to 83.

“It’s something that we really believe in,” says Bob Wettergren, Flatirons Habitat construction manager.

Flatirons Habitat is in negotiations for three more projects in East Boulder County. Wettergren expects those homes to be even greener—think solar power.

Ayers would’ve been happy just getting a “regular” home but certainly appreciates the upgrades. The cheaper energy bills are a plus, too. “We might actually be warm and comfortable for a winter,” she says.

“It will be nice.”