Searching high and low for tourney atmosphere

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Steve Fisher and San Diego State were still thanking their lucky stars late Thursday afternoon when an authoritative voice came over the public address system at the Thomas & Mack Center.

"Get out now," it said, "or we are going to send for the scoops and you will be turned into Soylent Green."

Actually, I paraphrase slightly and exaggerate a little more than that. Nobody on the first full day of the Mountain West Conference men’s basketball tournament was scooped up and turned into Soylent Green, like in the old science fiction movie starring Charlton Heston.

But if you were thinking about standing on the toilet seat in the men’s room to keep from being detected and paying a second admission for the evening session — like a colleague used to do when he and his pals were in high school — the security force was having none of it.

Pamplona has the Running of the Bulls. The Mountain West has the Clearing of the Arena.

Popcorn boxes must be picked up. Freeloaders must be eradicated. Steve Fisher must thank lucky stars. These are the some of the quirks that make the Mountain West hoopfest unique. Steve Alford’s hair is another one.

When the boss said to find some tournament atmosphere, I didn’t think I would discover it in a men’s room on the main concourse.

It was there I saw a member of the security force peek under one of the stalls. It was hard to tell if he was looking for freeloaders, former Idaho senator Larry Craig or Andy Ogide, Colorado State’s best player who was ejected in the first half against San Diego State. A New Mexico fan told me another guy wearing a maroon blazer had tried to keep him from entering the restroom. Lake Mead is drying up faster than you might imagine, I told him. But, like his Lobos operating against Air Force’s zone defense in the first game, he didn’t seem to get it.

Other men and women wearing maroon blazers were speaking into little microphones on their shoulders, as if Air Force One was about to land next to the Fresh Roasted Nuts stand.

It was time to look for tournament atmosphere at a new location.

I thought I might find it at the PT’s Pub on Tropicana Avenue, because it’s not an official postseason tournament without finding an unofficial watering hole where fans gather to complain about the officials and being banished from the men’s room. But when I arrived, this particular watering hole wasn’t like wildebeest on the Serengeti during the rainy season. It was so quiet that a guy was reading a book at the bar.

This is what happens when Wyoming gets bounced early.

Paul Angelos, a transplanted UNLV fan originally from Salt Lake City, showed me the cover of the book featuring a radiant woman in a flowing gown. "It’s fiction fantasy," he said.

"You mean like North Carolina’s tournament hopes?"

Further down the horseshoe-shaped bar, a group of young women were pounding shots. In the first major upset of the day, I did not see Ben Roethlisberger. Bubby the Bartender predicted Friday would be the biggest night in the history of this PT’s — he had penciled the Rebels into the semifinals already — but I told him I needed to find some tournament atmosphere now. "I’ll settle for a BYU fan sipping on a ginger ale," I said.

Finally, I heard a guy with a strident voice holding court in the darkest corner of the bar. Jay Levine, Andy Katz, Daryl Morris and a fourth pal they called "Ronnie the Roofer" were watching an ancient highlight of Thurl Bailey going over top of Eldridge Hudson in the final seconds of North Carolina State’s victory over the Rebels in the 1983 NCAA Tournament.

"Over the back! That’s a foul!" Levine yelled at the TV set, as if he were watching a game that had just happened instead of one that took place 27 years ago, when he and Katz were UNLV seniors.

Morris told me his father, Bobby, was the musical director at the old International hotel and played with the original Big E — Elvis Presley, not Elvin Hayes. Levine and Katz were still whining about the officials in 1983. They were with a guy named "Ronnie the Roofer."

Let the tournament begin.

Er, continue.

Las Vegas Review-Journal columnist Ron Kantowski can be reached at rkantowski@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0352.