Friday, Oct. 31, 2003 | 9:52 a.m.
Ron Kantowski is a Las Vegas Sun sports writer. Reach him at [email protected] or (702) 259-4088.
Although I'm not much of a science fiction buff, for some reason I recall spending a summer afternoon in Flagstaff, Ariz., in 1985 watching a movie called "Lifeforce." I don't remember much about it, other than this disturbing special effect in which people shriveled up and turned to dust, after having the life drained from their bodies by some alien force.
I bring it up now, because this is what the UNLV football team looked like on its way to the practice field Tuesday night. Consecutive losses to Air Force, Utah and Brigham Young after a promising 4-1 start seem to have sucked the enthusiasm right out of these Rebels, and may be on the verge of turning their season into dust.
Of course, if it weren't for coach John Robinson's liberal policies, I wouldn't have the chance to play amateur psychologist. Robinson has never had a problem with opening practices to the media or for that matter, anybody else who wants to drop by, and I for, one, appreciate it.
It's such a contrast to previous UNLV regimes, some of which treated the practice field at Rebel Park as if it were Fort Knox.
Fort Courage, maybe, because those were the days the Rebels couldn't have beaten the cast of F Troop.
Jim Strong, UNLV's answer to Cpl. Randolph Agarn, would close the gates after calisthenics, fearing the team's two beat reporters would immediately get on the phone to Gene Murphy and tell the Cal State Fullerton coach that UNLV was going to run off tackle. As if the outcome of the UNLV-Cal State Fullerton mattered in the first place.
I remember one instance where Strong stopped practice to run an onlooker off a hill at Barnson Field, which, before it became Wilson Stadium, used to provide an unobstructed view of the football practice field. Turned out it was some big-shot dean who probably could have had Strong fired on the spot for being so rude.
What coaches don't seem to understand is that about all deans and sports writers know about X's and O's is that when they are arranged properly, they spell "ox." To us, Cover 2 means it's going to be a chilly night, so get out an extra blanket.
But at least Robinson's open door policy gives a visitor a sense of how the team is feeling about itself, and the mood Tuesday was more glum than the Wrigley Field bleachers after the Marlins had batted around in Game 6.
Three weeks ago, the players reported to the practice field in groups, laughing and joking, with a spring in their step that was bigger than a Slinky.
On Tuesday, most walked alone, many with their helmets strapped on tight, as if to shield themselves from view. It was like Daylight Standard Time had arrived just in time for these Rebels.
Other than wide receiver Earvin Johnson, who has caught everything but a cold this season, and assistant coach Bruce Snyder, who based on his pleasant demeanor has never had a bad day, the Rebels marched past visitors without so much as a nod.
Even Robinson, who has been know to drive his golf cart up to the big wrought iron gate, just to make sure the media has everything it needs, took an alternate route to the practice field, bypassing reporters at a speed that would have put him on the front row at Indy.
In that it was only Tuesday, and that I'm not a doctor, have never played one on TV and I didn't stay at a Holiday Inn the night before, it's possible that I misread the Rebels' mental frame of mind. Maybe they are just angry, instead of feeling sorry for themselves, heading into Saturday's game at surging New Mexico.
Maybe the Rebels haven't given up on the season. Maybe they are just tired talking about it.
But if they are going to do anything about it, they had better act now. The aliens and everybody else around here are getting awfully impatient.
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