Ron Kantowski on White Castles, airline hassles and rampant speculation on the courtship of Kevin’s father

Monday, March 26, 2007 | 7:20 a.m.

It's early Saturday evening and a young woman from Boise sitting between a couple of sports writers on the return flight from St. Louis to Las Vegas via Salt Lake City wants to know what it's like to cover the NCAA Midwest Regional.

She seems awfully chatty and she's got a lot of carry-on stuff and baby seats are falling out of the overhead compartments. So my first inclination is to tell her that I'm really not a sports writer, I just play one on TV.

But she's the type who won't take no for an answer. She's already on her second can of Heineken and I know that at a cruising altitude of 35,000 feet, there's simply no way out of this.

So here goes:

Thursday afternoon: ESPN reports New Mexico has called a news conference to announce that Steve Alford is leaving Iowa to become the new Lobos coach.

UNLV's Lon Kruger says he's not interested in coaching Iowa.

Thursday evening, about 15 minutes before team curfew: I am telling an out-of-town media buddy over chicken wings at the Hooters in downtown St. Louis what a joy it is to cover the Rebels, because they are good guys who never act like fools or frequent places they have no business frequenting, when who should come strolling in but Wink Adams and a couple of his teammates. They head straight for the bar.

They check the score of the Ohio State-Tennessee game on the plasma TV overhead.

They hang around for all of 15 seconds when they head back out the door in the direction of the Rebels' hotel.

Friday morning. UNLV's Lon Kruger says he's not interested in coaching Michigan.

Friday afternoon, about three hours before tip-off: A guy walking around Laclede's Landing on the historic St. Louis waterfront makes fans out of dozens of Midwest Regional tickets he's holding in his hands.

"Who needs one?" he calls out.

Now I know what happened to all the tickets that Oregon couldn't sell.

Friday evening, six minutes into the second half: Oregon has just taken an 18-point lead so I quietly call Southwest Airlines to inquire about changing my return flight from Monday to Saturday. The airlines rep said I am about the 10th person to call from the Edward Jones Dome.

"What's the big deal?" she asks.

"A 5-foot-6 kid from Oregon who is sinking jump shots from East St. Louis," I tell her.

Friday evening, a half-hour after the Rebels' season ends with a 76-72 loss to a munchkin named Tajuan Porter and Oregon in the Sweet 16: UNLV's Lon Kruger says he's not interested in coaching Kentucky.

Friday evening, 2:40 a.m. It is last call on Laclede's Landing and the guy I saw with all the tickets about eight hours earlier still is trying to get rid of them, only now he's asking half their face value.

I tell him he should just invest in a couple of cases of Bud, instead. Because in 20 minutes nobody's going to be able to buy a beer down here and all these Butler fans still look awfully thirsty.

Friday evening, 3:40 a.m.: If you thought it was impossible to get a beer in St. Louis at this hour, try getting something to eat. Three sports writers and a UNLV regent pile into a rental car and follow the pungent aroma of grilled onions to White Castle, the famous fast-food chain which specializes in Tajuan Porter-sized hamburgers that now cost 47 cents, up from 12 cents when I was a kid.

We order about three bags of these little gastronomical treats and a small coke to wash it all down with. But when our order, roughly as long as the Mississippi River and with just as many tributaries, is read back, the garbled voice on the speaker sounds like someone having a telephone conversation with Charlie Brown.

When we get back to the hotel, we are amazed to discover the White Castle girl got our order right.

About three hours later, I will wish that she hadn't.

Saturday morning, with two hours to kill before late checkout at the Renaissance Grand Hotel. A group of out-of-town media is holding a pow-wow in the taxi lane. They apparently can't decide whether to spend their last few hours in St. Louis touring the Anheuser-Busch brewery or sampling its chief by-product in the hotel lounge.

They take a vote. It's unanimous.

They head back inside.

Saturday morning, with an hour to kill before late checkout: I take the short stroll up 7th Street to check out the new Busch Stadium, where the gift shop is doing brisk business. I forget I am wearing my 1969 Chicago Cubs cap.

A guy sporting an Albert Pujols jersey looks like he wants to fight. One of the clerks shepherds me to a stack of T-shirts that say "My Favorite Teams Are the Cardinals and Whoever Beats the Cubs."

Then an older man approaches and tells me he has a nephew who specializes in psycho therapy, if I'm interested.

Later Saturday morning: Before getting on the team charter, UNLV's Lon Kruger says he's not interested in coaching the Lakers.

Saturday evening, somewhere over eastern Utah: It's official. Southwest Flight 599/1032 from St. Louis to Salt Lake City with continuing service to Las Vegas has turned into a rodeo. Babies are screaming and kids are climbing the seats behind me as if they are monkey bars and the young woman from Boise is now on her fifth can of Heineken and she's grilling me like Lesley Stahl on "60 Minutes." I suddenly wish I had stayed in St. Louis to cover the Oregon-Florida game.

Late Saturday evening, McCarran Airport: Rather than ride the train car to baggage claim, I take the long way, through the long corridor beyond the double-digit Southwest gates where it is peacefully quite. The terminal, save for a flickering TV monitor, has shut down. The volume has been muted but there's a familiar face on the screen and scrolling text under his image.

The closed caption says UNLV's Lon Kruger is not interested in coaching the Harlem Globetrotters.