Like many other dedicated Ohio State football fans, Larry Lokai has a game-day routine.

Unlike the others, though, he has a ritual that involves a scarlet-and-gray fright wig, face paint and buckeye necklaces made of 102 nuts (one for every Michigan game, counting this year’s).

And gloves — "for effect," he says.

"Everything’s for effect, to be honest with you."

Lokai, 63, is a retired teacher who lives in Urbana and serves on the City Council. He is a 1967 graduate of OSU who’s passionately involved with many alumni clubs.

He also is Buckeyeman: a highly visible fan who always seems to find his way to the front row of a stadium and onto television. He’ll try again today during the Northwestern game.

Lokai acknowledges his self-promotion — "The No. 1 goal is getting on TV" — but his efforts benefit more than just Buckeyeman.

"I don’t think you can even put a dollar value on the amount of time he’s given to the university and alumni associations," says Kathy Bickel, vice president of outreach for OSU’s Alumni Association.

You gotta have a gimmick, Lokai says.

"I decided I had to come up with some sort of identity because Brutus has his identity and Neutron Man had his identity."

Larry Lokai is The Man Who Would Be King — in this case, the late Orlas King, who entertained Buckeye fans as Neutron Man for nearly two decades with his wildly animated gameday dancing to Neutron Dance.

When King died in October 2004, the Buckeye faithful were left without a conspicuous superfan.

Lokai knew King. They were the same age. Their picture is laminated onto one of the signs that stuff Lokai’s pockets on game days: "Another Buckeye Clone" — to catch the ABC cameras.

The two never competed, says Lokai, who prefers to think they complemented each other.

"I’ve had a lot of people tell me, ‘Look, you’re taking over for Neutron Man now.’ And I said, ‘Look, I don’t dance.’ "

The evolution of Buckeyeman began with a wig at the 1998 Michigan game. The face paint followed in 1999 — the same year he met the woman who, in June, became his very supportive wife.

"For some men it’s golf; for some men it’s hunting," said Elaine Caldwell-Lokai, a 53-year-old high-school biology teacher. "For Larry, it’s the Buckeyes."

The Urbana City Council supports his love as well.

After campaigning by passing out buckeyes, his official swearing-in was moved up a day so he could attend the 2004 Fiesta Bowl.

Until Dec. 20, 1996, Lokai was an agribusiness and agricultural-science teacher at Clark County’s Northwestern High School, west of Springfield. He had never attended a bowl game.

"For 30 years as a teacher you kind of have to be a little bit straight-laced. When I retired I said, ‘You know, I’m going to start doing the things I like to do.’ "

Since 2002, he has attended every regular-season game and bowl games, aiming for the cameras.

"I haven’t sat in my own seat for — oh, I don’t know — probably five years now."

He charms his way down, befriending ushers, passing out buckeyes and encouraging cheering.

"It’s marketing," he says, winking.

As a student, he was a member of Block O; now, he’s an "honorary member."

"He just kind of showed up," says Nathan Denning, 21, a member of the self-proclaimed "Go Bucks Guys."

Denning, an OSU student, approves of Buckeyeman’s act: "It’s cool."

Lokai has other fans at OSU.

He belongs to five alumni clubs and is a past president of the Franklin County club.

"He, along with Neutron Man, are two people who come along once in a lifetime," Bickel says. "And he never expects anything in return."

(That’s not entirely true: Lokai gets most of his game tickets through the organizations — and Michigan tickets through the Detroit club. "I guess that’s kind of selfish," Lokai says, "but it’s the only way I can get them.")

He lives up to his nom de game, collecting buckeyes and making necklaces (1,660 so far this year), which he gives away.

"We love him," says Jenny Osborn, assistant director of undergraduate admissions and first-year experience.

"He each year gives us 7,000 to 8,000 buckeyes, so we can give one to every new freshman and every new transfer student as they go through orientation — to welcome them to Ohio State."

Although devoted to every game, Buckeyeman does have a kickoff-time preference.

"A 3:30 (p.m.) game is perfect for me to get around," he says. "Noon’s too rushed, and 8 I get home too late."

Today’s game, at noon, will be rushed.

Still, as always, after a 6 a.m. breakfast at the Bob Evans on Olentangy River Road, Lokai will park, touch up his makeup and begin his rounds.

His dozen-plus fan rendezvous are brief — he hates to dawdle — and alcohol-free.

"I’ve got a reputation to maintain," he says. "I could be trashed in three hours, but I stick with water."

He chats up players’ parents, fans he met at previous games and anyone who stops him.

He pays $5 at his last stop, the Franklin County alumni club, to support the club.

He lingers only by St. John Arena when the cheerleaders perform, for "photo ops."

Sometimes children are reluctant to pose with a big man with a red face and huge hair.

"One out of 10 kids cry," he says.

He reassures them, high-fives their dads and flirts harmlessly with their moms.

Inside the stadium, he makes a beeline to the south stands. In the second half, he works his way down to the front row — and the cameras.

He stays until the end of every game (the exception this year was a rough crowd at Penn State after OSU’s loss Oct. 8).

He lingers as the team sings Carmen Ohio — lip-syncing out of courtesy to nearby fans.

He soaks it all up.

"It’s kinda crazy doing this," Buckeyeman says. "But it’s a heck of a lot of fun."

 

mwillow@dispatch.com