Monday, August 23, 2004

And One!

There are really only three things in this world that make me lose perspective on what is important in life: sports, stupid people, and injustice (if by 'injustice' I mean 'bad calls made by game officials against my team') These three things have been, more often than not, the wellspring from which many of my more questionable actions have originated. This story involves all three.*
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Watching Arizona play Cal is like watching a hurricane make landfall. You can see it coming, but there is nothing you can do except hope for the best and brace for the worst. Seeking shelter from the storm that is Arizona basketball, some friends and I went to a sports bar in the Marina district of San Francisco. Bracing for the worst, we ate nearly 100 buffalo wings (10 cent wings specials are a gift from God) and drink A LOT. Hoping for the best, we drank even more. By the time all hope was lost and Cal had been flattened by Hurricane Wildcat, we had put away a twelve pack of pitchers.

For the most part, the evening proved uneventful. At least until the 8 minute mark in the second half. And if you exclude the stream of frustrated invective spewed at the television screen by the people at my table. AND if you don't count the little run-in we had with the boyfriends of some UofA girls seated at a table behind us.

The only thing more frustrating in sport-spectatordom than hearing idiotic cheers from a gaggle of empty-headed sluts is when that gaggle of empty-headed sluts is pulling for the other team. That was the case with a group of UofA girls sitting directly behind us. At one point I actually heard this exchange:

EmptyHeadedSlut #1: so we're in the blue shirts right?
EmptyHeadedSlut #2: yeah, I wish they were in the white ones though because you can see their muscles and their butts better
EmptyHeadedSlut #1: Who's Number 22? He's CUTE!

That was all I could take. I told them they should shut the fuck up or go to another bar. They thought I was being cute apparently because they just giggled and whispered to each other (no doubt confirming with each other that my friends and I were way better looking than the douchebags they were with and undoubtedly had much much larger penises).

To my frustration and dismay, the girls continued to cheer on Arizona. This compelled me to turn around and ask them rather loudly if they did not, in fact, have some Girls Gone Wild video to shoot somewhere. This did not go over well with the boyfriends. They got up quickly and came over to our table. My buddy CV and I stood up. There ended that little stand-off. They warned us to "be nice" and "show some respect." We laughed at them. (author's note: for those of you unfamiliar with the University of Arizona, there is nothing more incongruous than the words 'respect' and 'UA co-ed.')

So, there is just over 8 minutes to go in the second half and Cal has somehow trimmed the lead to 6 points. Luke Walton brings the ball down for Arizona. The clock is running and he dishes to Salim Stoudamire on the left elbow. Richard Midgley for Cal, though, steps in the passing lane and starts down the right side of the court ball in hand. He's got a clear lane to the hoop. The drunken Cal fans are going nuts in the student section. Somehow, that floppy-headed honky Ric "Pea Soup" Andersen gets back on defense. He tries to get in front of Midgley to draw a charge, but he is CLEARLY late. Midgley goes up with the finger roll, crashes into Andersen, and hits the shot. Both men hit the floor and the whistle blows. It's gonna be an "And One!" Cal's gonna have a chance to cut it to 3. The ref blows the whistle again and begins the motion for a blocking foul and the "And One" call when he switches up his motion, points the other way, and calls a charge.

FUCK!!! I nearly broke the table. CV and I are up out of our chairs screaming at the television. People are staring. The UofA bitches are snickering and clapping. My face is red with the fury when they show a slow-motion replay. It is CLEARLY a blocking foul. They then cut to a shot of the ref calling the foul. I was filled with so much white-hot rage I couldn't see straight. I could've melted steel with my rage. So I did what came naturally and hurled my empty pint glass at, and through, the flat screen television in front of us--the one that dared display the despicable events that had just transpired.

The bar fell silent except for the inappropriate laughter of my friends. I freaked. We couldn't see the game anymore. I started yelling for someone to change all the TVs to the Cal game. The manager came storming over in an absolute fury. I couldn't understand him, however, because all I could hear was myself yelling at the waitress or somebody to change all the TVs to the Cal game. I only caught snippets of his rant. Something about 8 thousand dollars and getting fired. Finally he said the magic word. "Police." I sobered up in a hurry. The manager--who incidentally had a body-odor funk trail like the Hale-Bopp comet--was saying that the TV cost $8000 (it was a 36" flat screen) and that his boss was going to fire him and that if I didn’t stop yelling about turning on the Cal game he was going to call the police. Now it was making sense.

Armed with this new-found knowledge, I accompany the manager back to the bar. As we walk and I try to breathe through my mouth to avoid his overpowering man-stench, half the TVs click over to the Cal game. I feel like I have asserted my Alpha-male dominance once again. It turns out, however, that half the sober people in the bar were there for the Cal game too. I wasn't the only one. They asked that the TVs be turned. I'm convinced, though, that my berating was the catalyst. Anyhow, I delay answering most of his questions directly in order to concentrate on the action in the game. I am assisted in my endeavors by my relative incoherence and a steady stream of customers at the bar. I catch all the action until all hope is lost and I can't watch anymore--about the 2:15 mark.

At this point, the manager asks for my ID and my credit card. I steadfastly refuse to hand over my credit card and instead pull out one my business cards. I inform the manager that the person on this card is, in fact, my legal attache and can be contacted regarding these issues during regular business hours. I then pull out a fake ID my roommate made for me back in college. He looks at it for a loooooooong time before he starts taking down the information. I watch with increasing paranoia as his pen moves across the cocktail napkin in front of him. He gets everything down:

Name: Ellison, Lawrence
DOB: 2/23/64 (authors note: I am 24. This DOB puts me at 39. He didn't bat an eyelash at this)
Address: 2 Maverick Ct., Woodside, CA 94062
Phone: 415-466-7225 (authors note: 466-7225 spells GO ORACL)
Re: $8000 plasma flat screen tv. broken. pint glass. Cal game

(my roommate had a hard-on for Larry Ellison and Oracle database software in college. I don't know what else to tell you. We worry about him sometimes)

Anyhow, the manager hands me back my ID and assures me that my attorney will be hearing from him in the next couple of days. I nod solemnly, trying to hold back laughter. I try to order another beer and he tell me to go fuck myself. My friends shuttle me out of the bar and take me home. The worst part about the whole thing was that the pint glass was MINE. One came free with every purchase of a pitcher.


*I posted this once before on the Tucker Max Messageboard. I cleaned it up a little and added some stuff for clarity.

17 Comments:

Blogger ultrabrite99 said...

"I steadfastly refuse to hand over my credit card and instead pull out one my business cards."

Hilarious. Did you ever hear from him?

August 23, 2004 at 9:57 AM  
Blogger NP said...

the best part about that is that I played off MY business card as belonging to my attorney. So whenever they called, ostensibly looking for someone else, I answered. They called three or four times. Nothing came of it though, probably because the manager was an idiot, took down obviously false information, and should have called the police

August 23, 2004 at 10:05 AM  
Blogger JP said...

"Did you ever hear from him?"

Sure he did. When the guy called Mr. Ellison at 415 go-oracl, the call went through and he got paid the full $8k.


You were one of the UA girls in the story, weren't you?

Good story, as usual. I'd prefer the dialouge more fleshed out, though, personally. Instead of describing what the manager did, it would have been funnier to derive his sense of panic and frustration through the conversation itself.

August 23, 2004 at 10:08 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

If that bar did not have insurance policy covering an $8000 TV, they deserve to have it smashed and pay through their ass for it.

August 23, 2004 at 10:48 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

What kind of fucking 36" flatscreen tv costs $8000? Plasma TVs of that size don't even cost that much.

August 23, 2004 at 11:16 AM  
Blogger NP said...

don't ask me dude. I'm not the one who quoted $8k

August 23, 2004 at 11:16 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

funny. you are one lucky bastard.

August 23, 2004 at 12:08 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I call BS... there is no place in the city let alone the Marina that has $0.10 wings

August 23, 2004 at 12:21 PM  
Blogger NP said...

call BS all you want...if you don't know about it during college basketball season, it's your loss.

August 23, 2004 at 12:28 PM  
Blogger ultrabrite99 said...

"JP said...
"Did you ever hear from him?"

Sure he did. When the guy called Mr. Ellison at 415 go-oracl, the call went through and he got paid the full $8k.

You were one of the UA girls in the story, weren't you?"


For the love of Christ. Drex understood my question. He gave him a fake license but his REAL business card and just told him that it was his lawyer. Say it with me, "REA-DING COM-PRE-HEN-SION."

August 23, 2004 at 12:45 PM  
Blogger iqsports said...

Hell of a story, but how long did you last at a bar after being cut off? And if you did stay, was that your way of punishing yourself?

August 23, 2004 at 1:24 PM  
Blogger NP said...

I lasted like 15 minutes after the glass-throwing incident. Long enough to watch most of the rest of the debacle they called a basketball game and long enough to give the manager the "info"

August 23, 2004 at 1:37 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

That's hilarious. You're a quick thinker.

Great story also.

Moneywhore

August 23, 2004 at 5:25 PM  
Blogger Mr Vholes said...

U of A! U of A! U of A!

L & R,

AncientMariner

August 24, 2004 at 1:58 PM  
Blogger no211312312 said...

Slick.

August 24, 2004 at 7:14 PM  
Blogger CptCooleye said...

Anger Managment!

August 27, 2004 at 10:05 AM  
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October 13, 2005 at 10:24 PM  

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