Frenchy's Rant

Hello from Planet Football!

I left planet Earth two days ago, and arrived in Auburn, Alabama. This is officially Planet Football. College football to be specific.

Auburn is a very interesting little college town, full of RABID football fans. It’s incredible, the whole town is walking around this morning dressed in orange, ready for the BIG GAME! I didn’t realize that the Auburn football club is the SEC Champions… But then why would I know that?

Today’s contest features the Auburn Tigers against the excellently named South Carolina Game Cocks. Serious entertainment here on Planet Football!

Parking lots are full of RV’s, complete with blinking AUBURN orange lights, and drunken tailgaters that will most likely be passed out during the game. ORANGE ORANGE ORANGE is everywhere!!! Go TiGeRs!!!! Some brilliant person is making a FORTUNE on the rabidness of the Auburn fans.

Yesterday at lunch, the owner of the restaurant bought the entire ESPN crew lunch, as a thank you to us for televising the games and making the world a better place. Then she took the unusual step of inviting the whole crew to her house (seriously!) for a cocktail party. I didn’t go, because I was afraid of getting drugged and waking up in a bathtub full of ice, missing my kidneys… Nobody is that nice, especially to a TV crew.

But everyone says hello on the streets as I walk by. People are throwing footballs at each other on every lawn… College girls are peddling donuts on every street corner (seriously!) It’s bizarre, but cool at the same time.

I stopped in a little coffee shop for breakfast. I was conspicuously the only person wearing black, and I stuck out like a sore thumb. Nodding to my black shirt, the waitress asked me in a low whisper, “Are y’all from Los Angeles or sumthin’?”

I thought about saying that orange AND black are both Halloween colors, and I was just trying to fit in. But I didn’t want to risk the ire of the South, who still haven’t gotten over losing the Civil War, so I kept my mouth shut.

Walking to the staduim, I witnessed another strange Planet Football ritual. A battle of the bands, or more correctly, a battle of the sound systems blaring marching band music. A van, painted orange and complete with speakers and of course a nine foot long tiger tail was driving around with the Tiger Fight Song (or something) blaring. A VW Hippie Bus, also painted orange with speakers (but sadly no tail… where’s your spirit, hippies??) pulled next to the Tiger Tailed van, and a war of the speakers commenced, to the delight of every Tigers fan within five miles. I had to wonder what the Game Cock fan-vans would look like in South Carolina.

Then, I passed a family taking pictures of their little son in front of the Auburn University sign. Instead of having the kid say “Cheese!” they had him say, I swear I am not making this up… “AUBURN!”

Woah. My bizarro meter is pegged.

Just for the record, the Tigers beat the Cocks (c’mon… I had to do it…)

This visit to Planet Football has been nice, but I am ready for the return trip to Earth.

I am convinced there is some strange curse on me. It’s not really a terrible curse. In fact, it may sound trivial, but it’s annoying just the same.

What is the curse?

I turn invisible whenever I have to interact with service-type people. If I order a hamburger in a resturant, I get a ham sandwich. If I ask for an aisle seat on an plane, I always get put in a window. Ask for a king sized bed non-smoking hotel room, I will get the smallest bed in a room that smells like the Marlboro convention checked out hours before. Never fails!

If this happened once in a while, it wouldn’t be a problem. If I was a huge asshole and demanded things instead of politely asking, maybe things would be different. I am sure I would get a ham and spit sandwich instead of a hamburger.

Lately, the curse seems to have worsened. Last night, I coined the term “Getting Dr. Peppered” for my curse.

Here’s why.

Last night, I went to dinner at a Mexican restaurant. I ordered my usual, a chicken burrito with no sour cream. I even looked the waiter in the eye, but I could tell he was mostly preoccupied with something much more important than taking an order from an invisible person, like what color panties the hostess was wearing. The curse strikes again.

Of course, my burrito came out practically SWIMMING in sour cream. I guess when you are invisible, the words ‘NO sour cream‘ sound like “EXTRA sour cream“. On the bright side, at least I didn’t get a ham sandwich! Someday, I will try ordering exactly what I don’t want, but that will be the day that I am suddenly visible, and will get exactly what I ordered.

Later that night, I woke up with incredible cramps. It felt like the contents of my stomach had been brought to a boil, and loud and scary sounds were eminating from my angry guts.

In my half-asleep state, I decided a bottle of water is what I need. I know from previous experience that tap water usually makes an angry stomach angrier, and I didn’t want to deal with that. I rooted around for a few quarters, then stumbled to the vending machine. I put money in, press the button for “Clear Springs Water” and, of course, out comes…

Dr. Pepper.

I travel. A lot (Have you figured that out yet?) I would say in the past eleven years, I have flown approximately fifty quintillion miles, had about four million flights delayed or cancelled, spent about ten unexpected nights in Atlanta due to rain or snow or ice or another act of God, and lost my luggage about five times (though it always comes home, eventually)

Well, I had a rare ‘travel first’ today. I was on my way to mix a college football game for ESPN, in, I am not making this up, Starkville, Mississippi. Yikes! How bad can it be if the founding fathers settled on ‘Starkville’ as the town name? Ah well, gotta take the bad with the good, I guess.

Due to other travel issues, I had to fly out of Boston. I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to find the airport. There was a time when the route changed almost daily, sometimes twice in one day. Once, I picked up a rental car and was asked by the agent if I knew how to get from the parking lot to the highway. I confessed that I didn’t. She replied, “That’s OK, I don’t know either. They changed it since I got here this morning.” This was when they were working on the ‘Big Dig’ which, relieved the insane traffic around Boston, at the same time relieving Massachusetts taxpayers of countless billions. I am sure Delta had a stake in it.

The new tunnels under Boston, when they aren’t leaking, are surprisingly easy to navigate. I arrived at a parking garage, where for the exorbitant amount of $22 a day, they will let me park. No oil change, detailing or paint job, mind you, just a place between two painted lines that I probably won’t be able to find when I return.

Anyway, the check in procedure was simple and painless, and I arrived at the gate with time to spare. I started reading “So You Wanna Be A Rock & Roll Star” by Jacob Slitcher, which so far is excellent. I noticed two Massachusetts State Troopers standing near the gate, but didn’t pay much attention.

As a reward for my “loyalty”, Delta will put me in First Class sometimes. First Class to me is meaningless and silly, but to most “business travelers” it is considered a sacred right. The main reason I enjoy it, aside from the free beer, is the occasional disapproving stares that I receive from the suit and tie wearing executive douche-bags. That is when they bother to look up from their cell phone or Blackberry at all as I sit next to them in the “Big Chair” in my Harley baseball cap and T-shirt.

I took my assigned seat, 4C, and settled in. I noticed a “suit” in the bulkhead row right behind me (in SECOND CLASS!! HA HA!!!!) glaring and scowling at me, clearly upset that somehow I ended up in Nirvana where felt he rightfully belonged.

The plane filled, and soon the people in the seats in front of me sat down. One of them, a skinny black fellow in a white T-shirt and corn-row braids dropped his cell phone right on my head. Not only did he not apologize, he didn’t even look at me. What a dick! I quickly kicked it to the back of the plane and punched him twice in the head before he knew what happened. No, I didn’t, though I imagined it, then I imagined looking back at Mr. Second-Class and saying, “You wanna be next, motherfucker??”

Anyway, after this excitement was over, I quickly became absorbed in my excellent book. I was startled to look up and see four gigantic Mass State Troopers in the aisle. I wondered where they might be going dressed in full uniform, including guns. Then, I realized they were surrounding my rude neighbors. Hmm, this is a new one to me… How exciting!

“Which one of you is Tyrone Lewis and which one is Jermaine Jackson (or whatever their names were) C’mon fellahs, who’s who?”

Then…

“Get up! You’re undah arrest! Keep youh hands wheh I can see ‘em!”

What the?!?

The officers grabbed the two offenders, cuffed them, then asked, “Do you have any luggage on heah?”

The corn-rowed, phone dropping arrestee nodded at the overhead bin where his (and my) bag was. The big officer grabbed both bags. My seatmate looked horrified at the entire proceedings, while I looked at Officer Gigantic, unsure if I should say something, or just let him take my bag too.

He noticed my worried look and said, “Is this youh’s? Sorry.” He smiled, then returned it to the overhead. As the police left with the two criminals, Gigantic turned around and said, “Don’t worry, these two are just wanted for writing 1.2 million dollahs worth of bad checks.” All of first class applauded the police as they left.

Wow. What a couple of idiots. Perfect! I wondered if they had a hand in the Big Dig, then I wondered if they had paid for their first class seats by check. Delta is a bankrupt airline, after all. Anyway, I thanked the officer not only for putting my bag back, but telling us why they were being arrested, so we wouldn’t have to speculate for the rest of the long flight.

And, yes, to my immense satisfaction, Mr. Second-Class was NOT upgraded into the newly vacant seats!

Obviously there IS justice in the world!

After the brief week of freedom from the agony of air travel, the dreary procedure is once again underway. The circus (WWE) entertained the great unwashed in Oklahoma City, Wichita Falls and Lubbock, TX. The best thing about Lubbock, besides leaving it of course, is the arena is on the campus of Texas Tech.

Well, I completed the motorcycle trip to Little Rock. 3312 miles in 10 days. Covered 14 states… and also managed to lose my cell phone.

Now, on the surface, that seems like a stupid and irritating thing. To be sure, I was pissed for a while, mostly at myself for being so stupid that I put the damn thing down on my saddlebag, and drove off.

What a pain in the ass!

But then… I realized… Hey, wait a minute… Nobody can get a hold of me… This is how it was from the beginning of time until about ten years ago. From that realization on, I didn’t mind not having the phone at all.

The fact that I didn’t have voicemail to check actually made the rest of the trip better. I don’t think I realized how much I depended on that electronic leash, and not having it at all was great.

I might just not replace it at all.