Frenchy's Rant

It took them almost a month, but Certified Angus Beef FINALLY responded!

For the first time ever, I watched a sporting event as a fan. The game pitted the weak-seeming San Antonio Spurs against the dominant Dallas Mavericks. All that needed to happen was one more win for the Mavericks, who controlled the series 3-1, and I wouldn’t have to fly to Dallas to cover the next game. Thus my interest in the game.

While I knew that Dallas would lose the whole time, I held out hope for my new favorite team. I cheered, I swore at the TV, I even considered placing a huge bet on San Antonio, all in an effort to help them lose the game. If I didn’t have to work the game, I would be able to go on a great motorcycle ride, in weather that, almost mockingly, had cleared after record rainfall.

The Mavericks at one point were down by ten, and I realized what it was like to be an actual sports fan. I have been working sporting events for almost twelve years now, but I honestly couldn’t care less about teams, players and sports in general. I usually just root for the clock, hoping for no sudden death overtime.

Not so during this game. I quickly despised any San Antonio player that could make a shot, I yelled at the Maverics when they dropped the fucking ball or missed the basket. I cheered, I got upset. I was absorbed by the game, despite myself.

And with less than a minute to go, the score was separated by one point, in San Antonio’s favor. So this is why people care about sports! It’s EXCITING!

And at the end of the game, the score remained the same. San Antonio won, the Mavericks lost, and I would have to work. FUCK! This is why I hate sports. It’s DISAPPOINTING! I am no longer a fan.

And for losing, and more importantly ruining a great motorcycle ride, which is FAR, FAR too long overdue, I am happy to award a GFY award to the Mavericks, my new LEAST favorite team.

Congratulations, losers!

My Ireland journal is FINALLy done! E mail me for a copy.

Sláinte!

Travel. Sometimes, when things go according to plan, it’s almost effortless. And then there are days like yesterday.

The short version of the long story: WWE shows this week are in Lubbock, Texas and Albuquerque. There is no easy way to get to Lubbock (probably because there is really no REASON to go to Lubbock, but anyway…) My travel included a flight on Northwest Airlines to Detroit, and two flights on Continental, one from Detroit to Houston, then on to Lubbock.

A long day if everything went perfectly, but of course it didn’t.

The Northwest flight to Detroit was fine, I think we even got in a little bit early. The Continental flight to Houston was every bit as bad as the Northwest flight was good.

An hour into the flight, the captain informed us that Houston Air Traffic Control had somehow lost power. How this can happen is beyond me, but when it does happen, every airplane on the way to Houston had to go in to an incredibly exciting holding pattern.

Then the electricity came back, and we headed back to Houston. Then it went out again and we circled some more. Then we were low on fuel, so we were going to divert to Shreveport. Finally some bright electrician plugged the radar back in, and we were allowed to land in Houston.

Five minutes before a massive thunderstorm hit, and closed the airport. Angry red ‘CANCELLED’ messages dotted the departure board. This wasn’t looking good, not at all. Though it was only 2 PM, I had a strong feeling I wasn’t going to make it to Lubbock.

The Nazi Continental gate agents had me on standby for a flight at 6 PM, and confirmed for THE NEXT DAY at 8:55. Not great, but not terrible. Worst case, I wouldn’t be too late for our 8 AM crew call.

Others on the crew showed up, cocky because they were confirmed on the flight. Most departing flights, including the 6 PM flight to Lubbock got pushed back and pushed back later and later, and the gate area filled to capacity.

Sardine, anyone?

As more and more people crammed into the waiting area, I decided to just take my 8:55 flight on Monday. With this many people, the Lubbock flight had to be full.

Stopping at another Nazi gate agent, I checked to make sure I was absolutely confirmed on the 8:55 flight. Yup, I sure was, just one problem, it was for 8:55 PM!

Fuck. That wouldn’t work.

A frantic call to the WWE travel department and I was booked on a 6:30 AM Southwest flight leaving from a different airport. I also needed a rental car and a hotel room, which the travel department took care of.

As I was getting on the bus to the rental car terminal, my phone rang. The extremely delayed Lubbock flight was finally going, and of course, they had just called my name. Had I stayed I would have been able to get on the damn flight. Too late.

And so, my trip that started on Northwest ended on Southwest, but even that flight had a surprise. Instead of flying directly from Houston to Lubbock, we had to stop in Dallas. Sometimes the fun just never ends.

Twenty-seven hours after leaving home, in more time than it took to get to Afghanistan, I finally made it to work.