Work, work, work. All we do is work. Well, not really, of course, but today this afternoon we designated paperwork day. Our stolen trailer paperwork required notarization, and there were several other little things to take care of as well. So, we headed down to Mail Boxes Etc and got busy.
We arrived late afternoon. "Rafe, it's 3pm, the chances of this letter to the Hornets Media Coordinator getting read and actually working are pretty small considering how close we are to game time... what do you think the expected value of this $6 fax is?"
"I don't know, just go ahead and send it. You never know," Rafe said. So, we sent the letter and resigned ourselves to buying a scalped nosebleed ticket just before game time. Thus far on tour, just about every team in professional sports has been extremely generous, and we were kicking ourselves for not writing a few days in advance to ask for press passes or tickets. Ah well, it should be a cheap ticket anyway.
After the paperwork, we head back to the RV, change clothes, surf the web, and get ready for the game. It's 6:30, and we're out to catch a taxi. By 7, still no taxi, but Phil notices voice mail:
"Hi, Phil, this is Tony from the New Orleans Hornets. Your press credentials will be available and we're happy to have you at the game. Enjoy." We both start jumping up and down. Until the Hornets, all of our requests for press passes have turned into free tickets - great, really, but not the all-access type pass that would be really fun. The Hornets obviously are the smartest organization we've come across thus far.
Now, we're really anxious to get to the game, but still no taxi. Finally, we just about carjack a taxi by jumping into the middle of the road to flag one down. Ten minutes later, we're at the arena and ready to be Press.
We find the press entrance with a little difficulty, and sure enough, there are two credentials waiting there on the table with our names on it. What a beautiful sight. Trying to look like we know what we're doing, we clip them on a head through a double door and into the back of the arena. A guard sees us and sends us to the media lounge just before tipoff. While there, we pick up media guides for each team and official game notes. On the wall there is an arena map and a list of each media guy listed and where they are supposed to sit. Under "Press Auxillary Seating" we see "USA." We grab a couple of free bottled waters, and head out for the game.
Taking an elevator up a few floors, we exit and ask an usher where "Press Seating" is. She takes a look at our credential and says, "Baby, with one of those, you can go anywhere in the entire arena. Take any seat you want." Of course, we head to the floor. Walking right past the guards, we take seats along the baseline and regroup.
"Rafe, this is awesome," Phil says. Rafe agrees. "I bet we can go sit behind the press table at half court," he continues. And, with a break in the action, we head right over and sit courtside, right behind the main press table. No one ever says a word to us, and now we're really feeling it.
"Rafe, during the next timeout, I'm going baseline to get some good pictures." Timeout is called, and Phil takes our puny little digital camera down to the bench area for some extreme time-out-close-ups. Love the press pass!
The crowd is really geared up for the game. If the Hornets win, they make the playoffs. New Jersey and Jason Kidd are doing their best to thwart that, but they are really out played and have a halftime deficit of some 20 plus points. We were too busy acting like Press to note the exact half time score.
"Let's try to get some food," Rafe says at half time. So we head up to the Suite area thinking that was the best place to find free food. Sure enough, soon we found ourselves in the exclusive Marriott Renaissance Club, free beer and drinks, free buffet including prime rib, pasta, and other tasty treats! Score!
Resisting the temptation to get blitzed on free beer, we head back courtside shortly after the third quarter starts. A few minutes later, a cute Hornette came over and hands us the half time recap sheet, an encapsulation of everything that happened during the half.
During the first few minutes of the fourth quarter, we decide to do some reconnaissance. "Rafe, I'm going back to see if we're going to be able to get into the locker room with these babies..." And off Phil went, back into the bowels of the arena in search of the locker rooms.
Following the signs, he eventually came across a guard in front of the Visitor's locker. "Hey, can I get in here after the game with this?" he asked.
"Of course," the guard says, "10 minutes after game time, we'll open the locker room for press."
Trying to play cool, "OK, just wanted to confirm that it was 10 minutes after the game. Like the many other NBA arenas where we've been backstage. I mean, in the locker room. See you in a bit." Excited, Phil headed back to Rafe with the good news.
The game ends, Hornets prevail in a big way, and we give it a few minutes. Then, like we own the place, we head back to the locker room area. Sure enough, we walk right in, through a labyrinth of offices, and into the main dressing room. The Hornets are all there, most completely naked or with just a towel. There were press everywhere, so we hung back for a few minutes, took a few pictures, and then decided to do and interview. Phil spots one of his favorite players, Kenny Anderson, almost fully dressed.
"Hey Kenny, got a few minutes?" Phil asks. Kenny sees two guys with a digital voice recorder and a mini-digital camera. "Just want to ask a few questions... So, Kenny, how does it feel to be back in New Orleans during the Final Four?"
Kenny: "Love New Orleans, and think about Georgia Tech and how much fun we had every single time I come to this arena." Nice answer, Kenny. We chatted about college for a bit, got his prediction for the champion (Texas), and then said goodbye, our Press duties and an amazing experience under our belt. How many people in the world can say they've been back in the locker room after an NBA game?
Not satisfied until we've seen it all, we made our way to the visiting locker room, which naturally is MUCH smaller and less cushy than the Hornets'. Here we hung back, soaked up the scene and coattailed on the other interviewers until it seemed like an auspicious time to take our leave.
Big time thanks for the New Orleans Hornets for their special contribution to our Ultimate Sports experience. Special thanks to Kenny Andersen for convincing Rafe to bet on Texas!
We have five absolutely classic guys coming to town to party with us for the Final Four. Here is a brief rundown of each and every player, though we will warn that with enough alcohol, people change in mysterious ways.
Rick Averitt, 32, bar owner, hustler, real estate magnate, married for over 7 years, two kids, the oldest of which, Quinn, is Phil's godson. Rick is Phil's best friend from high school, and the two have been as good as brothers for over 20 years. Rick prides himself on being able to drink enormous quantities of Guinness with no ill-effect. This is as a result of owning two Irish Pubs in Raleigh, North Carolina. Hasn't had a guy's weekend away in over 4 years. Notoriously clumsy.
Brad Daugherty, 35. Rick's brother-in-law, Brad is married to one of the toughest women in the world, Dawn. Dawn is such a whip-cracker that Brad isn't allowed to watch SportsCenter. Easily the quietest of the group, if he says something, you know its going to be spot on.
Mike Manthy, 28, Rick's other brother-in-law. Newly married to an absolute angel, Mike's the type of guy you'd love to have running your Starbucks franchise. In fact, that is exactly what he does. Mike spends the majority of his working day serving cappuccinos and dreaming of new ways to drink beer.
Scott Averitt, 30, Rick's younger brother. A hell-raiser as a kid, Scott has fallen into that age-old trap of living with a significant other. That has, we've been told, tempered his penchant for fighting, drinking, and probably having sex as well. A stock broker and sales guy extraordinaire, Scott's good looks and charms are not completely wasted.
Paul Swiencicki, 34, father of three, and the biggest angle shooter on the planet. Here's everything you need to know about Paul: he was once stopped and given a speeding ticket. Paul calls up the police station, pretends to be someone from Alcoholics Anonymous and asks for the cop's vacation schedule so that they can schedule him to speak to a group of drunks. He immediately calls back and schedules his court date smack dab in the middle of the cop's vacation. Well done, Paul. Oh what the hell, another Paul story... Paul has a little girl, his first born, and decided to auction off her middle name and godfather status to his group of friends. Gwenivere Philana Swiencicki has the highest cuteness/horrible-name ratio on the planet. (Winning bid was $1500).
Today we sought out the best golf course in New Orleans. Upon our arrival, we were greeted by the club pro: "You guys have two choices, Gator's Teeth, an absolute monster of a course, or Rabbit's Foot, a little bit easier." Wanting to shoot a good score, we choose Rabbit's Foot and after grabbing a quick bite we head to the first tee.
We're paired with a pair of 60-something-year-old brothers, restaurantuers, great guys and great role models from the Northeast. Just between us, we're playing a nice friendly $50 Nassau. As the round progresses, it becomes perfectly clear that Rafe is going to win the money - the only question remaining is how much. With a bit of luck, Phil wins a double press on #9 to get even, but then loses momentum and three bets on the back.
After the round, we finally get around to putting our logo and taglines on the Porsche (as if that car doesn't stand out enough!) Later that night, we head out to another night on Bourbon street. At one of the most popular bars, Razzoo, we are hanging out and drinking some brews when Rafe is almost physically attacked from behind: "Rafe!" the girl screams, and before we know it, we're reunited with two friends from California that are randomly in town. Dan and Lisa used to work with Rafe's sister, Alex, and we've all partied before in Las Vegas and San Francisco. Needless to say, this random run-in leads to shots, shots, and more shots, then beer, then a jaunt out to other random Bourbon St. locations. Despite all our flirting, Lisa finally kicks off around midnight and leaves the three of us on our own. A short time later, we lose Dan to the clutches of a blonde bombshell. Somehow, we find our way back to the RV at 5am.
It's 10am and Phil's cell phone rings. Still incoherent from the night before, he answers. "Hey Phil, we're in town. Just finished driving 16 hours from Raleigh..." Great, they're ready to party. Phil suggests that they go check into their downtown hotel, take showers, and get some rest. We plan on meeting up at 6. Mike, Rick, Scott, and Brad take Phil's advice and head downtown. Phil falls back asleep until 2pm, when his phone rings again. "Hey Phil, I'm here," Paul says, "Where the limo?"
We originally told Paul that we'd have a limo pick him up at the airport. Paul has lost an extraordinary amount of money to Rafe by betting sports during the last six months. We decide to issue Paul a "Good Player Club Card" and sent him tickets to the final four weekend. Unfortunately, there are no limo services available, so we tell Paul to catch a taxi to the RV park.
He shows up about an hour later, and soon thereafter, we teach him Chinese Poker. Very soon thereafter, he and Rafe are going for BIG numbers. Finally, Phil convinces them that it's time to head into town. We call a taxi, and by six we're at the Cat's Meow with the gang, all seven of us, the video camera, the digital camera.
We have a beer there because its 3 for 1 happy hour. Having seven guys, all reuniting, all ready to rage and looking forward to a great weekend lends itself well to drinking. Mike chugs a beer because he's holding three and doesn't have a place to set them down. Scott orders a round of Hurricanes, a pretty good call in New Orleans. In thirty minutes, we all have a pretty good buzz on as we saunter down Bourbon street in search of the Acme Seafood House, the sight of our planned dinner.
We wait in line for a few minutes and finally we're escorted to our table. After ordering drinks, a couple of pounds of crawfish appetizer, and more drinks, we have a toast: "To the Final Four!"
"Hey guys, I just want to thank you all for coming this weekend," Phil says, "and for being kind enough to each pay me $50 for winning our March Madness pool. Thanks to Syracuse, I'm now 100% locked for first place." They all agree, of course, as the facts stand for themselves. Phil locked up the pool, which we named 'Gumbo' with the locally-appropriate password: 'showusyourtits'. "Now, as a way to get this weekend off to a fine start, I will officially donate all my winnings to the beer/food fund for the trip." This generates a standing round of applause, followed by another round of drinks and an attempt to order dinner.
More gumbo, crawfish, seafood platters, more beer, and then we pull out the coup de grace, the Golo Golf dice game from American Tailgater. After a brief demonstration, we are definitely on a roll and gambling for beer money. Brad somehow wins, but only due to an "out of bounds" by Phil on the front nine - a die rolled off the table, an automatic two stroke penalty.
We order more beer (are you sensing a pattern here?) and decide that if anyone is caught with an empty glass during the weekend, they must contribute $5 to the beer fund. Mike Manthy, already close to stumbling, was the first to oblige. We thanked Mike for his contribution, and then ordered another pitcher of beer in his honor.
Shortly before eight, we head over to "The Vault" for a private party hosted by Addidas. Our friend, Samantha, who helped arrange the incredible USA kickoff party in Hollywood, was throwing a party for all the movers and shakers in sports. It's a completely open bar, completely free party. Courtesy of Samantha, we are all on the list. Isn't it great to be on the list? Samantha, thank you!
The Vault is a defunct bank, high ceilings, an incredible space. With bars set up all over, we make ourselves comfortable and settle in for the first of several free beers. Eventually, Samantha gets a few free minutes to talk to us near a big stand of basketballs that are formed into a pyramid - about a hundred of them. Without really thinking, Phil touches one of them at the base and sends about half of them bouncing and tumbling all over the floor. Sam handled it pretty well, and in about ten minutes we had the pyramid back in a presentable state. Rafe and Paul found the free Playstation and 989 Sports College Basketball game, undoubtedly to do some gambling. Scott and the crew found the coach for the University of Pittsburgh, and his lovely daughter, Kathleen. We're all having a blast, drinking free beer, getting our palms read by the voodoo practicing palm readers, and flirting with the girls that are passing out beads - hey, when you are in New Orleans you gotta stock up on beads!
Eventually, we decide the party is waning and we set off for Bourbon St., Kathleen along for the spectacle, clearly enamored with at least one of us.
Bourbon St. is hopping, and we're psyched. Phil is doing filming as everyone walks down the road, catching some great "showusyourtits" moments, and encouraging the girls on the patios to do just that. God only knows the name of the patio bar we ended up in first, but after getting Mike and Scott and Rick a few times at the "empty bottle" game, the beer fund still had plenty of money with which to buy drinks.
Another friend, Rebekah from LA, showed up, and soon she's doing the filming and photos, while Phil and Rafe are doing their best to act sober enough to interview college basketball fans from across the country. Syracuse definitely seems to be the favored team, with Texas a close second.
Eventually, we tire of that scene and head to Razzoo, where we are greeted by the manager. "No filming," he says, and while this may not be a show stopper worth bothering with, Scott seals our fate by almost getting into a rumble with a punk just outside the club, causing the bouncers and Rick to spill out into the street and restrain what might have been an ugly fight. Did I say fight? Jeez...
We quickly regain our momentum and head to, yes, the Cat's Meow, a karaoke joint down the street. Within minutes, we're signed up, ordering drinks, catching vibe, and cutting up. It's at this point that Phil notices that Rick is not wearing his wedding ring. Now, far be it from us to say if that's right or wrong, but we had to ask... "Rick, why in the hell aren't you wearing your wedding ring?"
"Well, I was about three hours from Raleigh when we stopped at a gas station. I went to use the bathroom and washed my hands. An hour later, I realized that I left the ring there. Of course, I called immediately, but the attendant couldn't find it. So, I called Jill [his wife] to see if perhaps I had left it at home [brave man!]. Sure enough, it's sitting on the dresser. Needless to say, Jill was not pleased."
[Having lived with Rick and Jill for about a year, I can tell you that "Jill was not pleased" is synonymous with "I'm in deep shit." - Phil]
Time flies at the Cat's Meow, we're all ripped, and having a blast. As the night wears on, we lose a few of the guys and it's down to just the hard core. Eventually, a girl comes up to Phil and asks him to accompany her to a local Strip establishment with her and her friends. Against his better judgment, he agrees and departs, only to arrive back at the RV in a few hours at daybreak. [Inside joke to the guys on the trip: Jelly Donut!!! (Rafe]
The rest of the guys thought it was time for a 6am stop at Krystal, the local hamburger joint just near their hotel. You can easily eat 6 of the little baby hamburgers without feeling it, the general Krystal formula being: (# Beers consumed / # hours partying) x 3. Not known for his rapport with fast-food servers, Rafe was lectured on the subject of patience before being allowed to eat their tasty morsels and stumble into oblivion...
It's one p.m. before we can stir. The guys pile into their car and drive to the RV park. There we all don the official USA Flag shirts, pack the tailgating supplies into the RV, and head down the Superdome.
After comparing stories from the night, it comes to light that Mike Manthy had two pints of Guinness, by himself, in the hotel bar at 8 am this morning. He's still going strong, and before we leave the parking lot, he's popped another brew.
Eventually, we find a suitable parking lot just a few hundred yards from the Superdome. We set up the rig, speakers on the roof, bbq out and going, Daquiri Whacker set up, and music pumping, beers cracked. It's a sweet tailgate, and we're really psyched for the game.
Just then, two New Orleans police type guys show up. "You guys are in the clean zone," they say. What's the clean zone? Well, it's a place up to 500 yards from the Superdome where the NCAA and the city will not allow "advertising" or commercialization of the Final Four. Our sponsors messages all over the RV was enough to convince them that we were advertising, despite our protestations to the contrary. They made us move 100 feet across the parking lot. We handled it well, because we suppose, there was no alternative.
The lead parking guy, Joe, was sympathetic, but his hands were tied. "Hey guys, if you're interested, I own a bar down the street called Polynesian Joe's. We're having a Cajun party tomorrow, BBQ pork, 500 lbs of crawfish, and we have an outdoor volleyball net as well. We'd love it if you'd come and bring the RV - there's a big parking lot across the street." After thinking for exactly one second, we are sold, and glad we didn't pitch too much of a fit over being forced to move.
Syracuse fans are everywhere in the lot, and soon enough we're grilling and whacking daquiris for all. While the 'Cuse fan reputation is less than exemplary, we're here to tell you that the students we met were all very cool and extremely generous. To wit, they loaned us their grill when we ran out of propane, and they donated $60 from their beer fund to the Cancer Research & Prevention Foundation. We were flabbergasted and grateful.
At this time, we decide to start a new final four pool, $20/man, must predict the winner of both semifinal games and the winner of the overall to qualify, ties to be determined by point total in the final game. Almost everyone picks Texas, but Phil, swayed by the good-natured fans, picks Syracuse to win it all, the only one of the seven to do so.
About an hour before game time, Jimmy, a WebTickets.com representative showed up. "Here are your tickets, guys," he says. Love WebTickets.com, really. We're in the nosebleeds, but at a very reasonable price for the friends, and of course, free for us. After waiting out some torrential showers, we head into the game. We're quite a sight, all seven in matching shirts. After we're already in, its easy to determine that this is the only 6 hours of the trip when we'll be without drink - alcoholic drinks are not sold at college events. Bummer.
The first game, Kansas vs. Marquette, is a total sleeper. Kansas destroys them, and at halftime is up by over 30 points. A little bit of math shows that if Kansas holds the ball for the 35 second shot clock and Marquette scores a 2 point basket in 15 seconds every single time, Kansas will still win the game. Amazing.
At half time, we leave the seats and head to the hallway. We're sitting down with Paul and trying to get him stuck. Unfortunately, he succeeds in pummeling Rafe, sending him into a complete tizzy. Second half wasn't much better, and there were several times that the action was so incredibly boring (and Rafe incredibly stuck) that Chinese Poker would call out to them during free throws or even a fast break. Kansas was impressive, but Marquette really didn't come to play.
At game intermission, well, guess. More Chinese Poker in the hallway, more losses for Rafe. We all decide collectively that Syracuse and the 4 points is an immortal lock, so we call our favorite sports book and place a hefty wager, Rafe's wager being just enough to get even if we're successful.
Second game starts, and the Syracuse fans are going nuts. Their freshman sensation, Camello Anthony, was just lighting them up for 35 points or so. Incredible, performance.
Syracuse could not miss from anywhere on the court. Texas, to their credit, stood strong. There were very few shots missed in the first half, that being the best played half of college basketball we've seen, live or on TV.
'Cuse stretched the lead out in the second half with some marksmanship from three point land, and with a few minutes to go in the game, we were completely locked, Rafe was even, and we were ready to hit Bourbon street again. Also, everyone but Phil was eliminated from the new pool, as he was the only one to pick both Kansas and Syracuse to advance.
Skipping a return to the RV, we head straight out to town. It's a brisk mile walk from the Superdome, but made all the more pleasant by a stop at a local bar for a beer for the road. One of the greatest things about partying in New Orleans is that there is no "open container law" meaning you can take your drink from bar to bar or just walk down the street with an open beer. Love that.
Hoping they wouldn't recognize us, we head to Razzoo after Scott promises that he'll keep cool and not pick any fights. Sure enough, we're in, and ready to rage. Our six beerless hours at the game doesn't stop us from kicking it into high gear, the beer and shots flowing at a semi-constant pace well into the night.
Eventually, we end up at Cat's Meow yet again. "Here they are, those crazy guys from the Ultimate Sports Adventure" the host says into the microphone as we walk into the place, "You guys get your butts up here." And we do, all seven of us, on stage, while the hostess sings "YMCA" and the crowd goes nuts. Seven Village People, Seven friends, Seventeen beers. Some girl in the crowd throws Scott a bra, from somewhere else comes a pair of panties or a thong or something... Manthy catches it, and for some reason, decides it would be nice to wear on his head.
Another stumble back to the RV at 6am, another stop at Krystals, another sleep deprived night, another hangover.
It's 1pm and we move the RV from the Superdome parking lot to Polynesian Joe's.
We head in, and find a four-man volleyball tournament already underway. Rafe and I quickly sign up, and before he has time to order a beer, Phil is on the court and winning his first game in a landslide.
Everyone is more than friendly. Phil is drooling over one of Rafe's teammates, Lindsey, a 21 year old 6 foot tall student at Tulane with great volleyball skills. Unfortunately for Rafe, despite some good individual players, team chemistry is lacking and they drop their first two games. Rafe feels badly after learning that they won their first game as a threesome.
Shortly thereafter, the other guys show up. Now, for $10, we played in the volleyball tournament. Included in that charge was all the beer you could drink, as well as all the Cajun food you could eat. Pretty good deal, really. For those not playing in the volleyball tournament, a $3 bracelet was good for drinks and food. Amazing.
We set up some signage around the joint, pull out the Daquiri Whacker and American Tailgater catalogs, and settle in for free beer, a pool tournament, volleyball, and some great spit-roasted pig and boiled crawfish. This is a barefoot bar, with just a great vibe. Rick, on his way to play in the pool tournament, slipped barefoot on the floor late in the afternoon and slid his way half across the bar to bash into the jukebox.
The pool tournament was single elimination 8-ball. With all of us entered (free), we were locked. Eventually, Phil won the tournament and collected the $50 gift certificate to Chevy's Mexican Grill. Now let's do some math. 3x10 (volleyball) + 4x3 (food, beer) = 42. Polynesian Joes actually paid us $8 to eat great food, play volleyball, and drink free beer all day long. Thanks Joe!
Throughout the course of the day, we convince Lindsey and another one of the girls in the party, Julia, enough to meet up with us on Bourbon street later that night. Rick, sitting in a plastic white deck chair, was doing his best to seem sober while watching Rafe and Lindsey in the finals of the volleyball tournament. Of course, his chair leg crumbled under the 200 pounds, sending him crashing to his ass for the second time of the day. Wait a sec, did we just say that Rafe was in the finals?! Never one to accept losing, Rafe had decided assure his team some wins by taking over the setting position, instead of rotating. Luckily, all the teams made the playoffs, and with their new strategy, they were able to dispatch of the top seed in the first round and dismantle Phil's team in the second. Their Cinderella run was stopped short in the finals by a buzzsaw of a team, but Rafe felt vindicated (and hopefully scored some points with the girls watching!)
After quick showers in the RV, we head back out to Bourbon Street, Lindsey and Julia in tow. Now complete experts on Bourbon, the boys decide that its time for a strip club, en masse. We select the "classiest" joint, and head in. Unfortunately, there is a big line. Then we remember that Polynesian Joe told us "if you have any trouble in town with anything, just show them my card and it will be taken care of." Little did we know what an error it would be to forget his card on the way out of the RV. Ever-resourceful Paul walks up to the doorman and says something about knowing Joe. "Joe?" they ask. "Yeah, you know, Joe. He said you guys would hook us up." Before we know it, we're escorted back into the club, no cover charge. Wow, Joe must really have some juice in town. Thanks, Joe!
The strip club was, well, a strip club. Cheezy, but not in a Vegas kind of way. More like a parody of an upscale strip club kind of way. The girls, more silicone than water, were decent, but the whole affair just seemed a bit too cliché. Lindsey was not impressed, but Julia seemed a bit more into it.
After about an hour, we bail and head down the street. All except for Rafe and Julia that is. They were nowhere to be found, so we had to ditch them or be in danger of losing all of our beer fund to stripper tips. To be honest, no one in the group can tell you where we went first. Suffice to say that Bourbon was very crowded. Eventually, we ended up at, yes, you guessed it, the Cat's Meow. At 4am. A few more drinks, and there we were, yet again, on stage doing YMCA. We're nothing if not consistent.
Phil and Lindsey took off for another bar around 5, and the rest of the boys off to Krystal. Rick was a little tipsy, and while walking down the middle of the sidewalk, tripped and fell down. The minute it took to collect himself was just enough time for the early morning street sweeping car to come barreling around the corner at 30 miles per hour, soaking Rick and sending the entire group into hysterics before disappearing around the corner as quickly as it had appeared.
After a quick lunch, we decide to move the RV back to the RV park. It's a massive effort considering the lack of sleep and hangover we're sporting. Back at the RV park, its time for a nap and a bit more Chinese Poker with Paul.
Somehow, we rally, and all decide to meet at Rick's Hotel at 6. It's absolutely pouring down rain when we get to the hotel. We're happy to see Lindsey there to meet us - she's going to the game as well on our invitation.
Waiting for a break in the rain, eventually we make it to the Superdome in time to buy Lindsey a ticket. Paul, as you might have guessed, is in charge of the negotiation. We see the ticket scalper almost crying as Paul walks away with a ticket for Lindsey for $10. This, dear readers, is a $50 face value ticket.
Not content with upper level nosebleeds, we notice that there are tons of seats available in the Texas seating area. We head over, grab eight decent seats together. Eventually, we are uprooted by the real owners of the seats, so we scramble and disperse into pairs. Rafe corners Paul in order to dig himself out of his gambling hole (Chinese Poker and blackjack at every timeout).
The game was really incredible. Syracuse's shooting guard threw up shots from nearly half court and made 6 of the first 7 shots, sending the crowd into a frenzy. He couldn't miss, and by half time, Syracuse had built a sizable lead. This made us very happy, as we had bet on Syracuse plus the points in a big way through Paul's bookie.
Second half was much the same, with Kansas making a valiant charge near the end, but ultimately missing way too many free throws. At a critical juncture of 10 minutes left in the game and the game tied, a Kansas player went to the line for two. "Watch this," Phil said to Lindsey, "here's a little voodoo on these free throws." The guy clanked two shots off the front of the rim, and Kansas went on to miss the next five in a row on that basket as well!
The end of the game, with Syracuse leading by three, featured a HUGE blocked shot, sealing the victory for the Orangemen. We all met up after the game to watch the cutting down of the nets, the presentation of the MVP trophy (Anthony) and chants of "The Juice is Loose!" by an ecstatic hoard of Syracuse fans.
Completely exhausted and facing a huge drive in the morning to Augusta for the Masters, we decline to go out for a big night. Instead, we head to the Fairmont for a post-weekend recap session over a scotch (or, admittedly, two). Then, off to bed at around 2am, but not before another late night Krystal run for the boys.
Thanks to Rick, Scott, Brad, Mike, Brad, and Paul for making this one of the most incredible weekends of the tour. Thanks to Rebekah for being such a trooper and putting up with all the guy-centric antics of the weekend. And, thanks very much and congratulations to Syracuse for winning us a ton of money.
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