Kristabella: Full of Snark Since 1977

Posted By Kristabella on March 4, 2008

First off, I would like to talk about milk. I did not realize that people had such strong feelings about milk. But I would like to clarify, that I love milk. It does a body good. And it is so tasty. I don’t just drink it with meals. Sometimes I just drink it for the hell of it. A big, tall glass. And that apparently disgusts a lot of you. And that is just weird to me.

I am going to be sure to ask Bacon his feelings on milk. Seeing as you either love it or hate it. I think it’s moo-riffic! 

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Now on with the show!

So back when I was living in Northern California, almost all of my friends worked in sports. It just happened to work that way. A lot of my friends were co-workers at the 49ers and my other friends were all old co-workers from the athletic department at ASU. Seriously, I moved to Cali in 1999 and three of the people I worked with in the sports information office moved up all at the same time the following year.

My BFF Julie worked, at the time, at the Pacific-10 Conference, which is located in lovely Walnut Creek. She worked in media relations and handled a myriad of things, but mostly women’s basketball. And the Pac-10 Championships for women’s hoops. Which are always held the week before the men’s in early March, right around this time.

Since she was so involved with the women’s tournament, she wasn’t required to work at the men’s tournament, which was held in Los Angeles. She was encouraged to attend and show support for the conference and all that bullshit. Being my BFF, she went down to partake of the free beer in the hospitality room.

In March of 2003, she asked if I wanted to come along. It is a short-ish drive from San Jose to LA, I had a free place to stay and did I mention that there was free alcohol? This kid (points to self) will drive just about anywhere for free brewskies. So color me drunk and I was on my merry way!

I get there late on Friday night, after jamming to Justin Timberlake’s first solo album, Justified, on my drive down I-5 in some of the worst fog I have ever seen. (And really, with all the booze I’ve consumed in my life, this is what I remember?) I get to the hotel just after the games have ended for the day and meet Julie in the hospitality room. I’m not actually even sure that I brought my bag up to the room or worried about parking the car. I might have sprinted to the free beer all while singing Senorita.

We have a few beers there and close it down. The Pac-10 is not stupid. They aren’t going to let media and tournament people drink for free all night. They have limitations. So we head across the street to the hotel bar at the other media hotel for the tournament. That’s apparently where the big whigs were staying. Ergo, not Julie and I.

After a few respectable drinks in the bar closing down that bar, and having my first, and last, ever tasting of Sambuca, we are invited up to the REAL hospitality suite. This is an actual suite and not just some lame room in the hotel lobby. This is where all the Pac-10 muckity mucks and the university presidents and athletic directors have been imbibing some libations during the week.

At this point, it is well after 2 AM, which is closing time in California. We have seen last call come and go. Apparently no one told the people in this suite because there was still plenty of alcohol. And the beer was being brought up by the case still after 3 in the morning. By the hotel staff. And I wasn’t one to argue law and statutes with the fine hotel people in Los Angeles.

We are all just sitting around, shooting the shit, discussing how this year every good team got knocked out of the conference tournament early and this is why we shouldn’t have a conference tournament, blah, blah, blah. We’re in LA! Let’s talk about celebrities!

As I’m sitting there, I see a guy I work with at the Niners. This guy is a douchebag. And he is a UCLA guy through and through. He actually worked for the Niners and commuted to LA every weekend. The people at Southwest knew him by name. He was on the exact same flight every Friday to LA and every Sunday coming back to the Bay Area. I wasn’t completely shocked to see him there. I was more shocked to see him at 3 AM and have him see me blitzed out of my ever-loving mind.

So we shoot the shit for a bit. And I of course ask him what he’s doing there. Like I mentioned, this isn’t some party you can get into off the street. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of people who knew where we were. You had to be in the KNOW. Invite only, bitches.

He tells me that he came with Steve. And he turns and point to Steve Lavin. Steve Lavin (photo) who, at that particular moment, is the head men’s basketball coach for UCLA. Steve Lavin, whose team just got beat in the Pac-10 Tournament mere hours ago. Steve Lavin, who I have had an irrational hate of for so many years. Steve Lavin is sitting there, in the same room as me, and I’m full to the brim with barley and hops.

He’s ripe for the picking.

Because I have no shame and am beaming with liquid courage, I work up the nerve to talk to good old Stevey boy. This, I’m sure, after several conversations with people I don’t know that probably went a lot like “dude, can you believe Steve Lavin is here? I mean, your team JUST LOST. Maybe be a little sad about it. And not all in a celebratory mood!” In fact, I’m sure it went a lot like that.

I think the guy from the Niners introduces me to Steve. And I make mention that we’ve actually met before, when he came to visit the Niners facility the year before when his team went to the West Regional in San Jose. He just looks at me like I’m crazy. (Little does he know what’s coming.)

But then I actually say, to Steve Lavin, a head coach at a major Division I school, a man pretty well-known across the country, who is just looking to unwind after a loss and not be harassed, since he’s in the comfort of a Pac-10 Conference hospitality room, I say “you know, I used to hate you.”

(I’ll let that just sink in for a second.)

Yep, I told Steve Lavin that I used to hate him. And let’s be honest, I was just being nice. There was no “used to ” about it. I still hated him.

He was taken aback, obviously. But I explained myself, through all the beer haze and the slurring of the speech. I told him that I went to Arizona State. And we suck in basketball. And his team always beats us. Ergo, I hate you.

Strangely enough, he said that was a valid reason. And didn’t even get up to run for the hills.

The next morning, as we awoke and groaned quite audibly because all that beer was coming back in the version of pounding headaches and dry heaves, the previous evening started coming back to me.

Me: “Did I tell Steve Lavin that I hated him?”

Julie: “I think I puked in my sleep.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we are BFFs. 

Categories: A Dash of the Crazy, Hooch Hilarity, Sports
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