Wife to Wade Davis
The end of the 2010 Season came fast for us. The guys had earned their way into the playoffs against the Texas Rangers in the ALDS. I’ll never forget that friggen series.
The Rays lost the first game at Tropicana field, and I remember I decided to announce to every person I saw later on that day “If they were going to lose one, it may as well be the first one and get it out of the way…”
Good job Katelyn. The next day they lost the second game in a row. Shit.
They were down in the series 0-2 and needed to win both games in Texas to have a chance. Who cares, in my mind it was inevitable that they would bring it home, and if a little enthusiasm would raise everybody’s spirit then, then damnit I’d find each and every player and administer a faithful high five. After walking past me to their bus while whacking me in the vagina with their Louie Vuitton carry-ons, I concluded I would save the high fives for later.
So we were going to Texas. I jumped in my friend Giselle’s car, another wife, and we sped to Tampa Airport to catch our plane. The first mistake in that sentence is driving with Giselle. Being present in any vehicle that she was operating was a death wish. First because she expertly leaves 45 minutes after an actual acceptable departure time, and second, and she drives an SUV that is the size of a submarine. We are talking about a 105 lb. miniature Cuban girl, driving a greyhound bus. Excuse me.
We made it to the airport 35 minutes late, and while G was harassed by the parking security, I made a B-line for the Southwest Counter. She’d be fine, whenever she was flustered she would begin rambling in a language I’m pretty sure she made up somewhere between cuba and miami and it would throw everyone off. We ran through security and after offering the gate agent everything but a handy J to get down the jet bridge, he let us through and we got onto the plane.
We were THOSE people. Those people with no shoes on, holding them above our shoulders to get down the aisle, and huffing our hot, steamy breath onto peoples’ heads while trying to recover from the home alone scene we just recorded in terminal A. I could tell by the looks on the pissed off peoples’ faces that they had already made an announcement about the two retards that hadn’t arrived yet. So, as we passed our best friend Kelly sitting gingerly in first class with her son whom I like to refer to as j-man, we sat in the only remaining seats….thanks to Southwest‘s dumbass seating we were awarded the row closest to the toilet.
The one terrific thing about traveling with Giselle is we have the same, stupendous appetite and taste. So naturally, we sat down next to each other, pulled out our platter of Starbucks cheese and ordered some additional snacks as soon as possible. It wasn’t until we took off and were about to cruising altitude until I realized God was about to punish us. Right as I was deciding between my first bite of either cheddar or pepper jack, the woman sitting next to me (in a three seat row) pulled out a GROCERY BAG filled with two Styrofoam containers. Hot, moist, Styrofoam containers. We were sitting next to THAT lady. As I slowly turned my head to Giselle with my eyes opened as wide as they would go, the wafting smell of a caveman’s thanksgiving dinner whacked us in the face.
Now, I understand when people like to bring their own foods onto the plane, I get it, airplane food sucks. However, this was no regular take-out fare. It wasn’t even anything you could acceptably eat with utensils.
One might think that because you’re on a plane that literally millions of strangers have breathed in, touched, and farted on, you’d want to at least keep your fingers out of your mouth.
Well, this lady didn’t get the memo and she was going to town on her four course meal. I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead and breathe as little as possible but it was quite difficult considering she was rolling peas onto my tray table. As I slowly glanced over to her ferocious tray, she pulled out two giant turkey legs and proceeded to chomp her way through them. When I say turkey legs, I’m not talking about wings from pizza hut, these were Medieval Times’ sized brontosaurus legs, complete with a side of mashed potatoes, gravy, and creamed corn. Twenty minutes down, three more hours to go.
We somehow endured the three and a half hour flight, and it was finally time to land. Naturally, I had my usual panic attack and braced for impact. I cant really equate anything to the feeling I get when landing on the ground safely, probably the same feeling my yorkie gets after dry-humping her stuffed phesant for four hours- satisfied relief. After finally corralling ourselves in baggage claim, Kelly, J-man, Giselle and I headed outside where we had a car to the hotel waiting for us.
During playoffs we aren’t allowed fly on the team plane with our husbands so we just fly out and meet the boys at the hotel. This particular flight we caught happened to arrive about 3 hours before the guys so when we got to the hotel and checked into our rooms, clearly we weren’t going to just sit and stare at the wall, I undoubtedly would have to do that later during a time out anyhow.
After dropping off my bags in my room, I trotted my way over to Kelly’s room, convinced her to order bottles of wine, and began my daily game of hotel room whiffle ball with j-man. It’s become customary for Kelly to walk out of the bathroom in her room and find me on the floor playing a serious playoff caliber game with her two year old. On numerous occasions she found me either under her bed, hiding in her curtains, or in one unexplainable event; in her child’s rollaway crib.
Anyhow, j-man beat me yet again and as he continued to pelt a stuffed ball at my head, I started to drink. Giselle came to join us and about mid conversations those bastards switched to Spanish without even realize it and my attention went elsewhere. After my delicious third glass I called room service, ordered up another cheese sampler platter, charged it to her room, and went about our fun. After a few hours someone was at the door. Its always such a buzz kill when that door handle turns and all who were invited are already in her room, it means the guys are here and after a long flight they either want to bone, eat, or rest. None of which I was interested in at the moment. Anyway in comes Kelly’s husband which means mine wasn’t far behind, time to go.
Thinking I still had time to escape before the rest of the team flooded the floor, I crept into the hall with my cheese, half bottle of wine, and cowboy boot slippers. I had almost made it when damnit, in my pinot grigio haze I forgot my room number and then I saw them coming. Like a herd of elephants, about 25 of the guys rounded the corner looking for their rooms. I was caught, and there was no where to run. Being the size of a 9 year old, and holding a bottle of wine is never attractive, throw in some cowboy boot slippers and purple teeth and you’re a walking disaster. I weaved and dipped through their legs like they do in Jurassic park, remaining relatively unseen apart from the few unfortunate men under 6 foot. My only mission was to find the room that belonged to my key before Dino found me. Then, with my head down I ran into him like they do in cartoons. My face whacked his belly button, I looked up, and the look on his face told me time out would come early.
All he did was point his finger in the direction of our room and I began my death march towards a night of no fun. This specific night I had gotten off easy, the only guys to witness this hot mess were mr. cheese and tweeter who were sure to get their laughs in. Clowns. My ill behavior wasn’t anything new, luckily most of the guys were young and had grown through the Rays system with dino so they all knew me as the resident ferret on crack.
After five minutes of ‘quiet time,’ and twenty of jumping on the bed announcing that it was only 9:30, I was eventually body slammed into an early coma. The next morning brought new opportunity, it was a day game so I was really looking forward to the sweltering heat. Kelly and G had decided that the time of the game was going to hinder naptime so they opted to show up later in the game. I however, was going to be there an hour early. This is game three. So instead, I rounded up two other girls on the trip, Jen and Allison. Jen is terrific to hang out with because she is the only person whose behavior can be just as poor as mine. We met down in the lobby and took off for the stadium.
Texas is one of those places where it is perfectly acceptable, if not expected, to wear the state flag on your shirt, car, arm, or any other extremity. Everywhere you look you’re getting smacked in the face with some stupid song, a cowboy hat or cattle of some kind. The stadium there is pretty amazing however it is like taking all of those texans with a twang and putting them on crack. So loud, so texas, and so slow. It took a lot for me not to start wind milling my arms trying to get through the crowd and whacking everyone in the face. After entering the stadium through the wrong entrance it took us about 45 minutes to get to our seats to settle in with the rest of the Rays extended families that had made the trip.
All in all there was probably about 30 of us spread throughout a small area. My area however, had two good solid rows of blue and white. When you are in a stadium of 50,000 plus Texans waving towels, wearing antlers on their heads and constantly displaying some kind of claw in your face, you have to hold your own in the cheering department and I intended to do just that. Out of all of the people in the stadium we had to have the assholes that get offended when you are there for the visiting team. Naturally, these people had a child about 8 years old that decided to sit backwards and stare at me and only me for about 4 innings. And it wasn’t that “curious child” look that everyone passes it off as, (clearly this has happened before and that’s what dino chalked it up to) no, this was an eye-rolling, stank eye giving, little bastard. He was lucky we were winning. So I continued to do my two finger celebration whistle for the next 2 hours.
It turned out being a great weekend down there in good ol’ Arlington. The team had won both games, dino earned his first playoff victory, and I was proud to be an American. At least, that’s what every song played on the radio down there told me.