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With Leather editor/patriarch Matt Ufford is in Arizona for Super Bowl festivities. He will file semi-daily reports from Arizona until at least Monday, February 4th.
So yes, things were a little dark and gloomy for me after I lost my digital camera. But I rallied yesterday. After all, I'm a writer, dammit! I don't need pictures to tell a story. People come to With Leather for my dynamic prose (ummm… right?). Besides, I still have my cell phone camera. In your face, Zapruder! Ehhh… when God gives you lemons, make vodka lemonade, yes?
With this newfound positive attitude, I set out for the FBR Open, which I had never even heard of until Thursday, because really, fuck golf. But apparently it's a huge deal in Phoenix. I guess it's just some big party where people crowd the golf course and get boozy all day; one local told me that the FBR was expecting 200,000 people to attend today. 200,000. There are less than 65,000 seats for the Super Bowl. And as I drove out to Scottsdale for the FBR yesterday, all I could think was, Parking is going to be a world-class clusterfuck.
Getting to Lot H at the FBR was pretty easy: Mayo Avenue dead-ended, then I simply continued on hard-packed dirt that took me into a semi-groomed chunk of desert where parking attendants directed cars into lines that stretched for hundreds of yards. I steered around a desert willow, parked, and the attendant told me that the shuttle bus pick-up was straight ahead. I looked straight ahead and saw nothing but cars, but I took him at his word and five minutes later arrived at the bus stop, where all kinds of people were queued: a man named Wyatt in expensive khakis, button-down shirt, and shiny loafers; a group of college kids that included three guys in extremely distressed jeans and unsuccessful facial hair, plus a girl named Chasey who was so tan I at first thought she was black (they talked about turning 21, and how to get booze before then); gorgeous, stiletto-wearing women struggling in the sand as their gym-rat boyfriends stood by, oblivious.
Since traffic, parking, and the shuttle made my arrival later than I intended, I passed on surveying the course and went straight to the Bird's Nest, the sprawling outdoor party that feeds people's alcoholism once the 18 holes are done. And what do I see but a makeshift football field, and some guy trying to warm up a sparse crowd for The Best Damn Sports Show (Or is it The Best Damn Sports Show Period? Did they drop the spelled-out punctuation?). I wasn't particularly interested until they offered free beer for anyone who came up the edge of the field. Well, mister, those are the magic words. So I got a piece of prime real estate… right next to a pair of extremely vocal Patriots fans.
After nearly assaulting one of the beer girls for a couple of Coors Lights, Tommy and Mikey from Quinzee shared nuggets like, "Hey, did ya heah Ray Allen didn't make the All-Stah team?" then they'd shift directly into yelling at the quasi-celebrities meandering around before the show. "HEY JOHN SALLEY!!! WE HATE YOU!! YA KILLED US!" Then four of the Phoenix Suns dancers came out as part of the festivities, and one of them shouted, "I LIKE THE CELTICS DANSAHS BETTAH!!!" before high-fiving his friend. Then to Brody, the guy warming up the crowd: "We're big Celtics fans." You don't say.
There was a lot of hate for the petite Suns dancers, even though any of them were worth going to federal prison for. Two girls behind me went on and on: "Tell me those are teenage girls and not women… They had some kind of surgical procedure to stop aging right as they hit puberty… They don't eat; they're not allowed to eat." Let's take a quiz: Were these catty bitches (A) young and beautiful, or (B) used-up skanks who looked older than their years?
Finally, the guests showed up, and you haven't seen bullshit until you've seen Snoop Dogg clap hands and hug Ben Roethlisberger. I'm sure Snoop just loved Ben's work with the Povertyneck Hillbillies. Pats fan: "I STILL LISTEN TO DOGGYSTYLE!!!!" Ugly skanks: "GIN AND JUICE!!!" … (several moments of thinking) … "THE DOGG POUND!!!"
There's only so much of this a man can stand.
So, even though Snoop and Ben were pushing around Giants and Patriots fans in human-size hamster balls, I'd had enough. Besides, they weren't giving out any more free beer.
UP NEXT: Inside the ESPN party on Friday night!