You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Hundreds of TV’s and nothing to watch.
I went to four sports bars in Tennessee to watch a little Pac 12 shoot out known as USC vs UCLA.
“Who?” the teenage hostess said.
“USC vs UCLA. You know the Battle of Los Angeles.”
“The battle of ….”
Her voice trails off.
The young hostess stares at me politely.
She doesn’t know what the hell I’m talking about.
I keep my mouth shut. But my brain is surging with thoughts. USC? Just one of the preeminent learning centers in the world I want to say. The Trojans, you know “Student Body left” OJ Simpson, world-famous murderer. Marcus Allen, Superbowl hero. Reggie Bush; the guy who had to give back the Heisman? Song Girls? How bout the damn Song Girls?
She is a restaurant deer in the head lights.
“Can you get your manager to put it on one of these million TV’s?” I ask.
She smiles.
“What games again?”
I feel like saying; FUCLA. You know Westwood the university on the edge of fantasy and lollipops.
“I’ll ask a manager,” she says politely.
I’ll ask the manager?
What are you going to ask him? Where is Los Angeles?
OMG.
I look around at this sports bar.
I see hayseeds and baseball hats. I see chunky women and southern fried fat boys drinking bad beer.
25 tv’s. Games from all over the planet. Nothing west of the Mississippi.
This is SEC country. Mississippi State and Vandy and U.T.
I get it. I’m good with it. I even like it.
But come the hell on. 25 TV’s and not one game on the abc game of the week.
They’ve been promoting UCLA vs USC all week-long.
But on this saturday night, people don’t even know what abc is.
Suddenly this suburb outside of Nashville feels isolated, backwoods, weird like Amish Break Dancing.
25 TV’s and not one tuned to USC vs UCLA.
The sign of the apocalypse? At least 5 tv’s are showing Vanderbilt football.
5 tv’s tuned in to Vanderbilt football? T
More TV’s are tuned in to dental surgery in Antarctica.
USC vs UCLA.
This game is so unique, both teams are wearing their home uniforms in Rose Bowl, the granddaddy of them all.
I’m growing angrier by the minute. This is the 3rd bar I’ve been to. The 1st one was packed and the game nowhere to be seen. The 2nd bar also packed, a million tv’s on, but USC vs UCLA, as prevalent as the elusive pink unicorn.
Now I’m in my 3rd bar and I’m having to explain to a teenage girl what a rivalry game is.
It’s unlike anything in America.
Two top 2o teams in the 2nd biggest city in America. These two powerhouse schools are 15 miles apart.
Auburn vs Alabama: 160 miles.
Ohio State vs Michigan: 195 miles.
Florida State vs Florida: 150 miles.
USC vs UCLA: 12 miles.
TWELVE MILES APART!
Population of Los Angeles? 4 million.
And on this day, half will root for the Trojans, half will root for the Bruins.
The game is like the Civil War. It divides Los Angeles. There is no NFL team in L.A. You either wear Cardinal and Gold or Bruin pansy blue.
If you walked into a bar in L.A. 25 TV’s would be on this game. Fans are fighting one another with knives in their teeth like pirates swinging ship to ship.
I can guarantee you that Vandy football’s as visible as bacteria under a microscope.
The little hostess shrugs and says sorry.
“I can’t believe they aren’t showing your game,” my girlfriend says. “It’s been advertised all week.”
She’s right. I am angry. I’m pissed at Tennessee. It’s the only game I wanted to see, it’s all I’ve been thinking about all week, and now I can’t even get these bacon fat red necks to change one freaking TV.
I leave and go to my 4th sports bar.
I’m angry. I’m agitated like a washing machine spinning a bowling ball.
I quickly scan the TV’s. More of the same.
I am broiling, border line disgusted.
How can you walk into a sports bar and not see the biggest game of the day? It’s like boarding a pirate ship and not seeing rum.
I look up at another 25 TV’s and all I see is Mississippi State and U.T. and even the god forsaken Vanderbilt Commodores.
“Hey bartender, can I get the USC game on please.”
He looks up at the monitors over the bar. Then back to me with a blank stare. I pull my shirt tight so he can see my Trojans logo.
“USC!”
“I’ll talk to the manager.”
We sit at the bar.
“How hard can it be to change a channel to abc?” she asks.
“What do you want to drink?” the bartender asks.
“If you can’t get me my game I’m going home,” I say.
“Don’t leave. let me talk to the boss,” he says.
I appreciate his spirit, but again, I’m amazed that I have to get a Presidential Pardon to get a game that is being shown nationally on a major network.
A man on a bar stool next to me smiles.
“Crazy you can’t see your game?”
I know right. I want to vomit my frustration on this guy. He’s wearing an Alabama hat.
The bartender comes back.
“He’s looking for the game.”
I look at him with a crazy, Charles Manson stare.
How hard can it be to find a major network. I feel like asking for the remote. I can find channel 2. I know Channel 2. It’s the lowest number on your dial, divisible by itself and one.
“OK, thanks,” I say instead.
We order two beers and wait for the game.
“Hey look,” the man on the bar stool beside me shouts.
I look up. The game is on the set right in front of me.
My eyes meet a blimp shot of the stadium.
It’s music to my corneas.
I drink down a Red Stripe.
30 minutes of frustration goes down my gullet.
The Trojans will eventually lose. Lose is kind. They get pummeled, obliterated, used like a trailer park tire swing.
At the end of the day, the Trojans don’t deserve more than one flat screen in four sports bars.
Such a storied program. How embarrassing.
Next time, I’ll just stay home and cry in my store-bought beer.
Life’s Crazy™