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Monday, April 18, 2011

CONFESSIONS OF A MAD SPORTS ADDICT

BOOK 1: Rebels & Saints; a Weekend in October. CH 4.

THE LOST ID: PREVIOUSLY IN NEW ORLEANS

I wouldn't consider (myself) us strip club guys, even though I’ve had my share of
adventures in them. While Steve passed on both our road-trip strip club escapades, that didn't stop John and me from another legendary adventure two years ago during our trip to New Orleans for the LSU/Georgia game.

While tearing up Bourbon Street, we stumbled onto Rick’s Cabaret strip club. It really seemed like a great idea at the time. That’s what Bourbon Street and cheap booze do to you; make bad ideas seem brilliant. After several laps up and down the strip and getting thoroughly hammered on beers, hand grenades and test tube shots, we were going in, except Steve who went back to the hotel.

John and I burst inside with big cocktails and even bigger buzzes. We blew past the host stand and made ourselves comfortable at the first open table. Two strippers immediately came over and put on their best charm routine. Having come from the talent agency world where every conversation has an agenda, we found their small-town version adorable. Once they discovered we were from Hollywood, the tables were turned on who was seducing who. One girl was kind enough to let us test drive the feel of her brand new ‘assets’. They seem about as real as the Easter Bunny. Come to think of it, they were fluffy and cute, so…after debating their quality, we gave ‘em rave reviews. We told her she should come to Hollywood and we’d make her a star. Yeah, we were drunk and cocky and seeing how far we could take this rouse...it was truly all in fun.

Their boss came over and took them aside for a quick chat. Apparently they seemed to be enjoying themselves too much. Immediately upon their return, they gave us the hard sell for ‘private’ dances...for only $200, but we were tapped out. Luckily, the girls were kind enough to point us to a cash machine across the street. John and I made a bee-line…him for the cash machine, me for the hotel.

Having had my fill of stripper assets for free and seeing no need to drop $200 after the fact, especially since I was legitimately nearly broke, I wished John luck and went back to the hotel bar where I met a lovely girl. Later that morning, John came stumbling off the elevator and found us. “What the fuck happened to you?” he said. “I go to the cash machine, turn around and you’re gone!” I smiled. “Yeah, I had my money’s worth at that place so I came back here. And look who I met!” I turn to introduce Miss Unknown and then it slipped out; “What was your name again?” She wasn’t thrilled.

I woke up the next morning with a slap mark on my face and John woke up missing his wallet and ID. We spent most of that day tracking down a replacement ID, which included a trip to the police station to report it stolen. We did all of these fun-filled tasks with a harsh hangover. Ah, New Orleans!

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