EPTAs I board the subway train I am confident. With 2 hours till the plain leaves and the wonders of the online check-in that allow me to be at the airport as late as 15 minutes before the departure, it’s a sure thing to make it on time. Not.
Not stepping a foot outside of NYC for the past 5 years, I can hardly be named an airport regular. Thankfully the NYC subway system cares about the tourists and sets up two trains with the same name going to two different directions. Obviously enough, I jump on the wrong one(actually they both have the possibility of getting to JFK, just the one I got onto involves a rare and slow bus, rather then the speedy airtrain I was counting on). 7 minutes to the departure I make it to the correct terminal. 4 and I’m at the check point. “You’re running late”-graciously informs me the clerk, but thankfully decides to take me through the VIP check in. I make it on time.
On the plane I have 2 seats all to myself, but I struggle to stick to my original plan- sleep. As we take off I have a sudden panic taking over me. Fear of heights lurking in me tries to get out, an after a short while I calm down, just as the turbulence does. Dozing on and off I make it through the first portion of my flight. Layover at Vegas.
Approaching Vegas I look out of the window. The endless sea of dirty yellow/orange marked off by an occasional line of a highway lays way under my feet and in front of my eyes. A desert like I’ve never seen it before. Not on TV.
Not being able to leave the airport (25 minutes till boarding the Seattle bound plane) I cling to the windows looking around in amazement at giant pyramids and sphinxes, hotels and casinos that lay in front of my eyes. This place, so different from anything that I’ve seen before. So different from the green of my native city. So different from the endless gray pavements of New York. The lifeless sand is strangely intriguing, and the generous placement of the city’s attractions allows one to observe the amazing skyline of the Sierra Mountains. As I board the plane, I take one last look out of the window with feelings of regret and desire to come back to this place one day.
Were closing in to Seattle, and looking down I see us passing the Qwest field. Only twenty minutes later does the plane touch the ground. That sheer fact of enormous distance that must separate the field and the hotel puts a tingly feeling of worry in my heart. But as we land and I turn on my cell phone I get a voicemail from Fudd. I call back and in no time my stay is settled. Feeling reassured I walk to the hotel lobby (the player hotel was about 10 minute walk from the airport) and wait on them as they are out trying to rent a car. About an hour later I see a guy coming by sporting a pair of enormous earrings. “Wow”- I think to myself- “Those are the biggest bloody earrings I ever saw on a man.” Twenty minutes later, to my shock, I find out those ears belong to none other then Fudd himself. Looking no older then 25, he surprises me with how different he is from his online persona. In no way is he the massive, heavily bearded biker packed in all leather I imagined he would be (okay, a little extreme, but you get the point!). Sporting a lively springy walk Trev was tagging along. Apart from being extremely tall, he failed to catch me off guard the way Fudd did, just because I actually had no idea who Trev was before that day. Other than that my memory of meeting them for the first time is extremely fuzzy, as the travel and lack of sleep began to take their toll. After struggling to find our way to the room (which was ridiculously far from the lobby), we chatted for a while and then I crashed on the bed. Two hours more, and I’m up and all three of us head downstairs. Men on a mission, we try to find a familiar face to start up a poker game. Quiet a bit of wandering was done before I found Ex. “Vakhtang”-I call him up, and introduce myself as S2 manager. He doesn’t recall. We chat a bit in Russian and I find out they were looking for Mondy who previously agreed to play them in poker. Success. A tad bit later I meet White.Ra, Moonzerg and Swift (WC3 player). My dignity gets stabbed once again, when white.ra doesn’t recognize me either, despite the fact that I have interviewed him before several times. We chat a bit about my background and set our sights on the poker game. First on the menu: hunting for beer.
In the little gas station store we grab 4 six packs. When my Russian contingent sees the price they’re quiet shocked, if not maddened. Recalling various WCG incidents (in particular the Aspeak one) I calm them down, reassuring it is normal for United States. (Therefore, highly probable, I saved the shop owners life, for which he should be forever indebted). Going back to hotel the Russians interrogate me with questions about life in New York City, and the several legal concerns (needless to say in the very same day they broke them all, and even managed to cross an intersection when both lights were red on our way back).
By the time we found the Mondragon posse at Ballroom 1 their table was filled, and unwilling to accept the money game offer extended by the Russian players. So we quickly grab table right next to theirs and the game rolls out with me, Trev, Fudd, Ra, Ex, Swift, and some Russian CS player. Moonzerg watching. Shamelessly chugging beer, the game fires up as more and more players pour in, introduce themselves, shake hands and steal our beer. Were later joined by two Philippine CS players, Russian Team Leader, some dude from MIBR, and two of Fudds friends (one of whom looked remarkably like what I would imagine Fudd would actually look). After some time has passed and some buy-ins changed hands, I decide to go out to relieve myself of the beer tension building up at the anterior regions of my lower body. As I slip back into the ballroom I notice two security ‘operatives’ interrogating my table and checking IDs. After a little debate with myself on what to do I decide to proceed to the table, and deny everything in case if they attempt to bust me as well. Thankfully most of the guys at the table at that time were of legal age (besides one of the Philippines, who escaped the wrath of the law by stating that it was actually Ex’s beer. Seeing the Russian jacket Vakhtang was wearing, they figured “Well duh, Russian, of course he has two beer bottles). In exhibition of their unsurpassed legal power they decide to send WhiteRa to get his passport. As if the Ukrainian player looks anything below 25.
In a little bit the game broke up and we headed up to our room leaving the staff to deal with the aftermath. Beer spillage (courtesy of Ex) and empty beer bottles everywhere. After cashing out all players out Fudd went out to drive his friends back home and Trev went… somewhere. Being left all alone in my room, I felt tired enough to call it a day, so I crashed on the rollaway bed.
P.S.: There is also Matt (binky) who supposed to stick in this scenario somewhere but I do not recall. I believe he got picked up after I went to bed.
dirty bastards.
