I’m getting my education in touring the NBA on this trip for sure. Why do I say that?
The stop at Portland proved relaxing dare I say. No pressure. Work was easy to get done. The Trail Blazers organization was easy to deal with.
Then there’s San Francisco. I’d not been in NoCal for 13 years or so. The last time was for a movie junket related to the film Wings of a Dove, starring Linus Roche and The Rain Maker directed by Francis Ford Coppola.
Although I was violently ill one day during that trip, the second I was good enough to experience Coppola’s vineyard and winery. In short: I didn’t stay in the city.
Returning yesterday, I got the impression that Frisco is little more than New York City west. A colleague confirmed the vibe I got. But there was one distinct difference: the level of snobbery encountered.
You see the Cavs practiced at a private athletic club and seeing as how part of my job is following them, I had to show up there. One Day One the door guy greeted us thusly:
“I’m sorry, sir, but because you are wearing jeans, unfortunately you have to go around to the backdoor to enter the building.”
About the only thing missing from his statement was: “along with the rest of the riff raff.”
This morning upon turning up for shootaround, things got a bit more ridiculous. This time knowing to go to the back, we went there only to be told that we had to wait for the club manager, Pam, to escort us up.
Well heck, Pam didn’t have to do any stinkin’ escortin’ yesterday.
Tick. Tock. Tick Tock. Five minutes pass. No Pam.
“I’m so sorry sir, we’re trying to find her.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Ten minutes later.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Temperatures are beginning to rise.
“Pam will meet you up there, sir.”
I bet she will. I betcha Pam couldn’t be found because she was up there salivating over muscular hoopsters.
It was all a bit surreal simply because after being profiled in one NBA town based upon the color of my skin, now it was coming because of my perceived class. It was like something out of Beverly Hills Cop.
Perhaps I should have done this to try to get in and do interviews:
{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
You’re an idiot. That private club is called (whatever). You know, the club that takes 10 years on the waiting list to be able to join?? You know, where they play the US OPEN?? Maybe you should have gotten a tour guide. And wear nice pants, show some damn respect.
plz don’t call it “Frisco”. no one says that except tourists that have never been there.
San Francisco is fine, or if you’re a local, it’s “The City.”
Apparently Frisco415 didn’t get that memo, FJ. But I do notice the sense of entitlement.
And also notice, I didn’t put the name of the club in anything I wrote. Think ol’ Friso is a member?
And will all due respect, Frisco works for me just fine.
Awwww, Frisco, Frisco…are you angry with me? Tsk. Tsk.
Sorry, Frisco. If I’m on the road, I’m only looking to do one thing. Get interviews, write my stories and do my job.
Didn’t need a tour; didn’t want one. And please note you could identify the snob spot without me naming it. Impressive. Are you a member?
As for respect? I have little use for paying that type of “respect”. Your comment comes from someone who is just awash in a sense of entitlement. Sorry, you get no quarter here.
Later, Biff.
Well, it seem the ‘Friscoites are like New Yorkers.
LOL, Larry. LOL…ROFL.
Good one! Very funny. Love your story, I can picture it myself.