A Bar at 13, A Bar at 26
This week-end I was in St. Louis for a basketball coaches' convention. It was basketball non-stop, all day and all night. You could say that it was a basket full of basketball, but you probably wouldn't want to say that because you would sound like a complete tool. Anyway, at this conference there were several of the country's top coaches from top collegiate programs. We had Bruce Webber from Illinois, Lute Olsen from Arizona, Bob Huggins from Kansas State, Jim Boeheim from Syracuse just to name a few. These guys gave their philosophies on everything from the 2-3 zone to coaching how to defend the screen and roll. It was a lot to take in at once, but very worth the three and a half hour drive to St. Louis. The conference was held at the Adam's Mark hotel in downtown St. Louis, which is where we also stayed. A nice hotel with a bit of personal history.
As I documented before, I was a huge...actually, a HUGE Will Clark fan growing up and the closest place to see a ball game was St. Louis. He played for the Giants the first part of his career and when they would come to St. Louis, we would go to St. Louis and stay in the Adam's Mark hotel because that's where the players stayed. There was this bar in the Adam's Mark where all the players would go after the game. We would wait for them to step off the elevators on their way to the bar and ask them for an autograph. I actually just hoped to speak to one of them. I met several players, but never knew what to say or if I should say anything. These people were like gods to me and I was only a mortal. So, they would step off the elevators and I would fearfully hand a ball or a baseball card and a pen to one of them in hopes of an autograph. Some would sign, some wouldn't. Some (Barry Bonds) were complete jerks, for lack of a better word (or words), and would just tell you to "get the hell out of [their] way". I never did care for Barry Bonds, so that didn't bother me or hurt my feelings. Well, I would wait and wait for some of the players and they would exit the elevator, sign a few autographs and disappear into the smoke of the bar. All I could do as a thirteen year old, was watch as they were enveloped in the noise and atomsphere of the Players bar in the Adam's Mark. As a thirteen year old, I couldn't go in there. I would stand a couple of minutes, see who I could see and find something else to do. I can remember wondering what must be in there. I can remember thinking how mystical that place seemed because all these people who seemed to carry some worldly divinity about them all congregated and vanished into that place to rub shoulders with other people who I could not relate to in the least bit.
We checked in to the Adam's Mark on Friday night and headed out to find something to eat downtown. As we walked out the door, I saw some kids in Cardinals jerseys getting ready to go to the game and I wondered if they would mistake me for a player. It was weird to think that I was now the same age of some of those people I looked up to so much...that I seemed to think were untouchable. We walked past the Players bar and I glanced in there the same way I had thirteen years ago and it still had the same feeling. It seemed bigger than it should be.
We had a full day of basketball the next day and my friends, Jada and Chad, were picking me up at the hotel that night to go out. As a side note, there's not much I enjoy more than catching up with friends over a few beers and pizza. Well, that's what we did. Hung out for awhile, talked while we watched the USC-Iowa football game. Talked about the kids we have on the way, about moving, about adult stuff. I felt so far away from thirteen years old that it seemed like I was never there. They dropped me off at the hotel where my friend, Matt, was picking me up after the night session and then we would head back to Jackson. I got to the hotel a bit before Matt, and I had to kill some time. I went to the business center and checked my email which took about three minutes. I still had about thirty minutes to kill, so I had to find something to do. I walked back to the lobby and saw the Players bar sign and it clicked that I was actually old enough to go in there. So, I walked in like I belonged there...like one of those players from years ago. And when I walked in I saw people who had no divine attributes at all. There were two fat guys in Arkansas shirts drinking beer and who made fun of me for ordering a Long Island Tea. There was a group of guys in their fifties who was sexually harassing the bartender and drunk off their asses. There were a group of women and men a bit older who were louder than anyone else in the bar and had filthier language than anyone else as well. I asked the bartender if any of the baseball teams stayed here anymore and she said that that they all stayed at the Union Station hotel now. And I guess that's fitting in a way. I guess we all outgrow times in our lives and I guess these teams moved on to something bigger and better and nicer. And I guess, last night I outgrew the mysticism of the Players bar in the Adam's Mark hotel in downtwon St. Louis. Give me pizza and beer and some friends to catch up with...give me that anytime over the Players bar in the Adam's Mark hotel in downtwon St. Louis.
As I documented before, I was a huge...actually, a HUGE Will Clark fan growing up and the closest place to see a ball game was St. Louis. He played for the Giants the first part of his career and when they would come to St. Louis, we would go to St. Louis and stay in the Adam's Mark hotel because that's where the players stayed. There was this bar in the Adam's Mark where all the players would go after the game. We would wait for them to step off the elevators on their way to the bar and ask them for an autograph. I actually just hoped to speak to one of them. I met several players, but never knew what to say or if I should say anything. These people were like gods to me and I was only a mortal. So, they would step off the elevators and I would fearfully hand a ball or a baseball card and a pen to one of them in hopes of an autograph. Some would sign, some wouldn't. Some (Barry Bonds) were complete jerks, for lack of a better word (or words), and would just tell you to "get the hell out of [their] way". I never did care for Barry Bonds, so that didn't bother me or hurt my feelings. Well, I would wait and wait for some of the players and they would exit the elevator, sign a few autographs and disappear into the smoke of the bar. All I could do as a thirteen year old, was watch as they were enveloped in the noise and atomsphere of the Players bar in the Adam's Mark. As a thirteen year old, I couldn't go in there. I would stand a couple of minutes, see who I could see and find something else to do. I can remember wondering what must be in there. I can remember thinking how mystical that place seemed because all these people who seemed to carry some worldly divinity about them all congregated and vanished into that place to rub shoulders with other people who I could not relate to in the least bit.
We checked in to the Adam's Mark on Friday night and headed out to find something to eat downtown. As we walked out the door, I saw some kids in Cardinals jerseys getting ready to go to the game and I wondered if they would mistake me for a player. It was weird to think that I was now the same age of some of those people I looked up to so much...that I seemed to think were untouchable. We walked past the Players bar and I glanced in there the same way I had thirteen years ago and it still had the same feeling. It seemed bigger than it should be.
We had a full day of basketball the next day and my friends, Jada and Chad, were picking me up at the hotel that night to go out. As a side note, there's not much I enjoy more than catching up with friends over a few beers and pizza. Well, that's what we did. Hung out for awhile, talked while we watched the USC-Iowa football game. Talked about the kids we have on the way, about moving, about adult stuff. I felt so far away from thirteen years old that it seemed like I was never there. They dropped me off at the hotel where my friend, Matt, was picking me up after the night session and then we would head back to Jackson. I got to the hotel a bit before Matt, and I had to kill some time. I went to the business center and checked my email which took about three minutes. I still had about thirty minutes to kill, so I had to find something to do. I walked back to the lobby and saw the Players bar sign and it clicked that I was actually old enough to go in there. So, I walked in like I belonged there...like one of those players from years ago. And when I walked in I saw people who had no divine attributes at all. There were two fat guys in Arkansas shirts drinking beer and who made fun of me for ordering a Long Island Tea. There was a group of guys in their fifties who was sexually harassing the bartender and drunk off their asses. There were a group of women and men a bit older who were louder than anyone else in the bar and had filthier language than anyone else as well. I asked the bartender if any of the baseball teams stayed here anymore and she said that that they all stayed at the Union Station hotel now. And I guess that's fitting in a way. I guess we all outgrow times in our lives and I guess these teams moved on to something bigger and better and nicer. And I guess, last night I outgrew the mysticism of the Players bar in the Adam's Mark hotel in downtwon St. Louis. Give me pizza and beer and some friends to catch up with...give me that anytime over the Players bar in the Adam's Mark hotel in downtwon St. Louis.
posted by Gabe at 9:13 AM
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