I keep it dirty, not like Fergie, ain’t the Black Eyed Peas

Last February I got a call from a friend from college. He was wondering if I was willing to play in an Ultimate tourney outside Atlanta with his club team. I told him I would play if the high school basketball team I was coaching flamed out of the playoffs early. Flame they did, much unexpectedly. So, I packed up my car and drove down to Charlotte.

While there I crashed at a friend's house and then drove five girls, who were also playing in the tournament, from Charlotte to Cummings, GA for the tournament. Needless to say the car ride was loud and there was much dancing and singing. It was good times.

My team was all guys, of which I knew one person (well I ended up knowing two, but did not know that until we got to the fields in the morning). I knew a handful of other guys who were playing co-ed, and some girls playing co-ed or women's league. The key point here is I knew one person on my team that was staying at our hotel.

Everyone on my team evidently was late to the hotel and I slept having only met one person from my new team. Morning came too early. We groggily piled out into the hall to head to breakfast when we heard a crying noise. We looked around for the baby but only saw a woman movie her luggage into the elevator. The doors shut and the crying stopped.

We talked about the crying as we waited for the elevator to return. We assumed that the baby was on the elevator with its mom or dad, etc. and we just could not have seen it yet. We were proven wrong when we got downstairs.

The crying was clearly coming from the old lady's luggage, which was conspicuously covered by cloth. Around the edge we saw a number of cages stacked on each other. Now things got interesting.

"Oh they must be cats," the one teammate I had met remarked as we turned the corner into the breakfast area. Our eyes focused on the cages and no where else.

"Hmmm could still be babies," my friend replied with a smile.

"No way," I replied very seriously, "baby cages don't have latches."

At this point, I realize that a general murmur of noise had quickly stopped. Then I heard one of the guys I knew that was playing co-ed exclaim from the breakfast nook area "Oh Whale Cancer ... I love you." (Well, he actually said my first and last name, which if you read this you probably know, but it is still fun to think someone reads this who does not even know my name.)

I turned and saw the most crowded breakfast area of a hotel I have ever seen. I knew approximately four people in the room. They were all laughing. The rest I had never seen before in my life. 75% of them ended up to be my teammates for the weekend. They looked slightly confused, a little nervous, and definitely were concerned for my mental well-being.

I stand by my statement. Baby cages DO NOT have latches ... you see ... opposable thumbs and what not.

Tournament note: Saturday we got to the fields about 8:30. Our field was under an inch of water already, it was about 30 degrees, consistent 20 mph winds with gusts much more than that, and snow at the start that was horizontal. Needless to say the games were not pretty, we were frozen, and if you touched the ground you thought your body part was going to fall off immediately. Sunday ... I got sunburned in 70 degree weather. The next week my college friends went to the college version of the tournament at the same place. It was canceled because of tornadoes. Mother nature had herself a week.