Our stop in Houston was pretty much uneventful, other than downing a couple beers and meeting some dude who was also going to Memphis for a bachelor party.  The flight to Memphis was highlighted by a cute flight attendant who was obviously overwhelmed by Kiwi John and I and the beer consumption on the 1 hour flight.  Our invitations to join us fell on deaf ears however because she had to fly to Cleveland after dropping us off.  Oh well.....as we would soon find out, Memphis had lots of women to pick from.

We hit the airport and Bob the Whore walked up in his Navy tan (can you believe we have a Lt Colonel - commander I think they call him in the Navy as an Idiot Brother?)  Anyways we waited for Stefan, our scrum half and non drinking member of the team to pull up in the rental van.  Guges showed up next and we waited briefly for Jim Defelice to arrive from NYC.  When he failed to show, we decided to stay on schedule and headed for Graceland.  We arrived and found out we had missed the last shuttle to Graceland, so we stood outside staring at the King's Mansion, said "awww" and decided that was good enough.  We hit some knock off tourist shop and got the Elvis glasses at a discount (1/2 the price they were charging at the Graceland tour area.)  We then decided we should hit the hotel.  We arrived and checked in and headed to our rooms.  Our motel was hardly the Ritz.  It was a Days Inn located close to downtown, on the outskirts of Skid Row and Crack Blvd.  The burned out motels down the street added to the flavor and the $60 a night tab was right on par with our budget.  Our next mission was to find beer.  And beer we found just down the road.  Being from Washington, DC, I am used to a high level of African American neighborhoods, but this pretty much topped it off.  The convenience store we entered had the largest selection of 40 oz bottles of beer I had ever seen.  I counted 14 different flavors of 40s.  Things got out of control when Jim Defelice heard a song on the radio in the store and reminded us of the Eddy Murphy remake of the song, which he sung Buckwheat style.  When Jim started singing it Buckwheat style, the 8 black guys in the store all turned around and it reminded me of the scene from Animal House when the boys entered the bar to see Otis ("the Negroes stole our dates").  We headed back to the motel and about that time the gang started arriving.

Super Boy and Handsome Pete decided to pick up Chadwick in Nashville (they flew a bit further away to use their frequent flyer miles on an airline that only went to Nashville) and rented a car.  Pete walked to the counter to get  the car, but was denied for being "possibly too drunk to rent a rental car."  His arguments went in vain as the rental agent called a police officer over who asked Pete if he was on medication.  He quickly replied, "yes.....I haven't been drinking.  I am on vicadin."  Well the officer explained that he can't drive under the influence of anything and explained to Super Boy that both would be required to take a DUI test before driving, so Chad Wick, who was the only one that hadn't been drinking, had to drive to Memphis.   Chad Wick took the wheel and they were on their way. 

Harry and Tompkins were next scheduled to show up, but neither made it to the hotel initially.  We pounded a few more beers, dealt with Pete's growing flatulence problem and headed to Rendezvous for a GREAT rib dinner.  We finally contacted Harry via cell phone.  He had not taken his itinerary, directions, etc...and didn't know where we were, or where we were headed....so he got a hotel downtown ($100 a night) and was being bitter.  We told him to meet us at the rib house, which he did, and sat to eat.  The maitre de put us in a section with a bunch of families.  I tried to warn them, but my concerns again fell on deaf ears and we sat.  Our waiter started us with 5 pitchers of Michelob and we ate like kings.  Pete's intoxication hadn't lessened and he was slowly becoming sloth like.  But the farts continued.  We paid our tab ($250 for 10 of us - which by the way, was more than our 4 hotel rooms for 2 nights combined) and headed to BB Kings to meet the other guys that were meeting us downtown.  We were still missing MJ, Fuse, Ozzy Pawl, and Tompkins, but as the itinerary stated, we would be at BB Kings at 830 pm til we headed for Platinum at 1030 pm.

We sat down and drank beers for a while when Tompkins arrived.  Since he is a spitting image (now) of Harry Potter (we never saw the likeness before the movie) we nicknamed him Harry Potter.    We drank more beers and Ozzy Pawl arrived.  Bob the Whore soon became restless to find the night life in Memphis (it was 9 pm...what night life is there to be found) and wanted to abandon the mello BB Kings Blues Bar.  We held off long enough to get a call from MJ and Fuse that they were at our Dive Motel and we told them we would meet them back out the lodging before heading to Platinum Plus (The best strip joint in the country).  On the way to the motel, we lost about 5 guys (Harry decided to stay with Bob, who for moral reasons didn't want to go watch naked girls - hunting is fine, not watching.  Also lost were the Nashville 3, who decided that a mix of Stinky Pete (replaced Handsome Pete with stench that could kill a wombat) and the few random girls encountered on the street would be enough entertainment for them.  The rest climbed into the van and picked up our mates on our way to Platinum.

MJ gave me shit about our lodgings for a bit and then we jumped into the vans and headed towards Valhalla.  We arrived and made our way into the club.  Kiwi and I were comped because of the groom/best man deal while the others got discounted pricing.  Kiwi covered everyone's payment and we found our way into the club that was filled with strippers and lots of dudes.  I couldn't see much, but figured it was because it was a dark bar.  Later I realized that the Memphis bar scene isn't REALLY that dark, but rather I was still wearing my Elvis glasses.  Alas, we sat at the main stage and watched the highlight of the show, 2 ladies performing a complete live lesbian mini series.  It was quite exciting.  I even took my glasses off for that one.

Well it was getting late and I decided I should start moving all the boys out.  That was tougher than I thought.  Everytime I sent someone out of the club and I would go back in to get others, I would re-find them, in the lap dance room.  Let us say that PAC Rugby (aka Kiwi John's Stag Night All-Blacks) dropped over $1000 in that club in 3 hours.  Quite a feat for 9 guys.  I finally got everyone out of the club to which MJ protested, "dude, there were lots of hot chicks in there that we could have hooked up with."  I laughed and we drove off.

We jammed to one of MJ's burned CDs with some great tunes and I received a call from a drunken Harry that was bitching about our failure to follow the itinerary (we were an hour late.)  This coming from the guy that didn't even have the itinerary, I blew him off.  We arrived downtown and staggered towards Beale street.  We asked for directions to Raifords (where the boys were to meet us) and found out it was about 5 blocks away.  We collectively decided we would hit a closer bar (the one we were standing in front of) and headed into Club 152.  A band played on stage, the crowd was thick, and the doorguys were gruff.  We entered and found Super Boy and Chad Wick, but no Harry, Bob, or Stinky Pete.  Bob arrived and told us he had sent Harry home after he had done his best to offend every chick at Raifords.  Pete had also been sent home early.

We drank in 152 for a while, but it was clear that the scene was a bit crowded for some of the guys.  I suggested we leave and a few agreed.  I told the others and they told us they would catch up to us later.  MJ objected to our leaving (he thought we were trying to get EVERYONE to leave and he had run into a nice girl previously.)  After it was clear it was only a few of us, we staggered out (Kiwi John, Stefan and myself.)  We ended up at a nice quiet blues bar next door and I made my way over to chat with a couple girls that were alone. One was from Arlington, VA and the other was from New Zealand.    But before I could introduce the groom to be, their friends arrived, with several guys in tow.  Kiwi was about to pass out at the bar when we made the decision to head home.  We went into 152 and told everyone that the van was leaving and if they wanted to stay they should catch a cab.  Nine guys remained, I being one of them, and we danced and drank a bit more. Super Boy sat passed out at some table and we all laughed about the big giant head bobbing.  We finally gathered SB up and got the few of us that were ready to head home.  We caught a cab and got back to the room.  Drank a bit more and hit the hay.

The next day I wake up to the door to our room flying open and a big naked man screaming, "where is my porn?"

Super Boy had guessed that we had stolen his porn mags the night before and had walked over completely naked, outside, to get it back.  We threw the porn to him and we all got up and started questioning where the pitch was.  We never really got directions from the Blues.  About 12 noon we got word from one of our players that the field was on Central and Hollywood.  We had no idea where those streets were, but figured we could spend the next hour driving around trying to find it.  Kick off was at 1 pm.  We stopped for food at Wendys and drove to the pitch.  Found it without much problems and unloaded.  We had one MIA player, but because of an injury, he was not scheduled to play anyways. 

We walked onto the pitch with beers in hand and I met the team we were to play.  After getting kitted up, we received a couple whores to play with us (we had 13 guys) and took the field to warm up. The recent rains had left the field much like the Marne 1915, muddy trench warfare, barbed wire, mustard gas (for those anywhere near Smelly Pete.)  I walked out for the captains meeting and agreed to three 20 minute halves with liberal substitutions (that is great when we only had 13 to begin with).  The ref asked for how much time we would need to get ready,  I turned to look at the boys, and said "Two, maybe three days."  He gave me 5 minutes and we finished getting ready.  Our White jersey didn't look to stand a chance in the mud field this fine day. 

We came together for our traditional tour chant.

[similar to the Haka, but it is a Ugandan war chant - so I have been told]
This is not really in English, but for spelling purposes, the words are similar in sound.

"A little a papa little Lay"
Team repeats
"Masue Masue Mas-sa"
Team repeats
"Tiki Tiki Tonga"
Team Repeat
"way oh way oh way ah oo wah"
Team repeats

And we line up for the kick.
 

Judge Ozzy Pawl discusses bench mark decisions with members of the Memphis Blues 

The team comes out firing with 2 quick trys taking the Blues off guard.  Who would have guessed this drunken team of misfits could score so quickly.  With Super Boy (300 pounds) at Inside Centre, the crash was powerful and successful.  His 2 tries in the first 10 minutes kept the lead for us heading into the 2nd stanza.

The Blues fired back with 2 tries of their own, followed by a PAC try, and then two more Blues.  The final stanza saw the Blues put 3 more on the board, compared to our 1, which left the score 45 to 28.  We pleaded for a 4th quarter, which they provided and we tied the match at the final whistle, allowing for a draw, the best conclusion for a social match.

We headed down to the club's bar, had food and drink, performed the thank yous to the hosting club, provided the US Flag flown over the capitol (the traditional gift for PAC - located in Washington DC) and the tshirt and man of the match pullover.  Court saw several great penalties, defense was weak as usual, and Judge Ozzy Pawl made quick and painful rulings.  To protect the guilty, we can't really describe why the players were hit, but for the most part, typical tour shite.

Then Memphis used the services of Judge Ozzy to try some of their team's felons.  One gentlemen got the electric chair with the "Penis fingers" award given  to the guy that drops the most passes.  He was sentenced to drink every drink ALL night by holding on with both hands and drinking from a straw.  His first beer however was an anal boot (for another crime) sent down the crack of their biggest prop.  I quickly substituted the big soda straw with a mixed drink straw (much thinner) for the anal boot drink. He sat and sucked for about 2 minutes as chunks of grass, lint and hair clogged the tiny straw.  When he was done, he looked like he was about to lose it.  I know I was watching the big man's butt cascade the fine amber beer into a cup.

We then played a match of "spoons" with Harry representing PAC and the Memphis rookie and felon repping Memphis.  The rookie, obviously not knowing the trick of the game, sat and was smacked several times by his teammates.  Some of his teammates smacks bordered on concussion and we finally quit and explained the rules to the rook, who sat dumbfounded that he was so gullible.The keg was kicked and we headed back to our hotel to shower and prepare for downtown.  We were to meet the Blues at their downtown bar of choice, McGuiness Pub.

On the way we jammed to some more great songs, found the beer store and loaded up again, and then missed our exit for the hotel so we could cross the Mississippi and land in Arkansas. We took the first exit, stopped and we all got out and pissed on the side of the road in Arkansas and headed back.  We got to the hotel, showered, dressed and drank some beers before heading to the bars.

We were walking down the street asking random people where McGruders Pub was, to which everyone either ignored Super boy and I, or said they didn't know.  (we may have intimidated everyone:  Kilts, Black tshirts, Elvis glasses)  I got a call from a cute girl in a car that said, "Nice glasses."  I turned and walked over and asked where McGruders was (yes I know we were looking for McGuinness....I had forgotten) and she said she didn't know.  I screamed, "Why is everyone in Memphis so inhospitable."  She replied, "I said I liked your glasses."  I replied, "Someone once said they liked my fat, but that doesn't get me anywhere closer to the pub," and staggered off.  We found it finally, chatted with their boys, watched some rugby and then realized that 4 guys were MIA still, including Kiwi John.  Chad Wick, Ozzy and myself headed out looking for our guys and found them on Beale Street.  We entered 152 and it was quiet, about 1/4 capacity.  We entered, got drinks and started scouting out the women.  I approached 2 girls, without a wing man and started some chatter.  One girl said I could talk to them if I bought them a shot.  I looked at them, and said, "No...I don't think so," and walked off.  I told the boys and we all booed them.

I found this one girl wandering around the bar who was pretty cute.  I told Ozzy, who introduced me and Ozzy told me she was a "Fighter Pilot in Canada."  I spent the next 3 hours dancing with her, chatting with her, and quoting Top Gun lines all night.  I secretly told the boys I wanted to take her home and in the middle of sex say "talk to me Goose, Talk to me."  Well everytime I quote Top Gun, she would sorta look confused and dance some more.  When she finally left, I told Ozzy that I thought it was really cool that she was a fighter pilot.  He looked at me confused as well and said, "Montana, I said she was a fire fighter in Canada, not a fighter pilot."  It all made sense then, why she was confused.  Then I realized how really dumb I had looked, especially while singing "you lost that loving feeling" and "take my breath away."  Write that one up for the dumb record books.

So at this point, I find the boys front stage listening to a great band with a HOTTIE chick singing.  We scream, do the Kiwi John Happy Dance, and scam on chicks that are all over.  Every chick loved my "Skinny Bitch" shirt I was wearing and the glasses were also key.  I would have to remove them everytime I was dancing to see what people looked like, but then quickly replace them. 

One thing I can say about Memphis:  They have the highest population of under 25 married chicks.  EVERY chick was 22 years old and married.  I later found out it is also a very high adultery area too. 

For the most part however, we stayed right up front screaming and dancing.  At one point we looked like girls at a NSYNC concert.  We screamed and high fived our mates each time the chick would come down and sing to us.  She honored Kiwi John with several mentionings and after we screamed Bon Jovi enough the band bowed and played some of Jerseys great JBJ. They handed us the microphone at one point during the Kiss rendition of "Rock and Roll All night" but after I missed a chorus they took it away again and just held it in front of us.  My rock star dream had come to an end, as MJ pointed out, "Montana, you had your chance, and you BLEW IT!"  They ended with a bit of AC/DC which we all went nuts and then realized that we were broke, tired, and had no voices to find any chicks.  The band ended and the chick approached, I quickly gave her my pen and she autographed my hand. 

On the way out, we started chatting with some girls faking Irish accents.  One reached up my kilt and grabbed, which took my off guard, but then she said, "My, you are BIG."  I quickly said, "you guys heard that right?   You all heard her?"  I went to give her a copenhagen kiss and she said no tongue.  I did my best and we headed home.

In the van, some words were exchanged between Fuse and I, which straight forward are words you would only say to your close friends, but preferably not when you are drunk.  He took offense, I took offense, he crawled over the van seat and started punching me, I crawled over his seat and clocked him, Guges tried to stop us by creating a wall over top, but just received several, random punches from both of us.  When I realized what was happening, and that this could ruin what had been a good tour, I apologized to save the night.  I wasn't really sorry at that point, but just wanted to end it (and Kiwi John had me a pretty tight neck lock).  I apologized, got out of the van and headed upstairs.  I quickly came back down because I realized I hadn't really been sorry and wanted to truly apologize.  Fuse and I had a few words, said our apologies and ended the night crying on each others shoulders, holding each other, staring at Arkansas across the Mississippi.  We headed to bed.

We woke up early the next morning to find a few players were still MIA, a few had found friends, and the complimentary doughnuts in the lobby had been highjacked by our boys again.  We hit the airport and 6 of us had a farewell beer at Cheers of Memphis before going our separate ways. 

The Nashville 3 got nailed by the cops on the way back:

cop: "Are you fucked up?"
Chad Wick:  Well, sorta
c: Is everyone else in that car as fucked up as you?
CW: (thinking, then looking...) "Yes."
c: Where the fuck are you going:
CW: Nashville
c:  you ain't going to fucking Nashville.  You're getting the fuck off this highway, and going to fucking McDonalds for some fucking food.

No arrests......

The weekend was a complete success, with my only real damage being a cut lip from Fuse and the onset of Tuberculosis in my lungs.  KJ seemed to enjoy himself truly.