The Phaecian Brothers of Santa Monica

The Odyssey goes to the Coast
pictures coming soon

With my birthday arriving within a week, my Washington Brothers decided it would be a good gift to travel to England and Scotland to visit friends and watch some Rugby in the UK.  This however, would not be the case.  Our sister in England, Idiot Sister #2 Lindy Birch, had planned an extravagant visit for us, but I could not find my passport in time and the trip would have to be delayed.  Not wanting to waste my time off I had requested, I chose to use their gift for travel to the west coast to visit other brothers.  So my brothers purchased a vacation package to Los Angeles, including hotel accommodations and flight.  I scrounged as much money as my budget could afford and headed west without my kind brothers.  Super Boy, who had come up with the plan, decided he would rather stay in Washington, rather than going to the "Left Coast."  He had always been very open about his ill favor for the west coast and so I journeyed by myself.  His theory was he had been there once before and didn't like it.  When asking him later about his distaste and hearing his reason (he was there during College Rugby all star camp) I came to the conclusion he was much like former World War II vets not wanting to go back to Europe after the war.  "I have been there once, I didn't like it much."  It might have had something to do with the fact he was not able to go and party on his journey there.  But oh well.

The night before my flight I finished my shift DJing at the Strip Joint I work at.  I had some more pocket change for the trip, went home, packed my rugby kit and headed to my friend McG's house to drop off her car that she had let me borrow for the week.  I found myself in southeast Washington DC at 4 AM trying to find a cab.  Since I was going to California, I didn't have a heavy jacket with me and felt the nip of the 20 degree temperature outside.  I finally waved down a cab at 430 AM and was off to the airport where I checked into my Delta flight for my short trip to Atlanta where I would connect with my west coast flight. The jet was a small one and the flight was full.  I had the fortune to sit next to a man about my size and we struggled to find room to breath in our seats.  I had hoped on catching some sleep during my flight, but by the time I had landed I had about 45 minutes of bad sleep and was very drowsy heading to my flight to LA.

I boarded that flight, a much larger plane and not nearly as crowded and was pleased to find out I had an entire row to myself.  I sat down and quickly pulled out one of my smuggled on beers (which has become a custom after my flight to Oz.)  I sat hiding my beer and taking large sips while the flight attendants weren't looking.  The fact I had once again chose the wrong type of beer for the airline I was flying (Delta is a Miller Beer airline, Northwest Air is a Budweiser flight) mattered not at this point, because the crew hadn't even broken out the service cart yet.  I quickly scanned the movie guide for the flight and found I would be entertained by the latest Bond Flick.  I have found that I like the Bond films less and less each time I see one.  I remember my first Bond film, Moonraker.  I enjoyed it tremendously.  Then again I was all of 10 years old.  Now the silly and unrealistic events in the film, not to mention lack of nudity (when the movie could benefit so much from nudity) wasn't good.  But I digress.  So I sat watching the film, drinking both bought and smuggled beers and eating the fine cuisine prepared by some airline vendor.  Very unsatisfying:  A dry bun with Turkey breast slices and cheese.  No mayo, and a small packet of mustard.  They also gave some strange cranberry, carrot, and raisin dish, which was more evil tasting than looking.  After my lunch, I played my CD that I burned for my odyssey, which was filled with several fun songs that represented both old odysseys and hopes for the new journey.

This odyssey was also one last cleansing of my former spouse, who recently sent me and email telling me she needed an annulment so she could remarry.  I was quite shocked at the news, but found it most interesting that she wasn't even asking that I DJ her reception.  But then again, what fun would a dry reception be anyways......(it is a well known fact that she doesn't enjoy the flavors of alcohol.)  So I sent her a note back wishing her all the luck and that I am sure she will make her new husband as happy as she made me and left it at that.  She still hasn't gotten back to me...and I have yet to receive the annulment.  But one last quote she sent me was attacking the odysseys and even speaking against Mamoo.  NO one speaks out against mamoo....the mystical dingo that steals aboriginal children in the middle of the night.

So I was off.  I had the information to contact my Idiot Brother in LA.  He would be out of town 'til after 3 pm, but I was to contact his wife, Susan when I arrived.  I landed and found my way to baggage and then found a phone to call the hotel I was staying at.  I assumed the place would be a classic dive hotel (considering the hotel and airfare were cheaper than the airfare alone would have been).  I half imagined I would end up in some 80s flick where I show up at the run down motel and find some older very nice lady with a 20 something daughter helping her run it.  They would have one week to get enough money to pay the bank off or lose their motel, which would soon be replaced by some huge resort hotel.  Yes, I believe there was a Saved by the Bell Episode that had the same story.  So I would have to come up with some Zany and wacky plan to bring the LA party life to this little hamlet motel thus saving everyone and being the hero of the day.  Those dreams came crashing to end when the hotel shuttle arrived to take me to my lodgings, which turned out to be a nice big fancy hotel which rooms usually went for $200 a night.  I was getting 3 nights for the price of one and a free flight to boot.  This was going right so far, but the weekend was long and I am sure I would run into some problems sooner than later.

I quickly checked in and headed upstairs.  On my way I noticed that their were two groups having a conference in the hotel that weekend.  This is always a good way to meet people and hopefully there would be some nice ladies in the mix.  But again, my dreams of crashing the Hawaiian Tropics Bikini conference were dashed, when I saw the groups were none other than a Geriatric Gynecology group and the Society of nurses studying incontinence.  Fun groups to say the least.  So I headed upstairs.

I got to my room and quickly cracked a beer and turned on the pay per view movies.  I quickly called my contact Susan who told me that Chris and her would stop by at around 330 pm.  I had 2 hours to waste, so I decided to rent a movie.  The Hot Chick, Rob Sneider's newest movie was one being offered and I decided I would buy it to get the weekend started on a funny silly note.  The movie was quite humorous.  On schedule, Chris called from the lobby informing me that they were in the hotel and that I should grab some stuff for the next day.  I was to stay at their place that night and early the next morning I would join the Santa Monica Rugby team to OMBAC (in San Diego) for a rugby game.  I soon found out it was good I brought my boots, because I would be dressing for the SMRFC 2nd side in the match.  As usual, I was completely out of shape, but up for the challenge.  I grabbed most of my stuff, leaving a couple things in the hotel room and headed downstairs where I met Chris and Susan.  

Chris was a smaller sized prop.  NOT small, but not from the hugus Propus gene pool.  His wife was a lovely lady from South Africa and I soon found out that Chris had lived in South Africa and that was when he found rugby.  When he returned to the States he quickly joined a club and has made a nice career of it.  Susan was never a huge rugby fan (ie players) in South Africa, mentioning the wild side of South African ruggers, not to mention their lack of common sense.  I thought that was quite humorous and we journeyed form my hotel to their abode in Santa Monica.  When we arrived, Susan had to go off to a meeting at her school (USC) and Chris and I shot the shit about rugby and clubs and the Idiot Brothers that he hasn't met.  He made some calls and arranged for a dinner out with some of the other Idiot Brothers from LA and their significant others.  After more chatter and some beers we were off to dinner at a nice Mexican Restaurant.  I was teased about my desire NOT to drink margaritas (I hate tequila) and I stuck with Miller Lite.  We were harassed by some little old lady who was shocked that rugby existed in the US.  The guys for the most part abandon me with her and afterwards teased me about hitting on the 50 year old prune.  We sat and ate and I finally broke down and ordered a margarita, which was as nasty as I had thought.  We shared more stories about random events in our rugby lives and it became clear that the girls that were with these ruggers were not as big of fans of rugby as Susan was.  The other props in attendance were Idiot Brother #113 Rob, who is the hospitality player on the team with visiting players.  This big man that is currently with a young lady that is a vegetarian.  According to Chris he tends to follow her diet, but on this night he had some beef, which I was quite relieved to see.  The vegetarian was quite outspoken (as were all the ladies at dinner on subjects of politics, law, and foreign relations).  The other front row player, Doug, was not an idiot brother as of yet, and by his own admission isn't much of an idiot in his actions.  That might be because of HIS significant other seems to be less of a fan of rugby than the other ladies.  Many of the stories scared the girls a bit, but I just laughed at similar stories I have had.  From the stories Rob had told, Doug seemed to be on track in some of his actions however to deserve consideration.  As was the case when Odessius visited the Phaecians, the feast was filled with nice conversations with generous people and was quite enjoyable.

After the two hour feast, sharing stories of our battles on and off the field, we departed back for the Serjack's home and finished chatting about this and that for the night.  I was finally wearing down from my 45 minutes of sleep and I decided it was bed time around midnight (3 am my time.)

I awoke refreshed and noted a couple calls from one of my roommates who had traveled to New Orleans for a bachelor party.  It sounded as if he had been drunk for about 24 hours straight.  We then headed for the meeting place to catch the bus south and I noticed that my turf toe had gotten considerably worse overnight.  I had difficulty putting weight on my foot and when I finally did, it was not very stable.  I hobbled over to some of the Santa Monica guys and Chris introduced me to several players, including a former teammate of mine from Washington, DC, John Ruud.

Ruud is a back and played with PAC Rugby for my first few years on the club.  He is a stand up guy and actually sent me a popular email write up (aka "fwd") that he personalized for our club.  It was a write up describing the typical bar scene and friends you share and their role as "Wingman" during engagements with girls at bars.  It was quite funny and I believe I ran it one on PropTalk giving him credit (even though he was a back.)

We loaded up on the bus and I was given my first decision.  Front or back.  In high school, all the rowdy kids sat in the back.  That way they could play their "boom boxes" (yes I am a product of the 80s) and gossip.  Some of the guys that used chewing tobacco could get a way with it without the coaches knowing, etc.  Then in college, I decided it was better to sit in the front 3rd.  It allowed you to get off the bus to use bathrooms or get to the food quicker.  Funny how priorities change in a few years.  And add the fact that being on a bus trip with 40 college football players, you wanted to be one of the first to use the shitter.

So I decided to stay with college traditions of the front of the bus, and sat in the front 1/3.  Chris sat across the aisle from me and I noticed Rob was in the front as well.  Other players stumbled on, half looking at me (wondering who this new player was) and we were off.  Chris had arranged my travel on the bus so there was no charge for my travel.  In exchange I had agreed to strap on my boots (new boots....couldn't wait for the blisters) for a 2nd side match vs OMBAC.  I was hesitant (being out of shape, with a bum foot, and still without insurance) but what the hell.  It was rugby and it was fun.

I fell asleep and awoke as we pulled into a grocery store parking lot.  A few of the guys lived south of Santa Monica (still in the urban areas of Los Angeles) and we were picking them up.  I went inside and picked up a bottle of Tums (I really should buy stock in the antacid company).  I got back on board and noticed one of the backs had bought a box of Crispy Cremes (a famed doughnut company).  I love Crispy Cremes and when offered took one.  I shared a recent experience I had with the bus.  Seems I forgot that I had a bar meeting at one of the bars I am employed.  The meeting was on a Saturday at 9 AM.  I had had an all nighter with some of the rugby guys and we decided it wise (once the beer ran out) to switch to Grain Alcohol (190 proof - 95 % alcohol.)  Very dangerous stuff.  Well 2 of us drank about 3/4 the bottle, mixing it like normal hard liquor.  This was bad and by 9 AM when I received the call from my boss, I was hammered.  I told him I was hammered and he told me I still had to go.  So I stumbled the 2 miles to work (taking about 30 minutes) and got there and sat down.  I almost fell several times off  the bar stool as the owner spoke.  I held on to the girl's belt that was siting in front of me and everyone quietly laughed at my condition.  I then saw the doughnuts and grabbed a jelly filled doughnut.  I put a straw into the center and preceded to suck all the jelly out of the doughnut.  The general manager looked at me briefly, and then did a double take and asked me what the hell I was doing.  This got everyone's attention and I said, "The jelly filled doughnuts with the jelly sucked out are ready."  I some how made it home and then suffered one of the worst hangovers as I woke up 5 hours later to go to work.  Lesson learned:  Don't drink Everclear and don't go to bar meetings hammered.  I probably will suck the jelly out of the doughnuts again, just because.

So I found myself sleeping again after stories and doughnuts.  I woke up to see the bright blue Pacific Ocean north of San Diego.  We passed by the town of Carlsbad and I flashed back to college rugby.  My good friend, Rob Randall was from Carlsbad and I thought about possibly giving him a call and saying hi.  Unfortunately, I didn't bring his number.  Most likely he didn't live in the area still, but maybe his parents would have a forwarding address.  But soon I had forgotten my ploy and was interested in our arrival in San Diego.  

We arrived at the OMBAC fields (adjacent to the San Diego Charges Stadium) and I found the field quite nice.  It was a former practice field for the NFL team and it was in good shape.  OMBAC had admissions to enter ($5 for non players) and I quickly walked through the "Player only gate."  That was nice.  Not that $5 is excessive, but they might be the only club in the nation that charges for viewing their matches.  Our home field in Washington DC is on the National Mall (adjacent to the Washington Monument and right up the road from the reflecting pool near the Lincoln.)  During the Spring, the Tidal basin (a small circular pool) brightens up with pink cherry blossoms, a gift from Japan back in 1900.  The cherry blossoms attract thousands of people each spring.  Well it is nice during full bloom to have the tourists wandering by the pitch.  They usually stop for 10 or 20 minutes at a time, giving the illusion that at any one point we have thousands of fans watching our matches.  

So we enter the field and I quickly get some shorts (lent from Rob) and put on my boots (which are brand spanking new) and start hobbling around.  My foot is in a foul mood and urges me not to play, but SMRFC needs a prop (they are very light for this trip and I suck it up.)  I get a few suggestions from players (not to wear my boots) but I don't listen and we warm up.  

By half-time, I am in extreme pain.  My foot is giving me no support in scrums, the blisters are making running ackward (not quite painful yet) and my fitness had already proved lack luster during the first 10 minutes.  But I continue.  We are down a bit at half-time (36-0) and in the 2nd half, the game remains a 0-0 tie (meaning they haven't scored yet - when you are down you take what you can get).  By the final minutes I am completely spent.  Our Coach calls me to the sidelines and tells me to just step off the pitch and thanks me for my help.  I ask if we have a sub and he lets me know that there are only minutes left of the match and it wouldn't matter.  Being a prop it always matters and I look at the team on the opposite side of the field and decide I will struggle a bit longer.  I notice the play is starting to come back to my corner of the field so I tell the coach I will just camp out on the try line and wait.  

The play does in deed come my direction and I notice the center running towards me but looking to his right for the ball.  As he catches the ball I flat footed lay into him, causing us both to stand straight up and then fall short of the try line.  Our defense recovers the ball and kicks it away as the game ends.  The Center looks at me on top of him and says, "where the hell did you come from, I didn't see you."  I reply, "How could you miss a 325 pound prop standing on the try line alone?"  He laughs and the team comes to me slapping me on my back and congratulating me on stopping what would have been the only try of the 2nd half.  Inside, I think that my out of shape and hobbling performance deserves no thanks or congratulations, but the guys are good guys and very supportive.  Once again, the lesson is learned.  Rugby players, as I have always known, are less about individual performance, but rather about sticking with your mates when you are needed.  So I took the compliments and just smiled.  I stumble over to a chair and take off my boots.  Blisters are already showing on my heels and my big toe joint.  Also my "turf toe" is completely swollen and one of the guys girlfriend brings ice to me.  I ice my toe for a few minutes as the A side walks on to the pitch.  I stand and decide it is probably time to find my Idiot Odyssey.  The drunken times that I live for during these days of debauchery.  I put on my kilt and my Mere (a green stone - jade) from New Zealand (a gift from Kiwi John and Karin for being John's Best man) and wander over to the beer tent. I get some strange looks as I arrive and notice that the beer pouring staff are taking a 30 minute break.  I hear a couple guys from another team saying they have beer at their camp and follow them back to Santa Monica's side of the field.  

The team, Gurkha Rugby Club, are a Division II side that played OMBAC's C side earlier in the day.  I notice their t shirts are very nice looking (white with blue font) saying Gurkha Rugby on the back and on the front a Nepalese Secret police holding the Gurkha knife (the rounded 12 inch blade used in the South Asian Continent).  The words under the police image was "Better dead than an alive coward."  This was a must.  I asked if they had any other shirts.  They replied that the woman with the T-shirts had already left.  I then asked for a beer and one of their players handed me his last beer reluctantly, but in the true spirit of rugby decided it was best.  I gave thanks and we shared some rugby stories (like the fact I play rugby in Washington DC and came out here to just play rugby and party for the weekend).

I spent the first half of the game "scouting" the match.  PAC was to play OMBAC 2 weeks later and I felt I might give the coaches a good sense of their style.  The game was not close, but not a blow out at half, with several strong attempts by SMRFC (who had beaten OMBAC 3 weeks prior) to score, but being held off each time.  At half-time, OMBAC lead by 20 and I noticed that the beer tent was open.  I staggered back over and got in line with several islanders (probably from New Zealand) who noticed my Mere.  They asked if I was Scottish or Maori (kilt AND Mere) and laughed.  I told them both.  I got the front of the line and noticed a prop from Gurkha wearing the previously mentioned shirt.  I asked him if he wanted to sell me his shirt and he told me $20.  His teammates told him not to, because it wouldn't fit (he was a smaller prop) and that they would get the lady that sold the shirts to come over.  Seems she hadn't left afterall, and soon I was introduced to the young lady selling the T-shirts. I quickly handed her $20 and she informed me the price was only $10 (to which the prop quickly said he was kidding about selling me the shirt for $20).  I got a couple beers and stumbled back to the other side of the field to find her.  She, however, had already come back to the beer tent side of the field and when she finally found me, had made a round trip journey around the pitch.  I apologized for the length of her trip and quickly asked if I could buy 2 more shirts (for my roommates).  She went back and got 2 more and I paid for them.  I chatted longer with the Gurkha guys and then headed back over to the beer tent.  

The 2nd half had started to get out of hand, with SMRFC's already injury depleted team subbing in several reserves for their reserves.  OMBAC scored several more tries and I sat at the tent drinking beer chatting with whatever rugby player wandered over.  By the time the game ended, I had drank 12 beers and was feeling quite good.  I walked back to the SMRFC side, provided moral support to the players that just got of the pitch and we all walked back to the beer tent for some more drinks.

Back at the beer tent, I found a group of OMBAC guys that were surprised to see a Montanan from Washington, DC playing with Santa Monica and asked if I knew another Montana Rugby player by the name of Mark Easby.  I replied, "Easby?  Easby?  Easby owes me money."  Mark Easby was a player from Bozeman that I had gotten to know during the final summer in Montana.  I saw him every weekend and we all soon became good friends drinking in bars, open fields, or street dances across the Montana plains.  One of the truly good guys of rugby, I soon was brought to his attention and we shared a few moments and I told him to get a hold of me (via my email address on Proptalk.)  I hoped I would get to see him in Washington when OMBAC traveled out.  

I was hurried to the bus where we loaded up and were headed to the OMBAC bar.   We arrived and raided the food table for nourishment and the bar for nourishment.  I sat at the bar and chatted with several SMRFC guys about my trip.  One of the guys talked to me about Virginia rugby (he and his girlfriend had gone to school at Radford College in SW Virginia).  We shared a lot of friends in the Northern Virginia area and we talked about the acquaintances we shared.  A couple of the girlfriends asked about my journey (in somewhat awe, confused why anyone would just travel across the country to play rugby.)

I then spent a bit longer chatting with the OMBAC 7s coach (which was completely ironic considering I am a proponent against 7s) and we did some shots of Sambuca.  At this point I was quite drunk.  After the 12 beers at the field, a couple at the bar and 4 shots of sambuca I found myself starting to feel that oh so good feeling of intoxication.  I noticed also I was out of chewing tobacco, so I walked over to a pharmacy next door and tried to find some.  Being on the LEFT Coast (Liberal) they didn't sell any chewing tobacco and I figured I was screwed.  On the way out of the pharmacy, there were 4 girl scouts and their mom selling girl scout cookies.  $3 for a box of cookies.  I negotiated the purchase of one roll of cookies (2 per box) for $1.58 (my pocket change) and hobbled to the bus happy as a clam.

I got on board and found that I had an extra tin of Copenhagen in my kit bag and was even more happy to see that the team had procured several cases of beer for the 3 hour drive back to Santa Monica.  We cracked beers and that is when Kangaroo Court happened.  My host Chris would act as Judge for the hearing (in place of the famed SMRFC judge - who missed the trip back).  The prosecutor was Idiot Brother #112, Steve "9 Iron" Salmon.  And the Defense attorney was the Japanese player on their team (for which I never actually caught his name).  His job as Defense attorney would simply to provide a defense in Japanese/English and then say "GUILTY."  Great defense.

Charges against various players were brought up and they would be required to either drink shots or pound a beer.  After each charge I would scream "guilty" and soon had either annoyed or made bitter court enemies of everyone on the bus.  Then I was brought up on charges.  Not sure of what I could have done during my 1.5 days with the club, I stood my ground and heard the charges.  I had donned my Elvis glasses after the first match.  The charge was impersonating Elvis without having sideburns.  There was no defense provided and I was quickly found guilty.  My penalty.  I would have to pound a beer and was banned from speaking for 10 minutes.  I would also have to wear drawn on sideburns for the remainder of the night.  As the attempted to draw the hair feature to my cheeks, the pen failed to work.  This didn't stop the bailiff who continued to create the sideburns by digging into my face so hard that blood would create the sideburns.  I took then pen away and decided I would shotgun my beer rather than pound it.  The problem was, other than - rather more like because I was drunk, my beer had already been opened and when I jabbed the pen into the can it didn't have the same effect and in turn I spilled more of it on me than in me.  I was quickly booed and forced to do it again, this time, just pounding it.  I was also sentenced to sing an Elvis song.  I chose "Love me Tender."  I sat down and started my 10 minute mute silence (which anyone that knows me knows, that is impossible.)

I remained quiet for about 7 or 8 more minutes and broke my silence when the prosecutor was brought up on charges of using the word "Scuttle" instead of "scull" a beer in regards to the pounding of beer.  I stood by his defense and had to share the penalty of "Sculling" another beer.  More drinks were shared and Rob started teasing me about my name "John Thomas means Penis."  This piece of information was about as new to me as the fact that I am fat and just laughed it off sarcastically.

We arrived in Santa Monica and quickly broke up into groups to hit the team's bar.  I jumped in the car with good old 9 Iron and we headed towards "O'Briens Pub."  The bar was somewhere in the Los Angeles area (where, I knew not).  We parked the car and I left my kit in his vehicle.  On the way in I ran into one of the islanders from Santa Monica (who was sentenced earlier to do the Haka on the bus...which he did quite well.)  I made a note to myself to get a hold of Chris next fall and see if he wanted to come out to Washington DC for the annual "New Zealan Ambassador match" which has NZ expats in the US playing the local area all star team.

The Islander and I walked in and did a shot of sambuca and I handed my credit card over to the bar.  I soon got a beer and several of the SMRFC guys brought me over to a pretty young girl that was quite interested in talking to the guy in the kilt.  I came over and started chatting and everything went well.....until......

She asked me, "so what do you do for a living."  Not that saying a DJ at a strip joint is not a respectable occupation, but for some reason I decided to say, "I am a spy."  She smiled and said, "oh yeah, who are you a spy for?"  I replied "NSA."  She said, "funny, I work with Naval Intelligence here in California.  Where did you train?"  I realized I was probably screwed at this point and said, "FBI, CIA, GWU...." She laughed and I said, "okay I am not really a spy."  She laughed again and told me to have fun in California and her and her friends left the bar.  The Santa Monica guys that were present laughed at me and I moved to the bar.

I decided I would be "that guy" that hit on every chick in the bar (since I was for the most part hammered).  I made my way up and down the bar talking to girls and buying them drinks.  They all turned my drinks down and finally found myself sitting next to 2 German girls with 7 drinks in front of me (the rejected gifts I had tried to purchase.)  One of the Germans asked me, "What is that drink?"  I replied, "that....that is a Pink Squirrel."  She asked if I drank them often and I replied "no, it is my first one, but it looks good doesn't it."  She laughed and we chatted a bit longer.  

Chris and Susan then approached and let me know they were leaving and wondered if I would be joining them.  I mumbled something about going back to the hotel to watch pay per view porn that night and thanked them for the hospitality and that I would talk to them in the morning.  They wished me luck and left.

About this time a small Irish Guy and a big Irish American fella walked up and ordered two car bombs.  (Guinness with a shot of Baileys dropped into the pint).  Well we made some small talk and they introduced me to the owner of the bar.  A young guy by all typical bar owner standards.  I shook his hand and commented something or other about being impressed that he was such a young owner.  Not sure of what I exactly said, but I found myself soon cut off by the bartenders.  Guess I offended him somehow, or maybe he just realized I was hammered.  I would order 3 drinks for 2 other guys and myself and the drinks for them would show up, but my drink never appeared.

I then asked the German girls if there was a "night club" in the area and they told me of a dance club a couple blocks away.  I stumbled down to the club and was turned down by the door guys because I wasn't in proper attire (I was wearing a kilt).  I asked if I put on some kaki pants if I would be okay and they said, I could wear jeans for that matter, but no kilts.  I sat back and stared at these door guys wondering if they really had that many guys coming to their dance club wearing kilts that a rule against kilts was necessary and staggered back to O'Briens where I found 9 Iron drinking among his teammates and some ladies.  I asked for his keys to get my kit bag.  I grabbed it, locked his door and hid my bag in some bushes behind a garbage dumpster (always a smart thing to do).  I put on my kaki's over my kilt and stumbled back to the club.  They let me in (at the cost of $5) and I entered, ordered a beer and took off my pants exposing my kilt again.  Not more than 3 minutes later I got a tap on my shoulder asking me to leave.

I then stumbled into another bar called the Gaslight.  They had a Karoake night going and I walked in, bribed the cute chick DJ to bump me up on the list and I played Sweet Child of Mine (after my favorite Karoake song - oops I did it again was not available).  I bought her a shot and a beer and gave her $5 or something.  I got on stage and the crowd came to life singing with me.  I walked off the stage and the girl DJ bought me a round of drinks and said she loved the song and that she decided a bribe wasn't needed.  I spent the remainder of the night chatting with her and sipping on more beer and more Sambuca.

When the bar closed I tried to pull the "after hours drinking," but the bartenders wouldn't allow it.  So I was forced on to the street.  I made my way back to O'Brien's and realized I still had 9 Iron's Keys.  He seemed hammered when I got back and when I gave him his keys back he seemed quite shocked that he forgot I had them.  Realizing I wasn't getting any more beer I walked back outside and started talking to some local girls who turned down my offer to watch HBO in my hotel in exchange for a ride to my hotel.  They waved me down a taxi and I jumped in and told him my hotel near LAX.  

On the way we stopped at a 7/11 (my post drinking favorite location) where I ran into several very nice looking young ladies.  I told them of the greatness of the Walking taco (bag of nacho chips, crushed and filled with the Free Chili and Free hot cheese given out at 7/11).  I quickly made myself one and grabbed a couple sandwiches, an ice cream bar along with a coke and walked back outside.  When I got there I remembered I needed some cash for the cab ride (noting I only had about $37 on me) and wanting to be safe.  I walked back in and hit the ATM, which to my horror, found that I had no money available.  I decided to keep quiet 'til the last minute and if I went passed $35 I would tell him to stop and drop me off and I would walk the remainder.

Not realizing that when I crossed $35 I would be on the interstate I then started fearing going to jail for not having enough taxi money.  This had happen to friends of mine in Washington, DC and so far, other than 2 German girls and a couple Irish guys (not to mention Santa Monica Rugby) there were NO nice people I had met so far in Los Angeles.  That may have been a bit cruel, reality was no one was openly nice.  So when we finally arrived at the hotel, the cab fee was $43.  I dug in my wallet hoping to find a mystical $10 bill or something, but found nothing.  I went inside to the hotel and saw a girl who was paying her parking.  The total was $25 and she had cash.  I asked if I could put her parking on my hotel room and keep her cash for my cab.  The hotel agreed, as did the girl, and I went outside to pay the cab and avoid the LA correctional center.  The cab driver laughed when I told him my fear and he said he would not have called the police, but thanked me for my efforts.

I walked back upstairs and found my room as I had left it 2 days before.  I cracked a warm beer and ate some of my food (including my Ice Cream bar and my walking taco).  I woke up in the morning with the TV on and food crumbs all over the bed and a 1/2 drank warm beer sitting by the bed.  My head hurt, but not as much as my shoulders, back, neck and foot.  I flipped on a movie from pay per view and ate some more of the food I had bought the night before (hoping I didn't get sick from room temperature hamburgers.)  I was also nervous that with one day left my account wouldn't open up available funds and I would be left with no money and no food, let alone beer.

I got a call from Chris seeing how my night went and inviting me to a picnic later that day.  I filled him in and turned down our original plan to go to Venice Beach for the day, deciding sleep and soaking in the hot tub would be much more beneficial for my state.  We agreed that they would call around 4 pm to pick me up for the picnic (birthday party for one of the props on the team.)  I went down to the hot tub and soaked and sipped on a beer.  I made some calls to my mates in DC and went back to my room.  I got a phone call around 330 pm, which I assumed was Chris.  It turned out to be the hotel letting me know that I had overspent my $75 deposit  and I needed to arrange payment for the rest of my hotel bill.  

I walked down confused how my tab could be over $200 when the hotel room was included in the package and I had not even been in the hotel for 30 hours.  They let me know I had over $100 in room Service and a weeks worth of parking.  Not to mention 3 movies (of which I remember only ordering 2...which tells me I did rent porn when I got back to the hotel).  I told them I ordered the movies, but I didn't have a car (failing to remember the deal I made for paying $25 of the girl's parking - which was only 2 days worth) and I wouldn't have had parking since I didn't have a car and I was in the hotel for only 2 days and I have been out of town since checking in.  That was also my defense for the room service which all took place Friday night and Saturday.  They quickly apologized and removed the charges from my card (which freed up $50 from my account that had been authorized.)  About this time, Chris stumbled in and I explained to him my predicament and he laughed.  

We drove to the picnic, which had a live band from several former and current players.  The highlight would come later with the appearance of Freddy Mercury (which confused me a bit).  We all went back inside and drank beers from 9 Iron's kegarator (full refrigerator filled with a keg and tap mounted on the outside.)  Chris and Susan had another appearance to attend so they left me in the capable hands of a few guys that knew me from Saturday and I sat and remained quietly sipping on my beer.  During the next few hours, girlfriends or random players would approach and ask me who I was and my story.  I would relay to them the Idiot Odyssey, my connection to Chris, and my weekend to date.  They all thought it was quite an interesting story.

The birthday boy was a big prop named Clinton.  By the time we arrived he was quite drunk.  I chatted with him a bit and he seemed like good Idiot Brother material (probably in the next class).  The food was served (prepared by 9 Iron himself) which included 4 big chickens and hot dogs.  I ate some chicken (fearing it may be the only food I would get 'til I got back to Washington DC) and drank more beer.  I started to get a good buzz going when the keg ran out.  The hat was quickly passed and I put my last mystical $10 (which I finally found in my wallet) into the keg buying hat and they were off to get beer.  The arrived shortly and the beer was flowing again.

Now it was time for Freddy Mercury.  This short foreign player (later I would find out he was Welsh) dressed in a leather jacket sang to Bohemian Rhapsody being played in the house's Playstation 2.  Note, I would bet that if you looked in most "rugby" type houses (meaning housing more than 2 ruggers) you will find a Playstation 2, which shares duties as the game central, but also DVD and CD player.  I felt at home once I saw the playstation and their copy of Vice City, Grand Theft Auto 4, which my roommates and I also play on a regular basis.

But back to Freddy Mercury.  This player, I believe his name is Keith...but I could be wrong, starts singing.  He is holding an inflated condom as a microphone and is really getting into it.  I haven't seen such a stirring and entertaining rendition since the famed scene in Wayne's World.  At one point, 9 Iron's girlfriend approaches me and explains that the Welshman loves singing Freddy Mercury songs and always puts on a good show.  Then 9 Iron walks out of the kitchen, surveys the scene and says without much thought, "Is he singing into a condom?" and walks off.  Business as usual I assumed for Santa Monica Rugby.  These guys are a bunch of fun guys.

After Freddy's song, many of the team, including the Birthday Boy, Clinton, walked outside and jumped in the giant inflatable castle (meant for kids to bounce in).  I am not sure if the Team rented the big inflatable amusement ride for his birthday, or if they just happen to have the big fun castle outside all the time, but it definitely was something to see, watching this big prop bounce around crashing into the walls of the castle and floor, nearly crushing children in each direction.

At one point I heard some players asking who I was with and who I was.  I walked up and explained that Chris and Susan had another engagement and they would be back to pick me up.  I got kudos from players for playing the day before and we drank more beer and celebrated his birthday in fine fashion.  I could only hope my birthday would be treated with such friendly behavior the next weekend.

Later, Chris and Susan reappeared and we drank our beers and we headed out.  I thanked the hosts, congratulated Clinton on a successful birthday and we made our way back through Santa Monica back to my hotel.  I decided to try to buy some beers for the night (seeing if my account had indeed been credited) and we stopped at a convenience store to pick up some beers.  I purchased a 6 pack of beer (confirming my account was now active again) and they dropped me off at my hotel.  I invited them up (to get a picture and give Chris a Prop's Club shirt) and they left.  I walked down to the hotel bar and ordered a couple drinks and met a strange lady (and as the song said, "She made me nervous")

It turned out this was a married lady, waiting for her husband's best friend to pick her up for a night of adultery in the hotel.  I finished my shot and couple of beers and decided it was time to stagger down the road to the nude bar I noticed on the way to the hotel.  Along the way, I noticed one of the hotels near mine was hosting some type of beauty contest (which made me moan remember that I had the Geriatric Gynecologists staying in my hotel).  I got to the nude bar and found out it was actually a Sex Toy Store.  I walked in, noted some good porn titles and asked the clerk if there was a strip bar around here.  He told me that there was one behind the store and the $10 cover would prove to show complete nude girls.

I pulled $40 from the ATM in the store and walked around back and found the place in mention.  I walked in and sat down.  I asked what type of beer they sold and she told me O'Douls (non alcoholic).  I wasn't really pissed, unlike in King's Cross in Sydney, this waitress informed me it was non-alcoholic beer.  I asked if she had a cup I could use to dip in (chewing tobacco) and she said she would look for a paper cup.  She indeed brought me a spittoon and I sat sipping on my fake beer dipping.  The strippers were "all right," but now that I am in the business, I was a bit disappointed with the DJ.  Very monotone.  Not very good at all.  Then I thought about what I had become.  I was a strip bar DJ snob.  I decided it was time to head back to the hotel (wasn't going to pay $5 for fake beer any longer) and along the way stopped at a fast food joint and picked up a couple sandwiches.

I got back to the hotel, drank a couple beers and decided I should get some sleep.  I passed out after my 3 days of fun and woke up got to the airport and started my journey home, drinking beers I smuggled on from my previous night and listening to my road trip music.  Super Boy picked me up at the airport at 7 pm and we went home for a couple hours before we headed back out to pick up our other roommate returning from Baltimore.  We shared stories on the way back.  His trip had been filled with more Sodom and Gomorra, but mine was equally fun and once again I have found that the connection between Homer's the Odyssey and Rugby do exist.  

I would like to thank the Santa Monica rugby club and the Idiot Brothers for showing me such a great time, but mostly like to thank Chris and Susan for being such GREAT hosts and good friends.  The invite is always open to anyone from the club to come up to DC and have a good weekend.  Once again, the winner is rugby.