Locking It Up
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen a string of bad luck as persistent as the one the Iron Maidens dealt with on our way to Memphis, where we would try to lock up a spot at Nationals.
1. Flight delay out of Ft. Lauderdale turns out to be somewhat lucky at first, because we had some late arrivals.
2. Except, it put us behind for our connection in Dallas, where we just barely make the flight.
3. When we arrive in Memphis, we learn our luggage hadn’t made it. This is a big problem – we are set to play at 1 p.m. the next day, and the airport types are saying it might not get in by then, but some of the girls had packed and checked their gear. Not good.
4. After driving from the airport to Memphis we drive around, starving, for what seems like an eternity, searching for a kitchen still open after 11 p.m. (No time in Dallas for dinner!) We finally settle at a Bennigan’s.
5. Once we’re fed and happier, our captain’s phone rings – they’re giving away our hotel rooms, so she has to dash out and stop them.
6. We spend some time at the restaurant just waiting for her to return, most of us praying for bed or death.
7. The next morning, no word form the airport about the luggage. The plan is to drop off most of the team so they can watch an early match, while just a few of us go to the airport to find the bags. Except, our maps are essentially useless and we get really, really lost, with multiple u-turns and wrong turns and bad turns, including near heart attack when a cop pulls up right behind us, lights flashing, siren blaring, and we’re packed into the van, on each others’s laps, not buckled in… our first stroke of good fortune comes when he passes us by, on the tail of someone else.
9. We give up on finding the pitch and all go to the airport, where we find our second stroke of good luck – our bags are there. Of course, they are sitting out, unattended, no employees in sight, and a less honest team might have walked off with a few OTHER bags as well, but whatever. We got ‘em.
We finally find the pitch, but our bad luck continues – the referree is terrible. TERRIBLE. It was an intense, near-dirty match, but eventually, the Iron Maidens rise above, start having fun, and play our game like a team.
And the ref doesn’t matter because we won! We won, we won won won.
Celebrate by screaming rugby songs in the middle of Beale Street, among other debauchery.
Bad ice, bad ice, Elvis rocks.
Next step: Nationals in Raleigh. What is in Raleigh? I mean, besides the Iron Maidens in a few weeks…