Bunny Girls, Beer & Ballers. Believable?
This exclusive excerpt from SEMI:PRO:AM The Basketball Reality You Never Knew; details one of the team's countless eventful post game meanderings in Slovenia's Capital following a historic Euroleague match up.
Chapter 33. The Launch
He didn’t care that the man at the other end of the phone in room 408 was his Coach or that they just lost. Or that it was minus god knows what or that there were inches of snow outside; he was going out and was recruiting as many people to come as possible. Frustratingly this wasn’t usually an issue on the road, especially in Europe where the team often rolled into some nondescript Baltic town on a Tuesday night, set to work on court and then, win or lose regardless, they went out to sample what the local nightlife had to offer. While not compiling a Traveler’s Guide to Europe’s Best Mid-Week Haunts, there was normally an opportunistic motivation behind heading beyond the hotel’s walls after the statutory five course post game dinner at 11:30pm or so which gathered more than tonight’s motley crew.
The knock on his door by #11 forced the conversation rapidly towards a close as #8 hung up the phone and resigned himself to the fact that tonight’s exploration party into the snowcapped unknown that was Ljubljana, for whatever reason consisted of just the two players, the physio and assistant coach. The four intrepid explorers gathered in the brightly lit marble lobby of the Grand Union Hotel, which was by far one of the most decadent and well positioned of any they had stayed in this season. Unlike the designated lodgings in Frankfurt which was all the way out by the airport and required a taxi to guide them to the nearest nightlife, tonight’s hotel was slap bang in the middle of it; whatever it turned out to be.
As they walked outside of the hotel’s corner entrance and a few yards down the sloping street towards the Triple Bridge trying not to slip as the midnight snow fell gently on the cobbles, #11 looked skywards towards the picturesque Ljubljanski Grad atop Castle Hill and said, “You boys make it up there today?” Stu replied in the excitable way Aussie’s seem hardwired to talk of travel, “Too bloody right mate, while you boys were asleep me and this one went up there with the Boss.” Picking up on the story the assistant chimed in, “Hammering down with snow it was, colder than now in fact. We wanted to get the lift didn’t we Stu? But the man wanted to walk, said something about not getting his run in with all the snow.” As both players smiled in agreement, knowing the Manager’s almost incessant need to jog every day, the group reached the river and turned right towards Congress Square.
While walking around aimlessly looking for any sign of an open establishment the physio continued, “You’ll never guess what happens when we’re half way up. The two of us are just talking and look back because we think we’ve lost the old fella, like he’s fallen off the side of the hill or something. Ha!” Picking up the story as the Australian was in the process of laughing so hard he could no longer speak, “He’s only doing a deal on the phone. Half way up a hill, pissing with snow in the middle of wherever, he’s on the horn to some company about a sponsorship for next year. Who knows where he was telling them he was calling from, I mean he makes out our front office is in Canary Wharf half the time. He must do, there’s no way people would put the money up they do if they saw where he works! So we ask him who it was when he hangs up and he just walks past us with that smile he has, you know and gives us the old ‘Just talking out loud fellas’. He plays his cards closer to his chest than most poker players.”
Following a light similar to that of the four not so wise men, the group headed down an alley way to find what seemed to be the only bar still open in town and typically an English style pub named after a famous ship. The consensus of opinion was that this was exactly what they were looking for, given the temperature outside and the snow was continuing to fall so they headed through the double doors. The sight that welcomed them was one of a sleepy country watering hole more so than the beating heart of a slick London bar they expected in the center of Slovenia’s capital city to still be open past midnight on a Wednesday. “Well, we’ve come this far. My round” said the physio as he approached the barman as the others scanned the room for which of the multiple seating options before them would be the best.
Returning with a tray of four pints of Union beer he said, “Drink up, it’s all bloody Union round these parts, hotels, beers, not sure if both either or neither sponsor their team. I thought it would be busier than this, everyone out celebrating the win and all.” Noting his last comment about the game wasn’t well received by the players as the group was drinking to forget it seemed. Surprisingly #8 the party leader added, “Yeah we’re not exactly a big draw I guess. What does that place hold? Six thousand seats? And we drew a crowd of maybe two thousand. Shame most stayed home, they could have witnessed history” he finished with a wry smile of a man on the wrong end of a 73-40 score line, which was the lowest output of any team in Euroleague history.
Smiling in return, #11 said dryly “Just shows what happens when I play more than twenty minutes in a game.” Which rendered a laugh loud enough to seemingly wake the other five patrons of Europe’s quietest pub as he continued, “Nearly broke out the Ice Hockey sticks at one point, we couldn’t throw it in the ocean from a boat tonight” referring to the 1960’s built Tivoli Hall that doubles as the city’s Hockey Arena. “Could be worse,” interjected the assistant, “I spoke to one of their coaches and he told me they just got done renovating one of the halls in there last year, but the clubs planning to move to its own building that holds over thirteen thousand in a few years. Now that would have been embarrassing.”
Sensing the conversation was lightening some, #11 assumed “I still reckon we had more people in there than Mel C will next month.” Chuckling in reply, the physio added “Not sure about that mate, but you know Louis Armstrong & his All Stars played that place back in the ‘60’s?” Firing back in jest was #11’s comment of “All Stars? You taking the mick? We made them look like All Stars tonight. I don’t know about you lot but we just didn’t seem to be at the races tonight, no idea what it was. But look at the turn out tonight, what’s wrong with everyone?”
With the direction of the banter heading back to a more serious tone #8 suggested, “Can you blame them, it’s not exactly Istanbul here now is it.” Pausing to recollect the unspoken shenanigans of that night in the farthest eastern edge of Europe, the group decided upon finishing their drinks that it was either time to find a slightly more uplifting atmosphere or return to the hotel for sleep before an early alarm call to catch their 07:05am flight back to London, once again with a handy stopover in Zurich.
Trudging through the snow which was now at least an inch deeper than before, the group hiked through the dimly lit baroque streets in search of a nightspot to save the evening and the inevitable “I told you so” comments from well rested teammates at breakfast in six hours. Heading back towards the landmark of the Ljubljanica River where they could get their bearings to relocate the hotel, the alleyway opened out into a large square covered with a pristine layer of untouched snow. With tall buildings on both sides and a full moon in the cloudless sky to illuminate the surroundings, the lack of street lighting wasn’t apparent until the group looked left in unison as a side door to the largely blank white fa?ade of the four floor high building opened into the snow.
None of the group had even considered there to be a door to what seemed to be a warehouse prior to its opening but enthused by curiosity and the potential for at least one other building to seemingly be open, #8 walked in that direction with the purpose of saving the night out he worked so hard to engineer saying, “They’ll know somewhere to go.” He seemed to the others to be talking for an age at the expense of their soon to be frost bitten feet, as the three remaining men considered the glorious fact that it could be a nightclub at best. But when facing that wonderful opportunity, the chances of them actually gaining access wearing matching team jackets and trainers with their jeans would be near impossible.
With a look of relief shared on their faces, they finally saw their fearless leader walking back towards them with either news of another late night watering hole close by or the answer to what exactly the door was opening to. He was dismayed to see all three sets of eyes looking over his head and up towards the top of the windowless building behind him as he reached the group and was so keen to share the good news, “You’re not going to believe this fellas. We’re in. It’s a nightclub. VIP only. Dress code means you’ll have to lose those lovely jackets at the door. It’s some sort of magazine launch party …” Still not evoking the response such glad tidings should, he was on the verge of questioning the still upwardly staring group as if gob smacked by a UFO or something of that nature when #11 spun him around to face the building saying, “That kind of Magazine then?”
How funny the foursome must have looked to the doorman, a wide range of shapes and sizes, all dressed identically and only moments before, all staring at the white wall of the four story night club as it was further illuminated by the beam of light from across the square. The projection of the world’s most famous tuxedo wearing bunny onto the wall had been the final piece of the puzzle for the weary party goers, whose night had just turned on a dime from bland to brilliant in a moment of coincidence and chance. Quickly turning their coats inside out to hide the club logo and then checking them at the door so as not to look like players fresh from a ritual embarrassment of a historical loss, they entered the club only to see members of the opposing team who instantly recognized them.
Before they could approach their opposition a petite young lady with eye catching red hair weaved down her back in a black figure hugging dress, with high heels projecting her to all of 5’3” walked up to #8 and in passing held his hand momentarily as she continued to glide past him with a smile and glint in her heavily mascaraed eyes. All eight eyes followed her improbably tiny waist, curvaceous hips and gravity defying chest as she continued across the room as she sashayed up to the bar and ordered a drink. Turning over his hand to inspect the contents of his palm, #8 found a small scrap of paper with a name and phone number of what appeared to be his biggest Slovenian fan.
“Just the four of you?” questioned the victorious team’s import center as his group of teammates broke the concentration of the visitors as they shook hands and laughed at all four men once again staring at the same object in a dream-like disbelief. What followed during the guided tour around the four floors of the nightclub was an evening of pure excess that one would expect from a launch party for the world’s most popular gentlemen’s lifestyle magazine. The venue was one that oozed the kind of class and elegance most men associate with this particular brand, with darkened corners of each room with a boudoir feel combining a millionaire’s mansion with the continually hip nightclubs of New York’s meat packing district. Surrounded wherever they went by a bevy of bunny girl waitresses, moody looking bouncers and well coiffured gentlemen, whose standing in the local business community almost certainly guaranteed their entry to this most exclusive of soirees. In every room on every floor the hypnotic beats of electronic house music methodically laid the soundtrack to the scenery that altered with every turn of the spot lights and resulting glitter of a disco ball.
As the group split, the players worked the room with the expected confidence of professional athletes in such a predatory habitat, the physio and assistant both sat back at the bar to enjoy the neon lit masses in front of them. Having been handed a copy of the debut issue of the Slovenian magazine at the door, the two men stowed them safely for later, yet for some reason they still thumbed through a copy on the bar as the youngest of the pair said to the physio with a look of abstract awe and the tone that couldn’t hide his surprise, “I just don’t believe it” to which the reply came “I know mate, just look at this place. That’s Miss August over there talking to our useless part time center.” Shaking his head the assistant said, “Not the birds. I can’t believe Slovenia lasted this long without this magazine!”
Deciding to take a slightly earlier leave of absence than their counterparts, the two almost inebriated members of the support staff looked at their watches to end their three hour stay at around 03:15am and return to their hotel which was mercifully within staggering distance. While collecting the smaller pair of the four identical coats, the assistant noticed Stu rummaging around behind the ma?tre d’s podium by the front door. “Come on Stu, we leaving or what?” With his head still buried behind the four foot brushed metallic stand, he replied “With you in a minute mate” as his head poked above the parapet, while looking left and right. “You want to stay, don’t you? Your wife will never believe you when you tell her what you’ve been up to this time. Hurry up” said the now impatient assistant standing in the icy open doorway, wearing neither coat and engaging the eye line of a sizable bouncer who had just felt the icy blast of snowy night air through the open door. Hurrying outside with the glowing face of someone whose head was bent over his knees for the past two minutes and suddenly stood up too quick, the embarrassed physio replied, “She bloody will when I give her one of these” pointing towards the additional four magazines he had stowed in his trouser pockets. “Had to get one for Bev too. A little memento of the trip he missed out on. He chose Frankfurt instead!”
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Critics called it:
"A Gritty History of Modern Basketball & Not for the Faint Hearted." The Undersized Basketball Blog
"A brutal account of Basketball and a satisfying, readable journey." Basketball Magazine