So I’m flying back to Boston today in the afternoon, and who do I literally run into walking up to the check-in stand? Mr. Kevin Pritchard himself. Now, at the time I was operating on no more than two hours of sleep, so after bumping shoulders with KP, it took a quadruple-take before I convinced myself of who it was. And he was sporting a slick white and blue LeBron James Nike sweatsuit.
As I’m staring at KP taking his baggage to the x-ray machine, the asian lady with criss-crossed eyes is giving me the ‘Sir, sir, sir?’ treatment like I was some guy who just walked into the Playboy Mansion. Anywho, I think to myself ‘Cool, nice to see KP around,’ and go on with my day. And by go on with my day I mean literally throw my bags at Kevin Duckworth’s brother and sprint to security to find out which way KP was going. I catch a quick glimpse of him before he disappears into the Delta Crown Room. Now I feel like a stalker, but I’m determined to shake his hand. The Crown Room folk did not believe in my quest, so I waited at the gate outside (which happened to be mine).
An hour or so passes, and I’m getting frustrated, thinking I missed my chance. The lady calls for boarding. Damn, I said out loud. And then, OH MY GOD, is that Kevin Pritchard’s Music!? The white and blue sweatsuit materializes in front of me. That silver-maned scoundrel had been sitting in a dark corner AT THE GATE with his laptop the whole time. I spent the last hour listening to a couple argue about which is more painful, spraining your ankle or straining your groin, when I could have spent that hour planning my attack.
Of course, as this was the way the day went, he sits down two row ahead of me. As I’m walking by his seat, I almost make my move, but he whips out the Blackberry, throwing me off balance, and then I get bumped by the loud southern lady behind me so I stumble into my seat like the fat kid from Superbad. DAMN. Seeing as how I’m bloody exhausted, I pass out, comforted by the fact that KP isn’t going anywhere.
Two hours later, we land in Salt Lake City. I start thinking of Mormon jokes I can tell KP, but then I reconsider, thinking there’s at least a .097 percent chance he or his wife is Mormon — a chance I was not willing to take. Naturally, he gets a turbo boost off the plane (he must have practiced hitting A just before the green light in Mario Kart 64) and I get bumped by that loud southern lady again. I almost stare a hole through her before doing my best Olympic power walking impression up the jetway.
Now I know there’s no chance whatsoever he is coming to Boston with me, so this is my last chance. What my luck, he stopped to tie his shoe, he stopped to tie his shoe! But I’ve been thinking about what to say to him so long now I do one of those stutter step hesitations guys do at middle school dances when approaching the cutie-cliques. He’s on the move again, so I strafe him on the right through traffic like a fox stalking a mouse through a field. Now he’s moving too slow, I misjudged my pace, I’m going to pass him and look like an idiot, but he stops to look at the fast food menu, here’s my chance, it’s now or five years from now (ptttt…please) I swing around, put my hand out and, “Hello, Mr. Pritchard…”
And guess what? He’s a nice guy! Come on, what else did you expect. He shook my hand (nice handshake by the way, not over-filled with testosterone but far from flimsy) and we exchanged a few words. I told him how great of a job I think he’s doing and how nice it was to have him in Portland. Like he gives a rodent’s behind, right? Actually, he looks me in the eye and says he really appreciates me saying that and tells me how much fun everyone in the organization is having right now. Not wanting to bother him, since it was also the first half second I didn’t see him on his Blackberry or his laptop, I flashed him a smile and told him it’s good to hear he’s enjoying himself and wished him a good flight before turning away and practically skipping to my gate.
Now, you should know that during the entire conversation, my heart is about to explode and turn me into the henchman from Big Trouble in Little China and as I’m walking away I’m turning into the Human freakin’ Torch. It was that awesome. Less than two minutes of talking and I can tell how genuine the guy was. KP actually seemed, or at least pretended, to be interested in what I had to tell him, and when he talks, it was EXACTLY like he sounds on Chad Ford’s Podcast or on PTI. It was a great half a day, and added to the fact that I had those little tv’s in the back of the seats on my second flight so I could watch ESPN, it was a perfect travel day. The Portland Trail Blazers, my friends, are in good hands.