NPS Recap #4 - Wednesday
My eyes sprung open at about 10AM on Wednesday and I was remarkably less hungover than I anticipated. Don't get me wrong, it was painful, but not nearly as bad as it could have been. The fact that I had vomited everything possible only aided the recovery, I'm sure.
The first thing that went through my mind was, "what time is it?" Soon after came, "how the hell did you let that happen?" and "put your game face on, you have a team to attend to." I immediately brushed my teeth and went downstairs to obtain coffee and nicotine. I wasn't 10 step from the elevator on the first floor before the world started in on me. Apparently, the story had already swept through much of the population. Hell, even Henry Sampson knew all about it. Everyone appeared genuinely surprised at my ability to walk.
I felt awful but I made the mental decision to act right. I couldn't afford to lose an entire day to a night of stupidity. I tried eating but that only made my body go into DEFCON 1. Hydrate hydrate hydrate.
After re-telling the story 93 times and filling in the missing details from those who were there, it was time to rehearse. The team came together and put in some work at the scheduled 1PM practice. I tried to nap and eat again. Fail. I showered and put a tie on to try and trick myself into thinking I didn't feel like a corpse.
Our second bout was with San Francisco, Philadelphia, and Life Sentence(CA) at Dr. Feelgood's. For the record, Feelgood's is a good venue for a rock club but awful for a slam. The space is big. Too big for an ill-attended slam. At the start of the bout it became clear that there were 5 people in the venue who weren't poets. Those 5 became judges. This reaaaly hurt us. California, especially the bay, rolls deep. The SF team had a bunch of entourage with them and the 2 cali teams cheered for each other but we had little-to-no support in that regard.
We drew the C, which I wanted, but our luck quickly died. After a modest showing from the first two team's indies, I put up "Awkward"- a brand new group piece from Rik Vasquez and I. Let's just say we didn't kill it. We weren't bad, but it was obviously still new. We tried to coax as much energy out of the room as possible, but it did very little. As the bout progressed it seemed like nothing we did worked. I feel like I made the right calls, but we couldn't score for shit. The bout became one of those MDK bouts (MurderDeathKill) with a dash of molestation and a pinch of racism-is-bad. the poetry from every team was overall pretty good, but we simply didn't have what the judges wanted.
Ultimately, by the end of round 3 we were fucked. Billy killed his poem. Greg killed his. Nothing scored. At one point, right before Billy walked to the stage, one of the judges left to go to the bathroom. When she returned 5 minutes later, the emcee re-started the bout but said judge was now at the bar talking to the bartender throughout the course of his poem. i didn't say anything because we were getting beat and whining ain't classy. Later that night, the bout manager and someone from the EC came up to me and thanked me for not protesting any of the things I could have protested. It kinda went like, "we know that was fucked up. Thanks for not making it worse."
Going in to the 4 rotation, I pulled the team aside and said, "I don't give a fuck what happens. Obviously, we're getting hosed here but we need to pick ourselves up and set a good example." Our 4th poet up was Rik Vasquez who did a great reading of "Warrior Clan." The team assembled at the foot of the stage and hugged the shit out of him when he walked off. We went back to our table, knowing we just got beat up, and did our ritual huddle for the last time. This is perhaps the best moment of the entire summer for me. Watching my team, defeated, huddle up and chant like it was the first time made me proud to be a coach. We have made major strides all summer and I'm sorry that we had to go out like that. Let it be known, though, that I am proud of everyone of my guys and their response to adversity was inspiring.
Still to come....erotica show, the pool, The Baz returns
The first thing that went through my mind was, "what time is it?" Soon after came, "how the hell did you let that happen?" and "put your game face on, you have a team to attend to." I immediately brushed my teeth and went downstairs to obtain coffee and nicotine. I wasn't 10 step from the elevator on the first floor before the world started in on me. Apparently, the story had already swept through much of the population. Hell, even Henry Sampson knew all about it. Everyone appeared genuinely surprised at my ability to walk.
I felt awful but I made the mental decision to act right. I couldn't afford to lose an entire day to a night of stupidity. I tried eating but that only made my body go into DEFCON 1. Hydrate hydrate hydrate.
After re-telling the story 93 times and filling in the missing details from those who were there, it was time to rehearse. The team came together and put in some work at the scheduled 1PM practice. I tried to nap and eat again. Fail. I showered and put a tie on to try and trick myself into thinking I didn't feel like a corpse.
Our second bout was with San Francisco, Philadelphia, and Life Sentence(CA) at Dr. Feelgood's. For the record, Feelgood's is a good venue for a rock club but awful for a slam. The space is big. Too big for an ill-attended slam. At the start of the bout it became clear that there were 5 people in the venue who weren't poets. Those 5 became judges. This reaaaly hurt us. California, especially the bay, rolls deep. The SF team had a bunch of entourage with them and the 2 cali teams cheered for each other but we had little-to-no support in that regard.
We drew the C, which I wanted, but our luck quickly died. After a modest showing from the first two team's indies, I put up "Awkward"- a brand new group piece from Rik Vasquez and I. Let's just say we didn't kill it. We weren't bad, but it was obviously still new. We tried to coax as much energy out of the room as possible, but it did very little. As the bout progressed it seemed like nothing we did worked. I feel like I made the right calls, but we couldn't score for shit. The bout became one of those MDK bouts (MurderDeathKill) with a dash of molestation and a pinch of racism-is-bad. the poetry from every team was overall pretty good, but we simply didn't have what the judges wanted.
Ultimately, by the end of round 3 we were fucked. Billy killed his poem. Greg killed his. Nothing scored. At one point, right before Billy walked to the stage, one of the judges left to go to the bathroom. When she returned 5 minutes later, the emcee re-started the bout but said judge was now at the bar talking to the bartender throughout the course of his poem. i didn't say anything because we were getting beat and whining ain't classy. Later that night, the bout manager and someone from the EC came up to me and thanked me for not protesting any of the things I could have protested. It kinda went like, "we know that was fucked up. Thanks for not making it worse."
Going in to the 4 rotation, I pulled the team aside and said, "I don't give a fuck what happens. Obviously, we're getting hosed here but we need to pick ourselves up and set a good example." Our 4th poet up was Rik Vasquez who did a great reading of "Warrior Clan." The team assembled at the foot of the stage and hugged the shit out of him when he walked off. We went back to our table, knowing we just got beat up, and did our ritual huddle for the last time. This is perhaps the best moment of the entire summer for me. Watching my team, defeated, huddle up and chant like it was the first time made me proud to be a coach. We have made major strides all summer and I'm sorry that we had to go out like that. Let it be known, though, that I am proud of everyone of my guys and their response to adversity was inspiring.
Still to come....erotica show, the pool, The Baz returns