The beautiful life
By Jason SmithUsually when people go on vacation, they go touring. Seeing famous sites, old buildings and the like to hear the stories of what's made them what they are. Sometimes the places we tour are current hot spots, edifices we've always wanted to see. The Empire State Building. The Eiffel Tower. The Grand Canyon.
Me? I'm a sports guy, and while it's great to absorb the history of Wrigley Field and Fenway Park, I've always wanted to walk the floor of Staples Center before a Lakers game. Living in Los Angeles for the past 14 years, I've craved to feel the vibe of Jack, Dyan and the guy who always sits next to Jack but no one knows who he is. I wanted to walk with the beautiful people for once and pretend what it's like to be beautiful even though my head shines like mid-court after a good waxing.
Recently, ESPN Radio in Los Angeles, from where I do my show, moved into the new L.A. Live building across from Staples Center. This was my chance. After a couple of phone calls, it finally came through.
It ended up being way more than I bargained for. By the end of the day, I had been schooled on the Internet by an octogenarian, did something to ensure Kobe Bryant would likely never appear on my radio show, and confronted something that has been haunting me for years: Maria Shriver. But, as Inigo Montoya taught us in "The Princess Bride," it's best to start at the beginning.
Michael Roth is the man at the helm of this adventure. He is the vice president of communications for AEG, which owns the arena. A better title for him would be The Man Who Knows Everyone, and he was kind enough to take 90 minutes out of his day to show me around. Dressed in an expensive business suit and spotless white Nikes, he met me outside the Nokia Theater, which is adjacent to Staples. It was 6 p.m., less than two hours from the start of Game 5 of the Rockets-Lakers Western Conference semifinals.
Roth: You ready?
Me: Yes.
Roth: Don't touch anything.
We started out by entering the Nokia Theater, where concerts and events like the ESPYS are held on a routine basis. We walked through an underground tunnel that connects Nokia to Staples, a 30-second walk. How they built a tunnel under the street is beyond me. Roth told me Seal came to Game 2 of the Rockets-Lakers series, watched the first half from his seats, then at halftime walked through the tunnel to perform his concert at the Nokia. I always had visions of performing artists warming up backstage and doing transcendental things to prepare to entertain thousands of fans, such as holding hands and uttering phrases like, "We light these candles so God can show us the way in front of these people who love us!"
Seal watched a basketball game.
I wonder if between the ending of his show and doing an encore he ran back over to catch the end of the game while his crowd was cheering and then ran back for his final song. ("Hey ... you ... guys ... are ... great! Let me ... catch my breath ... and we'll all go ... 'Crazy!'")
From there, Roth and I go up a level to the fancy schmancy dining room that's available for some fans to have dinner in on game nights. It's hard to believe it's inside a sports stadium that churns out thousands of hot dogs a night. I could sit down at a table, order a filet and then chase it with nachos from a concession stand less than 30 yards away. Now that's eating! In exploring the room, we stop so Roth can say hello to someone seated at a table having dinner with a man whose back is to me. Ever the gentleman, Roth introduces me to his friend and his dinner companion.
Me: Hi, Jason Smith, ESPN.
Tim Allen: Hi, Tim Allen.
Me: (Silence as I refrain from sliding in a snazzy "Tool Time" line that wouldn't have sounded snazzy at all.)
Walking away, I remarked that I never thought when I woke up in the morning I'd get to meet Tim Allen, and Roth said to me, "If he's the only Hollywood star you see in the next hour I'm not doing my job."
I got all tingly.
From there, we went down to the arena floor, which is probably a safer place for me than a dining room since any spontaneous comment I may have made has the possibility of being drowned out by the fans and the music. It's about 45 minutes before game time and the scene is just starting to hop. Fans were arriving, players were finishing some drills and I was in the Beautiful Region.
We walked over to sit down on the seats that would soon become the Lakers' bench. I notice one of the chairs has padding about a foot thick on the seat and Roth tells me that it's Phil Jackson's seat. Due to his hip and back issues, Jackson needs a special seat. So I did what anyone would do after hearing that story.
I asked if I could sit in it.
It was easily the cushiest folding chair I've ever sat in. My feet had trouble touching the floor. I felt like I was 5 years old again in my grandmother's kitchen sitting on an adult chair for the first time. All that was missing was me holding a sippy cup of chocolate milk and "Tom & Jerry" cartoons on TV. (Instead it was the closing seconds of Game 5 between Orlando and Boston up on the big screen above the court. You get what you get.)
As the fisheye lens widened from Phil's seat, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was two feet to my left, splayed out in what I can only assume is heavy concentration. Flea was sitting in his seat about three rows behind the Lakers' bench, wearing the gaudiest Lakers T-shirt I've seen in quite some time. Along the baseline, USC football coach Pete Carroll was yakking it up with a bevy of people who want two minutes of his time. In the far left-hand corner of the court sat Dr. Dre, with sneakers more spotless than Roth's Nikes. (I mean it, I couldn't take my eyes off them. It's like looking up into the sky when there's just one star and it blinds you.) Directly across from me, Tim Allen walked to his seat, giving Roth a wave. I crazily waved back, because I think we've become buddies after our bonding experience in the dining room.
Taking it all in, Roth and I started talking about the officiating in the playoffs and how uneven it's been. He brought up a referee by the name of Mendy Rudolph, who was a bit before my time, but had the reputation as being one of the best ever. Roth said, "Well, someone will be around to explain Mendy better than I could," and no sooner did he get the words out of his mouth than I saw him crane his neck behind the seats and say, "Hey, Bill, got a second?"
And over walked Bill Bertka, Pat Riley's assistant during the "Showtime" era of the Lakers. Despite being 80 years old, he's still a full-time scouting director and consultant for the team. Roth asked him for 30 seconds to talk about Mendy Rudolph. (If I had a music question, could Roth get Beyonce to answer?)
Bertka told the following story: During a game that Rudolph was officiating, Wilt Chamberlain got upset about a play and threw the basketball up as high as he could in protest. Rudolph glared at Wilt and said, "When that ball hits the ground you're getting a technical." Not many referees had the guts to even give Wilt a T, let alone talk smack while doing it. Bill Bertka instantly became the uncle I've always wanted.
We both thanked Bill for his story and his parting words were "Just look him up on Google." Never underestimate your elders. Here's an 80-year-old man telling me I should go to Google to find things out. This on the heels of me finding out a few days ago that Beano Cook has a Facebook page. Technology is for everyone, apparently.
The Lakers came out for their final pregame layups so we left their bench alone and headed to the other side of the court. Too bad, I would've liked to have been asked to get up from Phil's chair. We walked to the corner of the floor where we watched the rest of warmups. I could've touched Richie Sambora's hair, I was so close (and who hasn't wanted to touch Richie Sambora's hair?) Seven steps away was Jeremy Piven, who was getting a fist bump from Lamar Odom. I stood rooted to my spot. I didn't want to wake up from this Beautiful Place.
Roth told me about some of the other celebrity fans who normally show up, and he mentioned that Maria Shriver often comes with her son to the games but he hasn't seen her yet. I thought I was in the clear, because I didn't want to run into her. Maria Shriver was witness to one of the most embarrassing moments of my entire life.
About nine or 10 years ago, my wife and I were having breakfast at Schatzi on Main, a restaurant in Los Angeles formerly owned by Arnold Schwarzenegger, back before he was the Governator. My mother and my wife's father were with us, and we were going sightseeing after we ate. I needed to use the bathroom before we left, but the men's room was locked. I couldn't wait, so I asked my wife and mother to see if the women's room was empty. It was, so they stood outside to watch while I went in.
I have to tell you, the women's room was pretty nice. They piped in Austrian language lessons so you were doing your business and learning at the same time. I heard the voice say something like, "Mein un gott. Say 'mein un gott.' " So I said, "Mein un gott" as I finished washing my hands and opened the door -- and came face-to-face with Maria Shriver and her daughter who were on their way into the women's room.
So much for my wife and mom blocking for me. That must've been how David Carr felt playing with the Texans.
Maria, who is absolutely stunning in person, looked at me with wide eyes, waiting for me to say something. Before I could say anything, her daughter says, "Why are you in the ladies room?" I looked down, both happy yet sad to take my eyes from Maria's (she's a Kennedy for goodness sake!) and apologized, saying the men's room was locked. Maria then started pounding on the men's room door and called for someone to unlock the men's room door right away. My family and I took this as our cue to leave.
A narrow escape. But I've never forgotten that day, nor the shame that went along with it.
Roth thought it was a great story, and I was glad that after all he had shown me I could make him grin for a few seconds. If our story had ended there, I would've walked out on a cloud. Instead, just like "Training Day," it was 15 minutes too long.
A young woman with a credential around her neck came up to say hello to Roth. She was wearing a brown fedora that had a black band around the middle of it. They both talked for a minute and he introduced me to her as Catherine, and asked me my opinion of the hat, since it was quite the topic of conversation earlier in the day. Now I figured the two of them work together in some capacity, I could say something clever. Instead, I got the whole heel of my foot in my mouth.
Roth: What do you think of her hat?
Me: It looks very Freddy Krueger-esque, actually.
Catherine: (Pause) Not really the look I was going for, but OK.
So the line fell flat. Not my first, certainly not my last. After polite goodbyes, I asked Roth who she was. He said she was Kobe Bryant's main publicist who "does everything for him." Why didn't he say that when he introduced me to her? My chances of ever talking to Kobe on my show went down below zero, if that's possible. If you tell anyone other than Robert Englund they look like Freddy Krueger, you can't ever expect to get out of that doghouse.
I decided it was time to say my goodbyes.
I thanked Roth for everything and prepared to walk through the tunnel and back into the dying sunlight of an early Los Angeles evening. But the Staples Center wasn't done with me yet as Roth yelled over my shoulder, "Maria! How are you?"
No. No way. No no no no no.
Yes.
Stepping over for greetings was Maria Shriver, son in tow, five minutes before game time. I could swear I heard the bells of the WWE's "Undertaker" in the background. Roth really does know everybody.
She just had to go this way to get to her seats? She couldn't have had seats, oh I don't know, somewhere else that wouldn't require her to have to meander past us?
I started sweating because I knew Roth was going to bring it up. If the situations were reversed, I certainly would've brought it up. And he brings it up -- telling her the whole sordid tale.
Shriver looked at me and I thought she was going to say, "You! I've been looking for you since 1998! Stay here while I get a security guard."
Roth asked her if she remembered me and she crinkled up her nose a bit and said, "No, but don't worry, plenty of men used the women's room there." And she smiled. The smile of an angel who has granted me release of my earthly confinement. She bid us farewell, her feet not touching the ground as she left, and Roth says, "See, I got you off the hook." He kinda did.
After years of that being an experience that made me cringe, Maria Shriver gave me a pass with the aid of my tour guide. Only on the floor at Staples Center. This is where the Beautiful People are. In the Beautiful Place. Where miracles happen. I've seen it. So now I'm going to get Botox, Rogaine and some liposuction, then play the lottery so I can maybe make it back there one day.
With a padded seat.
Jason Smith is the host of "AllNight with Jason Smith" (weekdays 1 to 5 a.m. ET/10 p.m. to 2 a.m. PT). Get in touch with him at allnight@espnradio.com.
