By Mike Vallee,
By Michael Vallee
A friend of mine likes to say, “Once is a fluke, twice is a trend”. With that in mind my friends and I say set out last week on our second consecutive Patriots road trip, making this officially a tradition. Last year’s inaugural trip was to the depressing dystopian waste land also known as Buffalo, so we were definitely expecting an upgrade with this year’s destination: Tampa, Florida.
Takeoff: The Buffalo trip was a ground affair, which meant 16 hours round trip driving across the tediously boring 1-90 corridor (actually 12 hours if you have a friend that thinks he’s Al Unser). This year we were traveling by air, and since I don’t travel for work, that meant getting reaquainted with the joys of post-9/11 air travel.
This did not begin well, as I missed my early morning flight, sort of. In the “old” days missing a flight meant you were sprinting thru the airport like O.J. Simpson (sorry but there just aren’t any other airport running references) and arriving at your gate at 7:32am for a 7:30am flight. I “missed” my flight by arriving 40 minutes before takeoff only to be informed, in the most robotic and unpleasant way possible, that bag check ends 45 minutes before takeoff. Apparently the size of my luggage represented a threat to national security so my bag could not be carried on. Luckily there was another flight leaving 30 minutes later for Philadelphia with enough time to spare to meet my friends for the connecting flight to Tampa. Whew.
One layover, two flights and three bags of pretzels later we deplaned from the claustrophobic hell that is coach in the 21st century and set foot in the state that provides the internet with 90% of it’s NSFW content, Florida.
Tampa: Arriving from the northeast and setting foot into the Florida sun conjures up one simple word – sweltering. The heaviness of the humidity hits you like a bag of bricks. Which is so Florida. Whether you are in the theme-park laden area of Orlando, the redneck panhandle or the art deco social mecca that is Miami, Florida is not exactly a state that hides who it is. It takes all of one 30 minute ride from the airport to our hotel in Clearwater, to get an immediate sense of what much of this area is all about.
The tackiness. The palm trees. The touristy stuff. The chain restaurants. The pink buildings. The Tampa area is like a sexy strip mall. In one location you can pick up your prescription at CVS, grab some groceries, then get your nipples pierced, grab another lower back tattoo and, if there’s time, maybe pick up some fake breasts. It is cheesy Florida convenience at its finest. And Florida is nothing if not convenient. Not only is there some form of a gas station, pharmacy, fast food or grocery store on virtually every block but they are all open 24 hours. Literally nothing closes. Outside of the weather it might be the single biggest difference between Tampa and Boston.
The chain restaurants are all those ones that you’ve never actually seen anywhere in the Boston area. Places like, Sonic, Little Caesars and Long John Silvers, low rent fast food that, for people like me, only exists in bad commercials. The chain restaurants did, however, provide temporary relief from the not-so-subtle pastel decor of Florida. They are everywhere. We saw a yellow stucco building that had “Internal Revenue Service” written on the front. It almost seemed like somebody randomly threw those letters on the front of the building as part of some elaborate hoax.
As we get closer to Clearwater the roads are inundated with bad motels. You know, those one-story types that look like they rent by the hour and on their signs openly boast about “clean rooms” and “cable”. If you stay at a place that brags that its rooms are clean you’re probably in for a disappointing stay. There was a time in college where I could see my friends and I sleeping six to a room in one of those places. Thankfully on this trip we were driving right past those hell holes for our weekend headquarters: Shephard’s Beach Resort.
It’s a quick turnaround after we check-in. The Red Sox are beginning their postseason that afternoon so we head out to a sports bar near Raymond James Stadium to pregame before the New England Patriots and Tampa Bay Buccaneers square off on Thursday Night Football.
The Game: On the way to the bar we hit bad traffic. It’s early so it’s not so much game day traffic as it is Tampa traffic, brought on by the city’s desire to seemingly place as many traffic lights on its highways as possible. Route 60 is Tampa’s answer to Route 9 in Massachusetts. If you don’t get the reference consider yourself one of the lucky souls that doesn’t have to frequent one of the most annoying traffic-laden roads in America.
We eventually arrive at our sports bar of choice: The Winghouse Bar and Grill. Unfortunately the Boston hostile takeover was in full effect with every drunken Patriots fan down for the game descending upon the Winghouse like it was the only place in Tampa serving food. This left us staring at a 1 to 2 hour wait. They won’t even let us in to drink. But wait, this is Tampa, if you can’t go to the party, the party comes to you. In an attempt to cater to its many waiting customers the Winghouse has whipped up a makeshift bar outside where everybody is welcome to drink in the parking lot and watch the outdoor TVs. Apparently Tampa’s open-container laws are slightly more lax than they are in Boston.
The Winghouse is your typical T & A sports bar, one of those places where hot scantily clad chicks serve you beer and bar food and have subtle names like “Twin Peaks”. We found this fitting considering the Tampa/Clearwater area is home to the original Hooters. Aah, nothing like a little culture to spice up the neighborhood. The Winghouse though seemed to have a slightly different interpretation of the T & A sports bar with more of an emphasis on the A than the T. They were like Hooters’ trashy cousin.
After watching the Sox get hammered, next it was off to Raymond James Stadium, home of the perennially disappointing Tampa Bay Bucs. If first impressions matter the Buccaneers were not off to a good start as the first thing that greets you is a massive and incredibly lame billboard that had “SIEGE THE DAY” written across it. Amateur hour. Unfortunately this theme continues throughout the game as we are hit with a relentless onslaught of nonsense. Raffles, games, in-game Instagram pictures, cartoon car races, four day old highlights, anything and everything to remind you that the Buccaneers don’t think their fans are real football fans but rather the equivalent of toddlers that need constant distraction and stimulation to enjoy the game. I was all but waiting for them to dangle a set of plastic toy car keys on the jumbotron in between plays and drop an oversize baby mobile over the field during timeouts. The whole thing reeked of desperation, as if the entire game presentation was produced by a used car salesman. It was less like an NFL game and more like a county fair.
Almost all of these distractions were introduced on the jumbotron by this chick that, as the game progressed, slowly became the most annoying woman in the world. A couple of videos to entertain the masses is one thing, but I swear she must have appeared in 40 videos featuring all this pointless crap. By the time the game ended it was almost impossible not to have developed an irrational hatred of this poor girl who really is guilty of nothing more than having a really, really lame job.
A lot of the stuff seemed random, like repeatedly showing us a picture of some ex-Buc with a bad mustache named Paul Gruber. But, as it turns out, this might not have been random at all as Gruber is a member of the Buccaneers Ring of Honor, and at halftime they were inducting former owner Malcolm Glazer into this elite and hallowed group. Someday I can tell my grand kids I had a front row seat to one of the great days in Tampa sports history.
One thing that was not random but rather was disturbingly permanent was Tampa’s male cheerleaders. Yup, that’s not a misprint, the Buccaneers have bonafide male cheerleaders at their games. I would love to know the thought process that went into this decision. “Hey guys we need something to appeal to our audience which consists largely of men age 10-70, any ideas?” “I’ve got it, we add male cheerleaders to the sideline, that should keep the fans coming back.” And they were sort of half-ass male cheerleaders at that. No megaphones or uniforms to speak of, just a bunch of dudes in t-shirts pumping their fists and prodding the crowd. Somewhere, ex-male cheerleader George W Bush was shaking his head in disgust.
The Bucs even struggled when it came to honoring their lone championship team. Instead of raising a traditional banner for the 2002 World Championship team, the team instead honored them with a tattered old sail attached to the pirate ship stationed in one of the end zones. I guess when you lose as much as the Bucs have, it’s hard to figure out what to do when you finally get a little taste of success.
The game itself ended in typical Thursday night fashion, with the Patriots holding on for a grinding 19-14 win. A few quick thoughts on the game:
-It was a nice bounce back game for the defense coming off back-to-back 33 point games, including a putrid performance against Carolina. That punk Jameis Winston is still unpolished but Tampa has a lot weapons and holding them to 14 in their own building is a good effort. Stephen Gilmore, whom we shredded in this space after the Panthers debacle, had his best game as a Patriot, helping to hold explosive receiver Mike Evans to just 49 yards.
–Brady took an absolute pounding in this game. Last year his body only had to endure 12 games and 15 sacks prior to the playoffs. This year he has to play 16 games and has already been sacked 16 times. I don’t care how pliable he is, if they don’t clean up the offensive line and find a way to get the short passing game going he is going to be one sore customer come January. If he makes it to January.
-Patriots had one of their worst penalized games of the Belichick era with 12 penalties for 108 yards. It wasn’t so much the total number of penalties as the potentially costly timing of them. Two roughing the passer penalties in the final 10 seconds of the first half put Tampa in field goal range and a brutal penalty by Brandon Bolden on punt coverage extended a Buccaneer drive in the 3rd quarter. Bolden committed two penalties on special teams which is problematic if you want to remain on the roster and you are a running back that can’t run.
-After watching yet another ugly Thursday night game it just baffles me why the NFL has not adopted the 18 week, double bye week schedule, guaranteeing that both Thursday night teams play each other following a bye. This would not only give the owners the 18 week schedule they so covet and help preserve player health but it would dramatically upgrade the quality of play for the Thursday night games. It would also be a nice PR bump in regards to all the CTE stuff. It is the mother of all no brainers.
Shephard’s: After the game it was back to our “resort” for 48 hours of Florida revelry. Shephard’s Beach Resort is located in Clearwater Florida, which boasts beautiful beaches and plenty of riff-raff giving it the feel of a sort of trashy poorman’s riviera. At the social epicenter of Clearwater is Shephard’s which serves a dual purpose as a hotel and an indoor/outdoor nightclub. The term “epicenter” cannot be overstated as one night we asked our waitress what else there is to do in Clearwater and she responded, “I can’t think of anything else at all really”. Oh well, so much for exploring the nightlife of Clearwater. Tethered to our “resort” we settle in for two days of fun and sun Shephard’s style.
The first thing you notice during a day of drinking by the pool at Shephard’s is that this is not a place with a lot of rules. In other words, our kind of place. At one point in the pool, almost simultaneously, there was a guy doing cannon balls, two couples having a drunk chicken fight, a little girl eating chicken fingers with ketchup in the shallow end and a pigeon pecking at the remains of a fish taco. This triggered my friend, who just bought a condo in Miami, to say, “Literally none of this would be allowed at my place.” In fact, even when Shephard’s has an actual rule they don’t enforce it. There is a no smoking sign outside of the lobby, and a massive ashtray right next to it, sending more mixed signals than my ex-girlfriend.
Before heading out Friday night we stop by the hotel’s all-you-can-eat buffet. This is only noteworthy because of the eating performance we witnessed in a booth 10 feet away. Two guys, determined to get every penny’s worth of their $34.99, and then some, sat down and proceeded to eat about 50 king crab legs each. They were like machines. No emotion, no chatter between platefulls, no wasted movements – just relentless non-stop king crab leg consumption. It was an awesome spectacle. I’m pretty sure the hotel lost money on the entire buffet that night because of these two.
The crowd at the club that night was the same eclectic collection of random characters we encountered during much of this Florida trip. You gotta love a place where you can see a gorgeous 22-year-old, a weathered 62-year-old and a mother with her 4-year-old child all drinking at the same place. What do you do when you find out that Shephard’s doesn’t offer any baby-sitting services? You say, “What the hell, I’ll just bring my kid to the club.” It’s just like Cinderella’s castle at Disney World, only instead of a castle there’s a bar and instead of Cinderella there’s a bunch of drunk people.
Last call was surprisingly early for what you might expect from such a place, forcing us across the street to drink at the deceptively named “Filo’s Beach Bar and Grill”. There was nothing “beach” about the place; it was basically just a townie bar with a fancy name. Commercially, Florida loves to milk the tropical theme for all it’s worth. For example, you don’t just rent a scooter, you rent a “Sunset” Scooter. Funny sidebar on the Sunset Scooter place, it provided us with the most Florida of all Florida moments on the trip. On a sign in front of the place it says “DUI scooters”, because apparently they are electric and thus don’t require a license, so if you’ve been busted recently for driving under the influence, you can still legally drive a Sunset Scooter. Ha, so Florida.
Saturday was another sunny, sweltering day, the majority of which was spent trying to consume as many beachside Dark Rum Pina Coladas as possible while flirting with our hot blonde bartender, Stacy. Florida has so many blonde bartenders I’m convinced when you finish bartender school down there, at the graduation they grab you by the ankles and dip you into a vat of hydrogen peroxide. Nonetheless, Stacy was extremely cool and made drinks twice as strong as anything you will get in Boston. One of the many things about the sunshine state I will miss.
Saturday night wrapped up early as we had to wake up at 6am for an early flight. Unfortunately, nobody told the band about my early flight and since my hotel room faced the outdoor nightclub I wasn’t getting any sleep before 2am. If anybody ever again tells me that James Brown was the hardest working man in show business I will laugh at them. The band at Shephard’s must have played a 12-hour set every day we were there. I think I heard Tom Petty’s ‘American Girl’ roughly 25 times in three days.
As the band roars on and the night winds down I see what cable has to offer and discover that Florida has what appears to be a 24-hour NASA channel, presumably to celebrate the presence of Cape Canaveral, NASA’s launch complex located in Brevard County. At night the channel has a constant image of the earth from outer space. It’s kind of cool but soon I am bored, go channel surfing and stumble across an infomercial more miraculous than any trip to the moon. It is an ad for some kind of miracle skin cream being pumped up by former S.I. swimsuit cover model, Christie Brinkley. This is 63-year-old Brinkley in the commercial:
Damn, she looks good. That’s amazing. She instantly passes Tom Brady on the list of people that are doing things at a certain age that human beings are not supposed to do. In this case, her thing is looking ridiculously hot. When she walks into the Bingo parlor the other women must seethe with jealousy. I immediately start to think of what my grandmother looked like at that age. It’s a side-by-side comparison that would not have ended favorably for grandma.
What better way to end a travel log to Florida than with a hot blonde made famous by her ability to wear a bikini better than anybody else on the planet. So goodbye Tampa (and Clearwater). While we won’t miss your traffic, humidity, overrated “resorts” and bad parents; we will miss your hot women, stiff drinks, sexy sports bars and endless array of warm ocean and sunshine. So enjoy your DUI Scooters and your last place football team, maybe we’ll come back for a visit when you guys have another championship contender – I’m thinking sometime around 2030.