Italy Anyone?

by Ty Smith
(Holland)

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Italy is Nice -

I almost died today. Multiple times. Or, at least suffered major bodily damage. (My mom just had a mild heart attack as she reads this). And the
funny thing is, other people who almost died with me viewed it as a normal everyday occurrence. Who ARE these people?

I’ll back up and get to the dying part in a hot minute. I flew over to Italy today for a pro basketball tryout camp called the Treviso Summer
League. It’s really just 4 days long, so how the word “LEAGUE” applies, I will never know. What league can you name that lasts about a half of a
week?

I arrived a day early because it’s the only day my frequent flyer miles would let me travel. By the way, has anyone attempted to cash in on their
miles for a “FREE” airline ticket recently? It may be one of the hardest things to do in the world. Sorry, that date is unavailable. Sorry sir,
nothing out of that city. Oh, here’s something… nope, I lied to your face once again. It’s about as easy to book the flight you want using frequent
flyer miles as it is to carry a semi-automatic weapon on an airplane.

Straight up scam. And it’s not FREE, either. You pay all kinds of taxes and fees like the “We Lost Your Bag Tax” and “Please Fly with Us Because We
Might Go Bankrupt Tax”.

But, miraculously, after my first eastern asian airline operator was unable to find me a flight from basically any major city in the United States of America, a 2nd try with a different lady 4 minutes later found me just what I needed. Tell me how that makes sense.

I did save a lovely $1,500 by using miles so I really can’t complain. Somehow, Cara thinks that money should now go into a hot tub fund. Her
future purchase, apparently. :)

If you have ever traveled on an airplane as a 6’9” person across the Atlantic Ocean for multiple hours with an angry German man next to you, you
know how much fun flying can be. Even Mini-Me cramps up in those seats.

Fortunately, this time I was blessed with a business class seat because of my using 9 million miles to book the flight. Normally, I travel comfortably in casual clothes for marathon flights. In this particular instance, I was
unaware that a dress code applied to our specific aircraft as about 95% of the flight wore some sort of suit, sport coat, or other business attire. I
missed that memo. My white t-shirt, faded denim jean shorts, and sweet 4-foot Achilles surgery scar running up my leg may have looked slightly out of place. I told you: I was going for comfort, not style. The only saving grace was when I glanced over at the guy across the aisle who already was in his bare feet and unzipping his pants… from the KNEE down thank you very much. Sickos. They were pants you can remove the bottom half to turn into shorts. Handy. He and I were the final 5%.

So the angry German dude. He literally did not say a word to me the entire flight. We got personal movies players to have and to told from this day
forward. He refused movies. Who refuses “Rocky 6”? I’ll rephrase. Who refuses a FREE “Rocky 6”? He never said thank you for anything that the nice flight people (attendants) brought to him. He acted as if he was annoyed that they didn’t know what type of drink he wanted already. Water.
Duh. With ice. Duh.

Side Note: I love Germans. I have great friends who are German. I probably am German. Seen a picture of me lately? The point being – it
could have been anyone from anywhere. An angry Mexican, Chicagoan, Los Angelesan, Frenchan. He just happened to be German and we happened to be
flying to Munich. Back to story.

He’s sleeping. I’m almost asleep. We’re all cozy in our individual retractable bed recliner seats. All of the sudden it’s not so bad being 6’9” on an airplane. I was so comfortable that this was about to be the first time I have fallen asleep on an airplane in roughly 26 years.

Hallelujah.

Then he rolls over. And knocks his COMPLETELY FULL glass of ICE WATER onto my almost asleep warm body.

My first instinct was to punch him in the face. But, how do you punch a guy you don’t know in the face while he sleeps with the little lame black eye mask on. Plus, he didn’t even KNOW that he spilled a gallon of freezing water on me. He just kept on snoring.

I seethed. Went to the bathroom that is built for a toddler, not full-size people. Dried off the best I could. Then, returned to my seat to lie back down in my only wet shirt, wet shorts, wet pillow, and wet blanket. Check that. I stole a dry pillow from Shoeless Joe across the aisle. He was
knocked out.

Fast forward to my landing in Italy. Filipo picked me up from the airport. He’s a university student who spoke enough English to communicate ok. He
informed me how sweet the discotechs are in the city where we stay this week. Filippo, I am here to play in your little basketball “League” event
and get a job. Not dance with your Italian honies.

I got the impression that even though Filippo studied Economics, he had just come off a great showing at the Formula 1 Circuit. The borrowed car he was driving was a brand new turbo-charged Volvo and apparently… he felt VERY comfortable behind the wheel.

I’m talking passing people on blind curves. Double yellow lines? No problem. Any extra 3-5 feet he could gain on his standing in the race from
the airport to the hotel, he was making that maneuver. I prepared myself for a nasty collision numerous times. Thankfully, none came. Drivers
coming the opposite direction liked this game of “chicken”, too. Neither Filippo or opposing competitors ever backed down. Our car actually did have decals of the team sponsor on it. So, maybe that threw him off a little bit with the whole race thing.

The true classic moment of our tour di Italia was when one guy behind us pulled an insane move trying to pass us and was inches from being demolished by a truck 3 times the size coming the other way. Filipo turned and looked at me with his mouth open and eyes wide. “That guy CRAZY!” Right. Not sure then what that makes us.

Dinner at the hotel was great tonight. Our hotel is literally on the beach with a gorgeous view. It was a true Italian meal. The thing that really
made it completely authentic was a little old man that I had carbon-dated at about 112 years old from my best estimation playing the piano. And he could PLAY. Song after song. The beach and water in the background. He wore his little old man suit and Haray Caray glasses hunched over at the keys. After each song, people would applaud. He would rise out of his swivel seat, hold his suit coat open with each hand and give a small humble bow. Loving the limelight, but not overdoing anything. You just had to love the little guy. Plus, he would give a little wave to each young woman that walked by as if to say, “I’m available after the show.”

That’s enough. Thanks for tuning in. Hope your summers are going great. Remember, we only have control over about 2 things in this life as far as I can tell.

1) How hard we work.
2) Our Attitude.
3) And our Gelati intake. (OK – 3 things)

Do your part and God will do His.
Remember, you don’t get this email unless I hand pick you. :) Keep in touch!

Ciao for now,
Ty


P.S. Forgot to mention that this hotel has all-inclusive gelati. My goal is for them to reassess their unlimited dessert options by the time I’m gone next week.

My new website:
www.ProPlayerVideo.com - "Show the World Your Game"
There may be potential for some of you to get your video on the site.
Others, just stick to whatever it is you are doing now.