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| Dallas never fails to look good |
Our summer vacation was moved up a week this year. This was to accommodate our daughter’s volleyball team, which, with roughly 110 minutes left in Regionals, earned a bid to Nationals. In the interest of full transparency, neither my wife nor I saw that coming. After the jubilation of defeating an old rival (Coach Pee Wee), the bid was extended. We had ten minutes to accept or decline. To rewrite a quip from former football coach John Jenkins, we earned a trip to nationals; the question is, do we want to go?
We opted in and took on another six weeks of volleyball–there’s a Groundhog’s Day joke there somewhere. Instead of vacationing during the week of Independence Day, we moved it up and week and made Dallas the destination. My wife, determined to get a vacation out of the trip, tacked two days on at a hotel in Dallas with an on-campus waterpark.
I attended practices as I have all season, and early returns were less than promising. Our girls looked tired, disinterested, and sloppy. Not a good recipe going into a tournament of the nation’s best teams.
My wife was not pleased. She saw the financial investment and wasn’t keen on spending a lot of money to see our daughter’s team get the Derek Vinyard-American History X treatment from the country’s top teams.
The tournament ran from Wednesday through Saturday at the Kay Bailey Hutchinson Convention Center in downtown Dallas. Though scheduled for a major renovation, it’s a solid venue in a good location. I especially enjoy the view from the concourse. I recall a tournament in the winter of 2024 where I waited on the chilly concourse between matches, reading Hickory Wind and rediscovering the Rush album Test for Echo while the top of Reunion Tower put on a light show against the early evening sky.
Our subsequent trips to Dallas have been much more pleasant than our initial tournament a few years back. The host team promptly rolled out the GO HOME MAT, and (platform) Judge Lance Ito* ruled the court about as well as he did when presiding over the OJ Simpson trial. He said after the match that he just wanted everyone to have fun. Tell that to the Goldman Family, you self-effusive amateur.
Anyway, back to our most recent visit. Nobody is going to read a six-day play-by-play account, so I’ve pulled out a few points of interest. Who am I kidding? Nobody’s going to read these either, but here we go.
You Can’t Start a Fire Without a Spark
We were situated in the Hilton Spark in Richardson with its chain-renowned bagel bar. The property was fine; anything was better than the stay-to-play rooms designated by the tournament. What appeared to be a recent facelift had mixed results. The purple walls and Mo Betta shirts carpeting were not for those with weak stomachs. The paint job itself was a cautionary tale as to why one does not automatically go with the lowest bid.
The Spark smelled of wet Kraft paper towels. It was a three-day reminder of the times the boys’ room in the south hall of my elementary school would flood–usually after a half-dozen Matchbox cars were flushed.
GPoS
In an effort to save time and trouble, we opted to purchase parking prior to going to the venue. Our navigation system struggled early in the week. To find the correct lot and to find our way back to the hotel, we used the GPS on our phones. The system had trouble keeping up and gave erroneous instructions. Once, leaving downtown, it gave the following command.
Continue north on Houston Street and turn left on Elm Street.
“And duck, Mr. President!”
My attempt at gallows humor didn’t land the way I’d hoped. Traffic was bad, and stress was high. Given our locations throughout the week, we were in close proximity to several historical landmarks. In addition to the Texas School Book Depository, we saw the Trade Mart and Parkland Memorial Hospital. Had our GPS not been trying to steer us to Duncanville, there might have been more time to reflect on the significance.
Gone to the Dogs
Northern California, an area of rich history and breathtaking natural beauty. A place where you can now orally satisfy a vagrant in exchange for heroin, then shoot said heroin on the sidewalk of the nearest Walgreen’s and leave the needle on the ground post-fix. Defecate anywhere, it’s cool. And the elected officials? Patrick Bateman without the cool factor, Gavin Newsom? What kind of people are we talking about?
Enter Thursday evening’s opponent. Obnoxious with a capital noxious. It wasn’t enough that they continued to bludgeon the dead horse known as “Seven Nation Army” at every opportunity. Or the costumes. Or the trash talk. Now, and this became a trend throughout the week, was a deep bass whoop whoop that sounds like an approaching ambulance. And these people were simply NorCal, not even San Francisco proper.
Early in the match, the fifteen-year-old line judge waved her flag to alert the platform official of a detected indiscretion against our opponent. I don’t recall the details, but our girls received the point.
The opposition’s coach launched into asshat mode. Mutual protests were lodged, and tournament officials were dispatched to the court. With a dog. A lab in green pajamas, I believe. My mother, who was watching the stream online, texted to ask, “Why is there a dog on the court?”
I had no answer.
After a thirty-minute filibuster, Coach Asshat got a do-over. The score was rolled back to 7-6 from 8-6. Time well spent. In addition to being pricks, the team was quite talented. After a close start, they hit the afterburners while our girls looked as out of place as Harvey Milk in a bordello. I blame the delay, but then again, I have never been accused of being a gracious loser.
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| Obnoxious parents drive me crazy |
Texas vs. California
People who know me know my two favorite fast-food chains are Whataburger and In-N-Out. The latter has always had the upper hand, largely due to the novelty factor. With In-N-Out now in Texas, it is a required stop anytime we’re in the Republic. While I have no issues getting the girls to go to In-N-Out, Whataburger is a different issue. In a way, eating at Whataburger, five minutes from my home, is rarer than In-N-Out, four hours away. On this trip, I was able to visit both restaurants on the same day. The results were similar, though the circumstances were very different.
Enjoying the afternoon wave for the first three days of the tournament, we were able to stop at In-N-Out prior to play Thursday afternoon. In many ways, In-N-Out is a return to the old-fashioned burger stand. The crew wears white–though the trucker caps outnumbered the paper hats on our visit. The dining room was clean and bright, and the kitchen, large with an efficient flow of crew members.
Having a Double-Double is like a vacation or a holiday. Each bite is like the rapidly escaping hours of a holiday. You see the end coming and desperately want to make the moment last. As with Christmas, the anticipation had been building, only for the event to go by all too rapidly. Maybe that’s weird, but that’s what it felt like. I’d never had a bad experience at In-N-Out, and I still haven’t.
After nearly eight hours at the convention center, I needed something to eat before returning to the hotel Thursday night. My daughter had eaten at the convention center, and my wife wasn’t hungry, opening the door to Whataburger. The location was less than a mile from the In-N-Out, and at 11pm, the drive-thru was wrapped around the building and back to the street.
“Texans do love their Whataburger,” observed my wife.
Opting to go inside to order, I was greeted by a fully dining room and a serrated line at the counter.
The room and kitchen were hectic, buzzing, and obstreperous. The kitchen was smaller than the one at In-N-Out, but no less efficient. The crew appeared to be fully cross-trained and transitioned seamlessly from one task to another. The wait was long but understandable. I got my order to go and hurried back to the hotel, where I devoured it while it was still warm.
The verdict? I still love both and argue that while they both sell hamburgers, they aren’t the same. However, in my same-day comparison between locations near SMU, I give the slight, and I mean slight, edge to In-N-Out. My impression was that it was slightly less greasy, and the fries were far superior on that day.
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| The winner by unanimous decision |
Last Goodbye
My daughter’s team saw their season end just before noon Saturday. As had become the norm, it was a tight match. The Bronze Bracket championship was on the line, and the opponent, from Southern California, entered the tournament as the number one seed.
There is a stark finality to the final game. The knowledge that the routines established last fall are now over. That this group of girls will never play together again. That this group of parents will never cheer together, won’t lament at the hotel bar, or prattle at practice. The next time you see sky, it’ll be over a different town. The next time you take a test, it’ll be in some other school. No, that was The Goonies. Whatever the case, we had ridden up Troy’s bucket, and it was heavy.
Wet ‘n Mild
After the tournament wrapped Saturday morning, we checked out of the Spark and relocated to the Hilton Anatole, an enormous resort tucked in the shadows of the Stemmons Freeway.
Along the way, we broke the burger binge by stopping at a place called Street’s Fine Chicken on Cedar Springs. Indeed it was. I highly recommend the Sin Killer sandwich.
The Hilton Anatole was a step up from the Spark. The decor in the atrium alone is worth the visit. The place has shops, restaurants, bars, a Top Golf, and a waterpark. Our ninth-floor room was spacious and tasteful, though the view wasn’t much. Exhausted, we ordered a pizza Saturday night, and I turned on Twister–one of the corniest movies ever. I dozed, and the girls quickly commandeered the remote control.
The hotel was like a cruise ship or a casino. The major difference, I was quick to notice, was the lack of free buffets or drinks. Actually, nothing was complimentary. However, I’m sure to Hilton’s thinking, if people are willing to shell out for a four-star hotel, they won’t bat a heavy, bloodshot eye at the notion of four-dollar water or an eight-dollar Blue Moon.
Sunday was waterpark day. There’s something odd about seeing adults behaving like they are back in college and reveling in the booze-soaked joy of spring break. I’m too pragmatic to be that way. I’ve never wanted a beer badly enough to pay $10 for one. Intoxication would require a small signature loan. I had beer in the room, but depending upon when one entered the water park, bags were subject to search and seizure. Even inside the confines of the park, I saw staff relieving guests of contraband liquid refreshment.
I relaxed in the sun and listened to music while the girls trekked the lazy river. Lunch was served–eighteen dollars for a tray of tortilla chips with modest portions of tomato and tomatillo salsa as well as guacamole. A bottle of PowerAid and iced tea rounded out the extravagance.
After cleaning up, we had dinner on the rooftop of Culinary Dropout. The food was excellent, and the view of downtown was delightful. As a de facto celebration of our daughter’s birthday, one of the servers serenaded her.
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| Dinner with a view |
Now What
Monday was the long drive home with the requisite stop at Buccee’s, which was as tame as I’d ever seen it. A week’s worth of laundry awaited our return, but I couldn’t escape a feeling of emptiness. There was no practice the next evening. There was no next tournament to look forward to.
I’d asked my daughter Saturday night how she felt about the end of the season. She correctly replied that there was no shortage of volleyball in her life. So now what?
School ball is what. See you next month!
*Not really Lance Ito, but a man with a strong physical resemblance and a general air of cluelessnes.
