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Cleveland Cavaliers

On the Road: Portland or Frisco? Portland!!!

By George Thomas Published: January 23, 2009

I'm getting my education in touring the NBA on this trip for sure.  Why do I say that?
The stop at Portland proved relaxing dare I say.  No pressure. Work was easy to get done.  The Trail Blazers organization was easy to deal with.
Then there's San Francisco.  I'd not been in NoCal for 13 years or so.  The last time was for a movie junket related to the film Wings of a Dove, starring Linus Roche and The Rain Maker directed by Francis Ford Coppola.
Although I was violently ill one day during that trip, the second I was good enough to experience Coppola's vineyard and winery.  In short:  I didn't stay in the city.
Returning yesterday, I got the impression that Frisco is little more than New York City west.  A colleague confirmed the vibe I got.  But there was one distinct difference:  the level of snobbery encountered.
You see the Cavs practiced at a private athletic club and seeing as how part of my job is following them, I had to show up there. One Day One the door guy greeted us thusly:
"I'm sorry, sir, but because you are wearing jeans, unfortunately you have to go around to the backdoor to enter the building." 
About the only thing missing from his statement was:  "along with the rest of the riff raff."
This morning upon turning up for shootaround, things got a bit more ridiculous.  This time knowing to go to the back, we went there only to be told that we had to wait for the club manager, Pam, to escort us up.
Well heck, Pam didn't have to do any stinkin' escortin' yesterday. 
Tick. Tock.  Tick Tock.  Five minutes pass.  No Pam.
"I'm so sorry sir, we're trying to find her.
Tick.  Tock. Tick. Tock.  Ten minutes later.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.  Temperatures are beginning to rise.
"Pam will meet you up there, sir."
I bet she will.  I betcha Pam couldn't be found because she was up there salivating over muscular hoopsters.
It was all a bit surreal simply because after being profiled in one NBA town based upon the color of my skin, now it was coming because of my perceived class.  It was like something out of Beverly Hills Cop.
Perhaps I should have done this to try to get in and do interviews:

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