By Bill Simmons
Page 2 columnist
WASHINGTON (Tuesday, 11:45 p.m.) -- When championship teams venture to the White House to meet the president, they always show clips on "SportsCenter" of the prez shaking hands with the captains, holding up a cheesy jersey, smiling happily and making a good-natured comment or joke. It's always the same clip, isn't it? Only the
players and jerseys seem to change.
Members of the Miami football team add to Dubya's extensive jersey collection.
Well, Tuesday afternoon, I attended one of these gigs. President Bush welcomed seven NCAA championship teams to the White House, the room was
filled with several hundred people ... and I was there. In the East Wing of the White House. Jotting down notes like crazy.
So how did I get there? My bosses spent about a week trying to sneak me on the media list, a complicated process which even included the White House
running a security check on me. Thank God, they never found out about that drifter I killed back in '75.
Once I passed the background check, they directed me to the White House press entrance at 2 o'clock in the afternoon. Getting there, you notice five things right
The streets surrounding the building are blocked off by police barricades; once you come within a block, you can't walk 20 feet without seeing another policeman. There's a serious, weighty vibe in the air, as well there should be. Even at the press entrance, even after you've passed a security clearance, you still have to walk through three different gates and pass through an elaborate metal detector. People aren't messing around at the White House.
When you finally get a good look at the White House, there's obviously only one initial reaction: "Hey, it's the place where Monica Lewinsky broke out her presidential kneepads!" Proud day for this country. Good times.
Like just about everything else, I discovered that the actual building isn't nearly as big as I was led to believe. It's like when you see a famous actor in person, and they're always 5-foot-7 or shorter (unless they're Liam Neeson, Will Smith or Jeff Goldblum), and it's just utterly dumbfounding. That's what looking at the White House is like. From the outside, it seems like your average gigantic house on Round Hill Road in Greenwich, Conn.
The decorated people walking around the premises (mostly from the Air Force and Marines) have tons of colored flag-thingies on their jackets. What
are those called? I can't remember. But you know what I mean. You've never seen more colored flag-thingies on one jacket in your life.
Another place that seems totally different in person: The media briefing room. In the movies, it's always portrayed as a spacious, dignified room where important things happen. In real life, it's a converted pool house that's no bigger than my mother's closet -- you can't stretch your arms without inadvertently clotheslining six other people. Metal folding chairs, ruffled newspapers and camera equipment are strewn everywhere. It reeks of stale cigar smoke. The actual stage/podium looks like something out of a high
school play. And there are only enough seats for about 30 reporters.
Anyway, that's where I waited for a full hour -- reporters drifting in and out, cameramen toying with their equipment, interns hustling around. I wandered to the back and found another room filled with cubicles for various TV networks (there are a slate of offices in the basement, as well), about as claustrophobic an environment as you can imagine. It seemed like everyone knew each other, and nobody seemed very happy. Covering the White House definitely isn't as glamorous as you might think.
When you walk the White House, you can't help but think, "Monica Lewinsky walked these halls."
I passed the time making small-talk with people and snooping around, only finding out one useful piece of information -- a piece of paper that detailed
the President's precise schedule for Tuesday, March 12th. (Check out the comparison of Dubya's schedule with my own in the box at right.)
Around 3, we were finally shepherded into the East Wing of the first floor of the White House, so everyone could position themselves for the 3:30 ceremony
(originally this was supposed to take place outside, but bad weather intervened). Now we're getting somewhere. When you walk through the front
door of the White House, with a band (from the University of Maryland) playing fight songs in the background, with those famous portraits of various
presidents in the main lobby (including the classic of JFK glancing down), with that "Hey, I'm in the White House!" feeling trickling through your
veins, it's a pretty electric experience. I felt like Kevin Kline heading into the White House at the beginning of "Dave."
Inside the assigned room on the East Wing -- a giant, museum-like, ballroom-sized room filled with classic paintings -- 350-400 people were
packed like sardines, included assorted media, invited guests, parents, relatives and members of seven different NCAA championship teams (only the
captains were allowed up front). Here were the teams involved:
||THE PREZ & THE SPORTS GUY
||Comparing President Bush's schedule for Tuesday with Bill Simmons' day.
Prez: Depart White House via airplane (Marine One, en route to Philadelphia)
Prez: Land in Philly.
Prez: Tour the People's Emergency Center in Philly.
SG: Wake up, answer e-mails from my bosses, check my whatifsports.com baseball team, make some phone calls, surf the 'net, watch a little "SportsCenter," remain in boxers and a T-shirt for as long as possible.
Prez: Participate in a discussion on service in Philly.
SG: Shower, shave, dress. Slowly.
Prez: Return to Washington via airplane.
SG: Leave my hotel, find the nearest coffeehouse, drink the biggest coffee possible, throw down an onion bagel and cream cheese, take 45 minutes to read
USA Today, work diligently on my NCAA bracket.
Prez: Return to the White House, return to running the free world.
SG: Return to my hotel room, contemplate a quick nap, decide against it.
Prez: Eat lunch, talk with advisors.
SG: Head over to White House, talk with cab driver.
Prez: Meet with the defense minister of Russia (Oval Office).
SG: Make cell phone call to my buddy Gus, dispense advice on how to kill Salvatore once you reach the second city in "Grand Theft Auto 3."
Prez: Make remarks to the NCAA sports championship teams (White House lawn).
SG: Watch Prez make those same remarks, jot down some notes.
Prez: Meet with the President of Uzbekistan (Oval Office).
But seriously ... I mean, can you believe that day for the President? Flies to Philly, flies back, five different major meetings, and, oh yeah,
he's also running the country. Yikes. And here's the scary thing: It was probably an average day for him.
Look at that list again ... check out the women's teams again ... now imagine how many West Coast babes were up on stage (let's put it this way: There were
more than a few). Are you having the same reaction I had? That "Too bad Clinton still wasn't president for this one" reaction? Wouldn't that have
been FEEEEEE-nomenal? Imagine Clinton sidling up to the Stanford volleyball captains with that grin that said, And what hotel are YOU staying at?
Was there anything funnier in the history of politics than Bill Clinton trying to rein himself in around an attractive female? Man, I miss that guy.
Anyway, standing on the makeshift stage, the captains were holding those requisite team jerseys that said "BUSH 1" on the back (apparently they have to turn these jerseys in the previous day to the Secret Service, who screen and inspect them for God knows what). And everyone was standing around, and waiting, and waiting, and about 25 minutes passed, and you could actually feel the tension building. It was palpable. It almost felt like those glorious moments right before the lights dim in a stadium and a rock band
comes out. Finally, the P.A. announcer said: "Ladies and gentleman, the President of the United States."
And then ... there he was: The leader of the free world. What a life. Every time he walks into a room, people applaud like crazy and fawn all over him
... then he goes to his next venue, and it happens all over again. How can you top that after you leave the office? You can't. I'd end up hiring a
40-person posse to follow me around and lavish me with applause at all times. But that's just me.
Like most celebrities, Bush seemed much smaller in person -- maybe about 5-foot-9 soaking wet, much frailer than you would think. He seemed like a nice enough guy, definitely someone who would kick back with you at a wedding and give you his last cigar. He just isn't that presidential.
- Santa Clara women's soccer
- Miami football
- Arizona softball
- Miami baseball
- Stanford volleyball
- Kentucky cheerleading
- North Carolina men's soccer
It might be trouble if President Clinton met the Arizona women's softball team.
For instance, Clinton apparently could command a room just by walking into it; Bush wasn't like that at all. I've been in the same room with two people who were literally larger than life -- Will Smith and Michael Jordan (although Moochie Norris comes pretty damn close) -- and the Dubya Experience wasn't remotely like that. He just seemed like a genuinely warm, genuinely nice guy. Maybe
that's a good thing.
After the applause subsided, ESPN's Chris Fowler introduced the seven teams on hand before finally turning things over to Bush. The Prez cracked a quick joke about Fowler's extended intro ("I like a good, short introduction") as everyone over-laughed because, well, he's the President. Then he started talking extemporaneously, which is always scary because, well, he's George W. Bush. That has been one of the more interesting subplots of 9/11, the fact that we can't make fun of Bush's public speaking anymore -- we just have to stand there, smile through thinly clenched teeth and hope he makes it through the speech. Usually, he does. And on this day, he did.
It actually wasn't a bad little speech. Bush brought up the "Champion" theme and tied it to America's responsibilities as the leader of the free world,
dropping nuggets like, "We defend freedom, we continue to defend freedom" and "You have a responsibility as a champion to set an example for others." Bush
has uttered these same words a million different ways over the past six months, but still, we ate it up. Something about hearing it in person makes
it feel 10 times more powerful.
Expect a few cheesy scenes when the president greets a championship team.
After finishing his speech, the Prez called the captains up; they made small-talk with him, did the jersey exchange and posed for photos. Maybe the highlight was seeing one of Miami's football captains -- wearing a Masters-green three-piece suit right out of the Big Boi collection, dreadlocks flowing off the back of his head -- handing the President a Miami football jersey. That killed me for some reason.
And then it was over. The President gathered up the jerseys, thanked everyone for coming and walked back across the room to thunderous applause. The whole
thing lasted less than 20 minutes. With the schedule Bush carries, he'll probably forget it even happened within two weeks.
But hey ... I won't forget. I went to the White House.
Tomorrow: The Hogs and RFK Stadium.
Bill Simmons writes three columns a week for Page 2. He'll be writing from Washington, D.C., all this week.