Fear and Loathing in San Antonio

(Nota Bene: You are reading an historic document. This is the first post in which every False 9 staff writer wrote a section of the post.)

Still reveling in Saturday’s epic win, we felt it was necessary to take a day off and recharge our emotional batteries.  When Andrea Provolone recalled the success of our restorative circle, all of us at the compound knew we needed to re-create that in some small way.  Uncle Tony P. suggested a road trip.  Capital idea!  We quickly decided that a short excursion down to the Alamo City is just what the doctor ordered.  

Not wanting to put unnecessary miles on my classic whip (a 1986 Aries K, powder blue, 2 door coupe, if you’ve forgotten), I suggested we rent a RV.  We quickly acquired a top of the line, Giswold Platinum 5000x.  Totally tricked out with everything from composting toilets to personal hotspots to solar arrays on the roof, we loaded up.  There was a palpable sense of excitement amongst us that I’ve never felt before.  We did make one mistake.  H.E. Pennypacker immediately demanded to be the driver.  He even sprinted off to his cell in the compound and came out wearing driving gloves and a harris tweed driving cap.

Our mouths agape, we asked where those had come from.  For we had never seen him wearing such items before (Fun fact:  H.E. loves his Skoal Bandit trucker cap more than anything else).

We should’ve inquired if he had ever driven such a vehicle before.  (Narrator:  he hadn’t).  Less than 30 seconds after cranking the ignition, our own Mario Andretti skillfully guided the RV into a drainage ditch and promptly got us stuck.  Frantically, we called the dealer who informed us that getting a tow truck out to us was impossible but they could get us into another RV, albeit less refined.  Not unlike the Devil in Georgia, we were in a bind and way behind, willing to make a deal.

30 minutes later, a Family Truckster 1800 pulled up along our caliche path.  Despite being a less well appointed, yet still functional mode of transport, we happily loaded up again.  We threw our dear Pennypacker into the back and duct taped him to the furthest seat while Uncle Tony P., armed with his CDL, took the wheel.  Our dear chickens, Rodney (who lays eggs when needed most) and San Julius stood outside and peered at us, longingly, as we began boarding.  (At this point, we must say that Rodney plucked herself clean while watching our beloved El FC defeat DC United).  Unable to say no to those pulchritudinous hens, we gathered them aboard and placed them in their seats.

We made an uneventful trip down IH-35.  I was hungry for the duration and insisted our first stop was for a classic 3 ½ pound cinnamon roll over at Lulu’s. 

We rolled up to Green Vegetarian Cuisine and went in.  Each of us ate one apiece (the chickens, with their lesser appetites, split one).   

Uncle Tony P. decided that, after so much food, we drive for an hour and then walk around one of the most historic parts of San Antonio to burn off a few calories.  Naturally that took us to Sea World, because nothing says the ocean like a land-locked city in the middle of Texas.  Upon walking in, it was clear that we must admit historic Sea World San Antonio is in-fact better than the Austin Aquarium on 183 and Anderson Mill in every conceivable way.  They even let Uncle Tony P. act as an honorary dolphin trainer for setting up the visit. 

Armed with his trusty verde-negro striped speedo, he unsurprisingly led the far more intelligent mammals in an “Alright, Alright, Alright” chant to the delight of the Alamo City crowd.  Our attempts at intimidation had backfired, so we had to leave immediately in search of city supremacy.

Since Travis McTravelFace was unsure that Austin could defeat San Antonio in the taco war, and hungry after our SeaWorld visit, he decided to steer us towards 2M Smoke House, supposedly the best BBQ spot in San Antonio. They claim that it’s BBQ con Ganas, so we had to give it a try. The nice part of traveling with a group is that we could order everything from the brisket to the pork ribs to the shockingly underrated turkey to their sausages (both the pork link with serrano peppers and Oaxacan cheese and the Akaushi beef links). The mains were as good as anything we had eaten in Austin (to be fair, they did used to work at La BBQ) but the sides stole the show. From fresh, homemade tortillas replacing the white bread to chicharron mac and cheese to pickled nopales and serranoes, we realized that San Antonio was even beating us at BBQ. It was a delicious, yet depressing realization.

With all of the sunlight scorching his poor alabaster skin, Alistair Dennis requested a brief indoor sojourn. After a brief look on TripAdvisor, Alistair suggested Natural Bridge Caverns to cool off and catch some shade. “Right, I’ve printed out MapQuest directions from this joint!” and quick like The Flash the group were on the road again. After what seemed like an eternity, but was really only 12 minutes, Uncle Tony P chimed in “Zoinks gang, this place is like way far away, it’s not worth it.” As the vehicle smoothly arced into a brake slide, “Jinkies!” was all could be heard from the now higher pitched Alistair. Once they skidded to a stop to ask for directions, the group realized they had arrived at Six Flags! “Let us not go there, it is a silly place,” chided Uncle Tony P, who was not privy to Alistair’s secret love of theme parks. “And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling Nines” muttered Alistair under his breath as the group pulled away, seeking further adventure.

Slan Apecht then took us to the second most famous building Ozzy Osbourne ever urinated on: The Alamo.

Unfortunately, his frame of reference to the old Mission is based on the classic piece of SyFy cinema, “Chupacabra vs. The Alamo.” He had watched the movie right before the trip so it was fresh in his mind and he was confused at the lack of a gift shop, no secret tunnel to get out, and of course, the lack of Eric Estrada. The tour guide was very informative and did their best to answer his questions as he rattled off plot points and character names, but quickly realized now that he was there seeing the site in person that none of it was actually shot in San Antonio. Fortunately the group was able to calm him down enough to get him back onto the RV so they could continue their journey. 

After finishing our disappointing tour, we approached the RV and were met with a billow of thick, skunky smoke when we opened the door. Channeling his inner Kipp, Uncle Tony P shrugged in an uncharacteristic way, muttering “4/20, brah.” and disappeared into the haze. The rest followed. 

Andrea Provolone must have emerged from her bunk while we took in the glories of the Alamo.  She said she had noticed the chickens were displaying a nervous apprehension about the upcoming US Open Cup match, so she got the idea to hotbox. 

Everyone was soon laying on the floor while passing around a beefy doobie.  The chickens had mellowed, but our crew was growing increasingly more paranoid. It started with the usual ‘accusing each other of being a cop’, but it ground to a halt when Alistair said “Why is the Alamo so small?”

Silence befell the cabin. Why IS it so small? 

Wait. 

Andrea stood up and took in the deepest breath. “What if the Alamo is actually a commissioned replica that wasn’t built to scale? What if it was made as a tourist location far from the city’s actual center and ACTUAL Alamo? That would explain why such a piece of “Texas history” is mere feet from kitschy tourist attractions. No city in its right mind would put millions of dollars into advertising a glorified drainage ditch full of duck shit and selfie sticks as a “river walk” unless it was trying vehemently to keep the tourists away from the real deal. What if it was their plan all along to divert out-of-towners away from where the locals thrive?”

Louis groaned with hands over his face “Oh no. It’s genius. It’s been genius for decades. Maybe they aren’t the knuckle dragging cave people we’ve always mistaken them for.”

From abuzz with the revelation, to great sorrow, the realization of Wednesday’s score hit us all: 

El FC 1-2 San Antonio