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Entry 5 - How Dave Really Broke His Rib VOTE
In early June 1999, Dave Matthews "tripped over his guitar
case" while
trying to catch a grape in his mouth and broke his rib. While not
exactly
untrue, this glib explanation doesn't do the story credit. I'm
sure many
fans have wanted to know the whole truth since that news broke. I,
myself,
happened to have one of the most interesting experiences of my
life that
very same night, and our two tales crossed paths just in time for
me to
witness the "real" occurrences behind the now infamous
hotel room bungle.
Matthews' famed "I busted my a$$!" comment only tells
half the tale. The
other half involves a friend of mine y'all might know, my mom, and
strangely
enough Glen Ballard.
The hotel across from the DoubleTree (where Dave was staying) was
throwing a
bash for the senior class of 1962. It was one of those reunion
things you
always hear about how, "Joey Football-Prom King now runs the
local
dairy-mart while Mr. Nobody is CEO of Sprint, has a nice young
trophy wife,
and fires little losers like Joey everyday." This was one of
those
reunions-a celebration of accomplishments for ex-swimmers,
debaters, tennis
players, chess club members, and the like... Well, it just so
happened that
my mother was part of the graduating class of Thomas Jefferson
High 1962,
4th in her class of 450. I, the ice-breaker between my mother and
her old
crony friends, was pulled along to provide a little entertainment
for
mother's old friends who would grow bored with her rantings
quickly. I would
have resisted until the bitter end had it not been for the promise
of not
having to pay for my own Dave tickets this summer. That got my
attention
real fast (as I'm sure it would for all of you as well).
Resigned to a night of hob-knobbing with CEOs and dentists, I had
thrown my
guitar into the back seat of my mom's car-always good to have a
back-up plan
at these things. It wasn't too long before my mother had her
feelings hurt
by some ex-boyfriend and went running across the street into the
lobby of
the DoubleTree to compose herself. Well, I was either going to
beat the
stuffing out of the loser who made my mom cry or go and comfort
her. The
jerk was about twice my size and weight, so I wisely chose the
second option
(Later, I would extract the name of the scrub from a more
controlled mom
-Glen Ballard it was. No, not the future producer of Everyday, but
the name
shed an ironic twist on what was becoming a tragic evening).
I decided I had better do something to cheer my poor old mom up,
or she
might reconsider paying for those Dave tickets. So I grabbed my
guitar case
(clad with 400 Dave stickers) and plopped it down right in the
middle of the
floor of the DoubleTree lobby. I intended to give my own little
concert
right then and there.
"What's that?" my mom squeezed out behind a few tears.
"What's it look like? A bomb?" I said rather more loudly
than I had wanted.
My mother forced out a laugh, which I found comforting, especially
since the
DoubleTree security certainly didn't seem to find the comment
funny. They
swooped down upon us like a pack of rabid dogs. Why are there 12
security
guards at a regular hotel like this? I thought to myself. Of
course, the
answer would come later. This was the hotel in which Dave Matthews
was
staying. Not to mention the rest of the band, the road crew, and a
few
overzealous fans who had pretended to need a ride into town so
they could
chill with the band on the drive up. As luck would have it, one of
those
fans was a dear friend of mine who happened to find his way into
the lobby
at the very moment of our distress.
"Ben?! What's going on here?"
"Scott?" This was Scott Pitner, a venerable Dave guru in
the online trading
world. Although I had only met Scott in person twice, he had
easily won my
friendship with his helpful advice and generosity in the
community.
"It's ok boys!" Scott barked to the security officers.
"These two are with
the band." It seems a confident voice and a self-important
glare will get
you far in this world. At least it got those goons to let us go.
Man, I
really owed Scott big time. But I would owe him my right arm for
giving me
the chance to witness the events that occurred later on that
night.
Scott's room was right below Dave's. While my mom composed herself
in the
latrine, I amused myself with standing on a chair, cupping a glass
to the
ceiling, and listening intently for any sign of activity out of my
idol.
Yeah, that was a little creepy, but if you had a room below Dave,
wouldn't
you do the same? Bingo! I heard loud and clear Dave's chortle of a
laugh,
and then words...
"Man, Carter, can you believe this stuff?" (I believe he
said something
other than stuff, but I cannot recall) "They're giving us
free grapes! Man!
GRAPES! Shoot!" (Now I'm almost positive he didn't say shoot,
but I just
can't seem to remember which word he used).
"Hehe, hey, how many do you think they'll bring us if we keep
sending them
back?" This was Carter's voice.
"No man, let's not even send them back. Let's just save these
and ask for
more."
There was some muffled laughter and I heard the clang of a phone
receiver
being lifted. Well, this was MY CHANCE! Like heck I was gonna
stand by and
let some loser bellboy deliver grapes to Mr. Dave Matthews! I left
Scott
looking worried that I would do something crazy. Well, he should
have been
worried. I was doing something crazy, but Dave wanted grapes and
by golly,
he was gonna have grapes delivered by me! I ran downstairs as fast
as I
could to the kitchen (which was conveniently located just to the
left of the
lobby where I was nearly a victim of security officer brutality).
The door
to the kitchen opened a bit too quickly for me to stop, and some
soon to be
fired bellboy carrying two plates full of grapes took one right on
the chin.
The grapes went flying into my arms unscathed, but the bellboy was
quite
shaken.
"Sorry good fellow," I said in my best pseudo-British
accent, "Dave's gonna
need more grapes than this." Taking a clue from Scott I
marched right into
the kitchen stared the first person I found in the eye and said,
"Grapes
NOW!" Oh he ran for them, especially when I reiterated,
"Mr. Matthews is
WAITING..." this time in my best Chris Tucker imitation,
"Pssssst!"
I got my grapes-19 lbs of them. So much so that I didn't know what
to carry
them in. Suddenly I remembered my guitar case. I was back
downstairs in a
flash with my empty case ready to deliver the goods to my hero. I
did just
that, marching right up those 6 flights, straight down the hallway
past some
guy who I could only guess was Fenton, and right up to Dave's
door.
Here I paused. Maybe I shouldn't be interrupting Dave's quiet
evening like
this. Maybe Dave would frown on such an invasion of his privacy.
Maybe they
were sick of adoring fans. Just then I heard a crash from in the
room. I
turned the knob, stumbled in, and promptly fell on my face. I had
tripped
over something. When I managed to wipe my face clear from some of
those
grapes I realized I had run over an injured Dave Matthews. He was
sitting in
his guitar case with a half-sick grin on his face clutching his
side. There
was part of a squished grape hanging off his lower lip, and now,
thanks to
me, 19 lbs of grapes were scattered on his shoulders, in the
guitar case,
and all over the floor. Carter was sitting on one of the twin beds
laughing
so hard I thought he was gonna burst, but those jolly cheeks just
turned
redder and redder. That's when the obscenities started. In
self-anger at
first, then directed at Carter for the laughter, and finally at
me, since my
"drunk-self" couldn't seem to do anything half way-I had
to bring "a frikin'
ton" of them with me. Carter belted out, "Well, you DID
wanna know how much
they'd bring! Haha!" Dave could only retort that the room
bill was gonna be
larger than his own "stinking ego." Well, the rant
lasted only a few minutes
before Dave calmed down and got himself up onto the other twin
bed.
I wasn't about to let Dave get through my fingertips without at
least a
conversation, so I offered to drive him to the hospital. Seeing as
how all
the van drivers were out on the town with most of the road crew,
Dave
thought that was a splendid idea, and off we went to the First
Baptist
Medical Center hospital outpatient waiting room. It was 5 in the
morning
before I had him back at the hotel. Dave had made a complete fool
of himself
while he was hyped up on pain-killers. He kept saying, "I'm
the (some word I
can't remember) muffin man!" And every once in a while he'd
croon, "I'm
Tiger Woods! I'm Tiger Woods!" Yes, Mr. Matthews you
certainly are.
So that's my story about how Dave really and truly broke his rib.
If you
don't believe me, that's ok too, but if you ask Scott he won't
lie. He'll
tell ya the way it was. Dave broke his rib with a grape in his
mouth
tripping over his guitar case-just like I told it. Now, just wait
till you
hear about what happened with Fenton and my mom...
VOTE
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