Sport

Andy Watters' postcard from Las Vegas

Carl Frampton takes a time-out from a sparring session in a Las Vegas gym ahead of Saturday’s WBA featherweight title rematch against Leo Santa Cruz at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas 
Carl Frampton takes a time-out from a sparring session in a Las Vegas gym ahead of Saturday’s WBA featherweight title rematch against Leo Santa Cruz at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas  Carl Frampton takes a time-out from a sparring session in a Las Vegas gym ahead of Saturday’s WBA featherweight title rematch against Leo Santa Cruz at the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas 

I MUST say I’ve found the reaction a wee bit hard to take.

There were far too many ‘Och, you’re nots’ and ‘How did you wangle thats?’ and ‘You call that works?’ for my liking.

When I mentioned to my brother-in-law last week (ok it may have been for the 17th time that day) that I was just going to GET PACKED because I’m heading for LAS VEGAS he had the cheek to actually change the subject to talking about his children or something like that.

‘Honestly, what is wrong with these people?’ you ask.

‘Can’t they be happy for someone who is getting paid to go to Las Vegas to report on Carl Frampton’s rematch with Leo Santa Cruz and stop being even a little bit jealous?’ you ask.

To which I reply: ‘I really do not know’ and ‘Honestly what is their problem?’

There may even be people reading this going: ‘Och not another smug ‘I’m having a great oul time of it’ travel piece from yer man who went to the Euros and New York and Germany and Manchester last year?’

To which I would reply: ‘Here, you forgot Prague’.

But of course it’s easy to be smug when you’re somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean doing a job that anyone would give their right ear to do and could probably do a whole lot better.

So I’m going to enjoy it, especially after my latest ‘accidental tourist/an idiot abroad’ episode nearly scuppered the entire trip.

At US Customs in Dublin airport I made the mistake of mentioning that I was on my way to Las Vegas to cover the Frampton fight.

Red flags went up all over the place and the constipated-looking guy behind the desk, who had already turned down the two girls in front of me, was in no mood for letting anybody into America who didn’t deserve to be there.

He took me down to another room and before I could say: ‘I bet you voted for Donald Trump’ he left and I started getting worried. Another Customs Man took over and started with the questions.

Customs man: ‘You’re going on business?’

Me: ‘Well, I’m going to send a report of a fight from Las Vegas’.

Customs man: ‘Who do you work for?’

Me: ‘The Irish News’.

Customs man: ‘The Irish Times?’

Me: ‘No, The Irish News’.

Customs man: ‘You’re traveling to the United States to work and you haven’t got a visa? You never thought to get a visa?’

Me (playing dumb which, thank God, comes naturally to me): ‘Errr, No’.

Customs guy (after looking at me in a is-this-guy-for-real’ kind of way): ‘Take a seat and I’ll go and talk to my supervisor’.

I sat down as instructed and my mind started to race as I came to terms with the possible embarrassment of going home to face everyone I’d just happened to tell I was going to Vegas without actually making it to Vegas.

‘Maybe I’ll book into a hotel at the airport and stay there until Monday without coming out and just Tweet about the craic I’m having?’ I thought.

But thankfully all was not lost.

Customs man (saying): ‘Mr Watters please?’ (thinking): ‘Yeah, you the dopey one who should never have been let out of the house’.

Me: ‘Yes’.

Customs man: ‘I’m going to let you in, but next time you come to the United States to cover boxing or soccer or football or basketball or whatever you need to look at getting a visa’.

Me (almost crying): ‘I will’.

Customs man: ‘If you come back again without a visa having been advised to get one. You won’t get in.’

Me: ‘I understand that. I’ll get one’.

Customs man: ‘You understand that?’

Me: ‘Yes’.

Customs man, after stamping my passport: ‘Have a good day sir’.

Me (actually crying): ‘Thank you and I love you’.

No, I didn’t really tell him I loved him, but I do like him (a lot) because the whole thing could have gone south pretty darn quick and I nearly collapsed with relief as I picked up my bags and headed on before he changed his mind.

There’s never a dull moment as they say, but all's well that ends well and a couple of hours later I was on my way across the pond.

What’s that? Where am I going?

Oh Las Vegas, sorry did I forget to mention that…