Wandering aimlessly during a two-hour layover in Denver, I was drawn to an airport bar by the sound of whooping: the Denver Nuggets were wiping the floor with the LA Lakers, and the airport staff (along with a trio of Denver’s finest) had gathered to watch. A sad little salad and an oatmeal cookie earned me the right to a table for the rest of the half, I figured. I settled in and tried not to let my face betray my true, if rusty, loyalties. A few travelers muttered feeble cheers at the occasional LA triumph, but frankly these were so few and far between that it was hard to muster up much Laker solidarity.
According to a note at the bottom of the screen, this was game 4 of the semi-finals, and the Lakers led the series 2-1. I couldn't remember how many games were in the series -- was this do-or-die for the Nuggets? I sent out a query to Lauren, Lexi, and Emmett: "Is Denver Laker series best of 5 or 7? Btw ily." Pretty soon I was engaged in a text exchange with Lauren, who (it emerged) was watching the same game in the LA airport. Glummer crowd, she acknowledged, but with less at stake: "3-1 is a death sentence."
It further emerged that we were both headed home to Seattle, and that our planes touched down minutes apart. We met up in baggage claim, admired each other's new boots (mine chocolate-brown from an Austin bootery, hers red high heels from an LA thrift shop) and shared a midnight ride home. What a lovely surprise! And all because the Denver airport staff -- and three of Denver's finest -- couldn't contain their excitement.
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