Michael Craig's Journal

You’re going to have to tease this story out of me. I told a version of it to Amy Calistri this morning and she said, at one point, “You’ve got to be making this up,” and at another, “I think this is just some hallucination of yours.” Finally, she concluded, “This is too strange for you to be making this up.”

It’s all true, but so strange and disjointed that it’s hard to piece together. So I have to give it to you bit by bit.

I arrive at Matusow’s house in Henderson, a well-to-do suburb of Las Vegas that looks like it sprang up overnight. Mike’s house is decked out for Halloween. I mean, the house is DRIPPING with Halloween stuff.

I have 3 kids. 2 of them are teenagers, and I’ve never had this many Halloween decorations in my house in all their lives combined. The garage door has 2 big paper skeletons hanging from it, along with a cat wearing a giant pumpkin. Skulls and witches heads hang from a tree. Tiny tombstones and skulls line the path to the door. Strings of lights await only an electrical outlet. [The irony here is that there is never more than one light on in Matusow's house the entire time I'm there.]

Later, inside, I see the motif has been carried out as well. Giant plastic pumpkins are set up along the fireplace and several surfaces in the kitchen, living room, and family room.

I don’t even bother knocking. I know Mike’s going to be watching the football games upstairs in bed, so why bother?

I walk in and call out, “Hello? Mikey? You there?”

Something unexpected happens.

“Hullo?” a sleepy voice says from the family room.

A football game is on the giant television screen. Otherwise, it is completely dark on the main floor. The voice is NOT that of Mike Matusow.

For an instant, I think about backing out of the house and checking the address. But I can make out giant poker chips of Matusow’s Tournament of Champions trophy on a low glass table in the living room.

I mumble something about going to look for Mike upstairs and climb the steps. Frankly, nothing that I find in Mike Matusow’s house should rattle me but ….

…. even though it was dark and I couldn’t make out the figure on the living room couch, and even though I didn’t hear the voice clearly, wasn’t that SAM GRIZZLE?

TO BE CONTINUED

This entry was posted on Monday, October 23rd, 2006 at 10:28 am and is filed under My favourites:.