You hear stories about groupies hanging out in hotel lobbies, but some of my teammates had it set up so there was a girl in every room. The older guys get on MySpace and Facebook a week before we go to a city; when a pretty one writes back, they arrange to fly her in three or four days in advance. They call it importing. Younger guys don’t have the money to do it. Anyway, these girls had the whole top floor. They know everything about us—first and last names, sisters and brothers, salary. This one girl was talking to me like she’d known me for years. “Hey, D-Bowe, how’s Grandma?” I’m like, “How do you know my grandma?” She knew that I talk about her every time I’m interviewed for a story. I told her I had a girlfriend, but she didn’t care. She was wearing my jersey, sitting in my lap, making it look like we knew each other. Then she took a picture and put it on Facebook. That almost got me in trouble.