March (pizza) Madness
What is it about sporting events and pizza? Ride along with delivery person Tina Lance.
from the April 7, 2008 edition
Page 3 of 3
Big chains aren't the only ones who sell an abundance of slices during the tournament. So do a lot of mom and pop shops, such as Lamonica's New York Pizza, the one that employs Tina Lance. It is located in Westwood, the Los Angeles enclave that includes the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), whose team was playing in the semifinals Saturday.
Owner John Lamonica was expecting to sell 20 to 25 percent more pizza on this day. That would add up to 300 to 400 pounds of cheese going out the door in one business shift.
Lance is working at Lamonica's to help put herself through college. She's an English major at California State University Northridge. Even though the delivery culture can be difficult, she enjoys working at the pizzeria. It's a family shop, literally and figuratively. It is managed by twin brothers Juan and Vidal Marquez. Three of their sons work there. Lance is one of the only nonrelatives, though they make her feel like part of the brotherhood.
Besides, she occasionally gets to use what she's learning in lit class on the job. After one particularly bad night recently, she left her boss a note – "Hell is other people" – a quote from Sartre.
The next day, Mr. Lamonica called her over. "I didn't know Sartre was in food service," he said. She likes to recite Dickinson, too.
Though Lance isn't a big basketball fan, she knows today will be a frenetic day at work – which means more tips.
By the end of her shift, though, the local team, UCLA, has been beaten badly. She recites a few lines from one of her mother's favorite poems, "Casey at the Bat," about there being no joy in Mudville.
Elsewhere in Westwood, a gloom has set in as well. Yet the pizza orders continue to come in. Juan Marquez, manager of Lamonica's, drives one out to a nearby student dorm. He walks past a warren of rooms, every third one looking like the site of a college hoops party. When he reaches the right door, a young man takes the pizza dejectedly. "Why order a pizza?" I ask.
"I gotta do something to feel better," he says.
In that moment, I realize, there's one more way pizza serves the sports enthusiast, if not all humankind. It's a form of comfort food – therapy in a disc. Win or lose, there's always pizza.
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