It was game 6 of the series tonight between the Houston Rockets and the Utah Jazz. Most of you know the Jazz won. That in and of itself was cool. I went with an old roommate of mine, Jeff Mason. He’s a first year dental student at UNLV, a great guy. His dad, Lyle Mason has been the team doctor since before Jeff was born. That’s how I got tickets to the packed game.

Anyway, on our way into a back entrance, Jeff’s dad commented that maybe we should ask President Thomas S. Monson if we could sit by him. “That’s kind of a weird thing to say,” I thought to myself. “Well, you should,” he said “because he’s standing right behind you.” Sho nuff. There he was. Jeff and I decided we’d ask for a handshake, which he graciously accepted. He’s much taller than I expected. If he wasn’t so old, he probably could have been playing tonight.

After our handshakes, I decided that the night could only get better from there. Not too many people can say they’ve met the Prophet (notice how I never blogged about how I met Paris Hilton at the Sundance Film Festival in January–well in that case, I never shook her hand because I didn’t have the desire).