Dance, Joe, Dance
I put aside my dislike of over-heated claustrophobic autograph lines, to indulge Irish’s hopes of receiving not one, but two, signatures for her growing collection.
After Sunday School, that is. I had time for forty-five minutes of Revelation before trading seats with Mom in the Fit and driving downtown once again with Irish to the Hyatt.
We made it with time to spare. Tony Cruz, Yadi’s back-up catcher with a voice always five tones lower than expected, was just getting fired up for his 400-strong line of $5 ticket holders. While he scribbled, Irish and I inched forward with the other oglers past Tony La Russa.
The white-shirted volunteer took Irish’s ticket. “Are you mom and daughter?”
It’s always a toss-up. Mother or sister. So while “mom” clicked the picture, “daughter” got Tony the Younger’s sharpied signature in her Wreck This Journal.
It took about two seconds for Linnea to decide that, yes, she did want to join the eager iPhone cameras snapping video of Joe Kelly on the other side of the room under loud speakers broadcasting Maroon 5 and Bon Jovi. The right side of the ballroom smorgasbord also included Carlos Martinez, Allen Craig, Jason Motte, Lance Lynn, and other familiars throughout the afternoon.
“Do you think I could get Joe Kelly to dance?” Irish asked me, mischief eyes.
After she had made friends with four other girls eager for some genuine Joe-moves, Irish almost, almost accomplished her impromptu quest.
“He looked over at me and looked kind of confused at first,” she explained, completely missing Jason Motte walking right past her. “But then he looked at me later with an ‘I’m sorry’ face, so I think he would have danced but the security guard made him leave.”
She had to explain this to me because, for the hour she was busy soliciting for spontaneous salsa, I was ten yards away stealing a seat on the camera platform by the camera man tapping his foot to “It’s My Life”.
We split a burger and a Reeses set at one o’clock, avoiding more foot traffic, and arriving early for the packed Jon Jay line sandwiching Matt Carpenter. More fuzzy photos and a hand shake from her favorite, and Irish had an enormous grin on her face.
“You’re star struck, aren’t you?”
“Yup. He said, ‘It was nice to meet you.’”
She didn’t even mind airing out the braces for this one. It’s the closest thing to a shameless adrenaline rush that you can experience around here in mid-January.
On the other side of the Missouri River – just-because gifts from Rose: crocodile/dragon/prehistoric fish sleeping bag for Puck, red maple bonsai for me, and plush Lyme disease microbe for Carrie. And Bandana’s BBQ for the whole family. Even Francis straggled in from work to join two tables of pulled pork sandwiches and rich chocolate-caramel brownies. The boys wrestled each other back out to the armada of cars where we split four ways for the night.