Game Shows
By 7:45AM I was dressed for big events downtown at 6:30PM. That’s what happens when you live 40 minutes from the epicenter.
09:45AM – stuffing envelopes for a school mailer, answering phones, eye drops for a passel of kids with allergy-waxed eyeballs.
11:45PM – depart for Ditto; sort through stacks of junior high girls’ t-shirts plastered with goofy life advice. “I’m a roller coaster that only goes up my friend.” Today, I sent most of them to Africa.
03:00PM – pick up another crazy post-testing Puck who still couldn’t remember what, exactly, he had tested on.
03:30PM – Big House for homework where Mom was leaving for a lecture on King Richard III – the one buried under a parking lot in England – but first read “The Boxcar Children” to Puck.
04:30PM – drive Carrie-Bri and myself to Rose’s Colorado-esque apartment landscape in Creve Coeur to prepare for the big event.
05:45PM – head downtown, Rose behind the wheel of her Audi, pumping out heavy rap music as we flew down Highway 40.
It was our first hands-on experience with Matt and Leslee Holliday’s charity event – “Homers for Health Game Shows”. The masses had converged at Ballpark Village to take in a little on-stage comedy and wave at the camera – beer, hot dogs, and potato chips in hand.
Almost immediately, the three of us were pushed together for a photo for some local magazine by a pleasant middle-aged Australian gentleman.
Also almost immediately – maybe even a little more immediately – I could see Carrie’s angry eyes spitting fire. “People have no sense of personal space!” she yelled to me across the din of too many fans in one place.
Eventually, she and Rose hit the upstairs deck, where they were offered a short slew of free drinks (a.k.a. sodas) from the bar tender, while I planted myself down low, front row, for the entertainment. Nothing like watching a large handful of famous baseball players toss ping pong balls into a kiddie pool of peanut-butter-slathered bread slices (Jon Jay and Matt Carpenter) or play a revised game of 90-second Pictionary (Matt H., Waino, and Rosie) in order to help an audience member win a car.
Anyway, after this light-hearted three hours of goofiness, we departed to the pay station on the parking lot where the machine kept spitting Rose’s credit card back into her hand for no relevant reason. Then we finally noticed the open-doored white pick-up-truck/limo of ballplayers and wives sitting two yards away on the curb.
“Hurry! Just pass her some cash instead, quick!” Carrie urged me, so as not to further the embarrassment.
We stopped for McDonald’s on the way back. Because eating in public smashed between two thousand slightly tipsy fans, doesn’t always work so well.