Just imagine it’s the morning of Super
Bowl Sunday, and Tom Brady wakes up, gets out of bed, walks into his bathroom,
and slips on the wet floor and tears ligaments in his knee. That would be
awful. (As part of this imagined scenario, of course, the Patriots are
scheduled to play in the Super Bowl. If the game is actually Carolina vs. Cincinnati,
then it really doesn’t matter what happens to Mr. Brady that morning.)
Or imagine a major concert is
scheduled at Carnegie Hall, which will be broadcast live around the world, and
on the morning of the concert, famed Irish tenor Ronan Tynan wakes up sneezing
and wheezing with a bad cold. He gets out of bed, walks into his bathroom
(fortunately he does not tear any knee ligaments), gargles with warm water and
then cautiously tries to sing a few notes. His voice sounds exactly like Bruce
Springsteen after a night of heavy drinking. That would be awful. (As part of
this imagined scenario, of course, Mr. Tynan is scheduled to be the main
concert performer. If the featured singer is actually Placido Domingo, then it
really doesn’t matter if Tynan has a cold.)
Or imagine the opening ceremonies of
the Olympic Games are scheduled to begin later that evening, and NBC
broadcaster Bob Costas wakes up, walks into his bathroom, and notices in the
mirror that he has a wicked case of pink eye. That would be awful. (Oh wait,
never mind. That really happened to Mr. Costas in February, 2014. At least it
gave those of us who are bored to tears by the Winter Olympics something
interesting to talk about.)
So, why am I asking you to imagine
scenarios where something terrible happens at the worst possible moment? Well,
imagine that it is the night before Thanksgiving Day, and a certain newspaper
columnist, who for years has insisted that gluttony is a virtue rather than a
vice, wakes up from a sound sleep at 2:30 a.m. with stomach cramps. He gets out
of bed, walks into his bathroom, and proceeds to endure two hours of severe
gastrointestinal distress. (If you don’t mind, I’ll refrain from any further
details. At least he didn’t tear any knee ligaments.)
Imagine Tom Brady hobbling into the
Patriots’ locker room on crutches. Imagine Ronan Tynan walking into the
Carnegie Hall dressing rooms doing a Marcel Marceau pantomime, frantically
pointing to his throat and mouthing the words, “I lost my voice.” Imagine Bob
Costas appearing on TV screens in 100 million homes with a single beet-red
peeper pulsating at the viewers like that Edgar Allan Poe horror story, “The
Tell-tale Eyeball.” (Oops, that actually did happen, at least until NBC
executives finally took Mr. Costas off the air for a few days.)
On Thanksgiving Day, when I, er,
rather, when that certain columnist walked into his sister’s home, all pale and
frail (the columnist was pale and frail, not his sister’s home), imagine
everyone’s confusion when he did not sprint toward the hors d’oeuvres table,
but instead gingerly sat on the couch and requested a cup of tea.
Everyone stood in stunned silence. Finally,
a niece said, “What’s the matter, Uncle Billy?” Um, I mean, she said, “What’s
the matter, Mr. Columnist? It’s a family tradition to cheer you on as you eat
everything in the house on Thanksgiving Day.”
Well, the moral of the story is:
sometimes bad things happen to good people. Or maybe the moral is: sometimes a
stomach bug hits on the Super Bowl of eating. Let’s just say that now fully
recovered, I am most definitely, er, I mean, that columnist is most definitely
looking forward to Christmas dinner.
# # #
***
Important announcement: Tune in to WATR radio, 1320 am in Waterbury, CT (or
streaming at www.watr.com ) on Saturday, Dec. 5th, from 1 pm to 2 pm. I will be
appearing on the "Special Edition Saturday" talk show, to talk about,
um, I have no idea. But they promised me it would be funny. ***
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