TV or Not TV

Memory #8: I wouldn't have known the final score of the Atlanta Braves and Florida Marlins game if they hadn't shown the results on the jumbo television screen above the outfield fence. The Braves won 5-3.

I don't believe everything I see on TV, but I'm rather confident the televised scoring matched the plays on the baseball field underneath. As I didn't watch the actual game, please don't hold me accountable.

I'd sure like to have one of those big ass screens in my house. I could finally see all of Jennifer Lopez.

"It's not a jumbo. It's a J. Lo!"

While I wasn't captivated by the teams of dusty millionaires flinging balls and flailing the big sticks, I was intrigued to observe how the entire event was packaged and conducted like a TV show for the in-person crowd. There was always something going on across the outfield's gargantuan display, including instant replays, trivia quizzes, advertisements, music videos, or fans caught offguard by roving cameras.

I thought it would be cool to be seen on the mammoth screen, but the only sure way to be featured is to plant a finger up your nostril and do a puppet show for your nasal cavity.

I had nothing prepared, thus I declined to perform. I prefer to break-in those shows out of town

Besides, noses? It's been done.

And I didn't wish to jeopardize my "Vogue" cover.

So, I spent five or six innings in my seat, assuming various dashing poses and grimaces, all in anticipation of the swirling cams to point my way.

"Dear, eat more roughage," said the lady in the seat behind me during an especially good profile affectation.

"Dude, kick the suds, dude," said a dude.

"Dale Earnhardt, we miss ye," said another.

Two hours of forced handsomeness are debilitating, so I told myself to try one final pretension. I'd been saving the mother lode of poses. I induced tears, pushed out the lower lip, and held up a makeshift sign: "FREE KITTENS."

Nothing. I gave up. I wouldn't be on the J. Lo teevee this day.

I turned and eyed Donna. It warmed my heart to see her enjoying the Braves.

Impulsively, and tenderly, I said, "Hey, papoose, give us a little smooch."

Her eyes met mine. In her soft, caring voice, she said, "You've got to be kidding."

Just then, I sensed my appearance on the center field screen....

Next: Part 3: Brave Lad

Previous: Part 1: Braving a Braves Game

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