Well, not long ago, I sang the National Anthem again for the Demon Deacons, specifically the Wake Forest/Syracuse game.
It seems that each time I sing at the Lawrence Joel Veteran’s Memorial Coliseum is unique (I don’t mean some swell-headed uniqueness, but rather, the uniqueness of the day, just as every day of life is unique).
The first time I ever entered the LJV Memorial Coliseum to sing, the jumbotron almost seemed as large to me as the Mother Ship in Independence Day (1996)(nerves can do a lot).
This time, it appeared to be smaller. Both my initial feeling of nervousness and the seeming size of that big cube hanging from the ceiling had deflated a bit. It now looks to be the size of one of the many smaller cube sections which make up that mega cube-shaped space vessel navigated by those Star Trek aliens known as “The Borg!”
My son, Jeremy, daughter, Rachel, daughter-in-law, Rose, and I almost didn’t get in the door due to a senior, wiry, white-haired little lady (use of the word “lady,” is gracious, on my part) who didn’t want to believe that our tickets had already been seen to.
I almost wanted to burst out in song to prove that I was the National Anthem singer for the evening; but Rachel wisely advised me otherwise (the Bible says to raise up a child in the right way; and it seems likewise that a senior parent needs similar guidance from an adult child for continuing on).
Shortly, a sweet, beautiful young lady appeared at the door and ushered us in. She was the staff person assigned many jobs, one of which is see to the National Anthem singer. Just now, I find myself remembering the voice at the end of the amusement park ride saying, “Take young children firmly by the hand” (probably goes for old men, as well).
She bore an amazing resemblance to the actress Ali McGraw. In the preparation section of my compliment to her about this, I said, “I am a child of the 50s and 60s.” Of course, McGraw’s first big movie hit, Love Story came out in 1970, so my childhood made it into that decade too. Actually, I’ve always considered myself to have a schoolhouse-inquisitive mind; so, I guess that makes me a “child” of the 50s,60,70,80s,90s,2000s,2010s, and 2020s (after writing this, I suddenly feel old).
When I told the young lady of her striking resemblance to Ali McGraw, she said: “I’ve never gotten that one before.” I asked her if she had ever seen the movie Love Story, and she replied that she hadn’t. I stated the movie’s name with some temerity, fearing she might think I was an awful old man, or like the Austrian composer, Anton Bruckner, who, although his intentions were honorable, when he was in his 70s had the habit of proposing marriage to girls as young as 17, (which in late 1800s Austria might have been quasi-legal).
I didn’t tell her the plot of Love Story, because I didn’t want to depress her.
And, of course, but unlike Bruckner, I didn’t propose. (which, if I had, would have probably depressed her).
Syracuse University’s color is orange (on an equal par with neon lime-green for standing out in a crowd). The Lawrence Joel Veteran’s Memorial Coliseum was almost filled to the brim (or rather, to the “nosebleed” section). A goodly number of Syracuse fans must have traveled there; because there were orange “specs” liberally sprinkled.
In fact, there was an “orange family” seated directly in front of us.
The matriarch of the group was so overcome with “basketball fever” that she gyrated and clapped even when Wake Forest’s fight song was played.
She seemed to be rooting for both sides. On another note, just imagine if you bet on all the horses in all the races held on a day at the races. (just now, the “Marx Brothers” come to mind). Even if one of your bet-upon horses won (which would most predictably and most certainly be the case), your money wouldn’t make it past a few races.
After I sang, I went to the concession area and purchased a huge barbecue sandwich. It seemed as if there were a half a pound of barbecue in the bun. (you NEVER want to eat a half pound of barbecue BEFORE singing the National Anthem).
Next to the concession stands were tables containing special laptops for people to swipe their cards and pay for their food. There was someone there to help them, and just like at the grocery store self-checkout, make sure there was no purloined burger, etc.
I thanked the young lady for working with me (I started to say, “for being my handler”, as the game for which I had sung was on the day following Punxsutawney Phil’s “performance” at Gobbler’s Knob).
Now, I’m into a flare-up of gout, probably a delayed reaction to that ½ pound barbecue sandwich.
Thinking back to the young lady who looked like Ali McGraw, I know I’m too old for young ladies.
And possibly too old for barbecue.
But that word “possibly” means there might still be hope.
For barbecue, of course.
