I didn't get to see Jerry, but come Hell or high water, I was going to see Ted. First, the picture...
Forgive the pre-thunderstorm bulwark of brazen sunlight.
I never know what to say when I'm lucky enough to accost a public figure whom I admire. Usually, I manage a lifeless "hello" while trying to emulate the behavior of a normal human being. I distinctly recall my brain deflating during a chance encounter with George Romero. But that was years ago. I'm a mature adult now. I can quell mortifying fanboy urges at will, which is why I was confident in my ability to conduct myself with a measure of gentility in the presence of a WWE Hall of Famer. When the bell rang, I looked my opponent square in the eye. No fear, motherfucker. And...I was able to keep my cool. What, you suspected that I choked? Ha!
Actually, I thought that I would be left groping for words, but we shared a nice, brief exchange. He proceeded to sign my shirt (along with a couple of photos). Out of curiosity, I asked him if he had kept in touch with Matt Bourne over the decades. As it turns out, Ted saw Matt a mere week before his untimely passing. Chilling. Our tickets included a substantial meal and a seat for the ensuing ballgame. Honestly, I didn't care about the game, so we departed in the midst of a rain delay. Curse my haphazard disdain for school spirit. Bandwagon fidelity is underrated.
PS-Ted cut a wicked promo while throwing out the first pitch. Well, he didn't throw it out; he paid a pitcher to do it for him. That's "old school" showmanship, kids. Always work the gimmick!