Who among us has not made a desperate, disguised plea for help from a friend?
Tuesday night, as I gathered words and photos for our nightly web readers to enjoy, an IM from Wiffle Ball friend Bill popped up on my screen.
“i'm flipping back and forth between american idol and women's figure skating...” he wrote. “this must be a new low.”
This was his not-so-veiled plea for guidance from an elder statesman. Ever a friend, I immediately went to the least common denominator in an attempt to IM him in front the ledge.
I suggested he take it in stride because Sasha Cohen had yet to skate and she’s really cute.
But I wasn’t really happy with that response, especially since I fancy myself as a legitimate supporter of women’s sports, something you don’t see too much from males. It’s a shame that most males in America need a woman to be hot in order to remotely feign interest in her sport.
So, I quickly recovered by suggesting the visual amazement we experience from the things these women can do while operating on the thinnest strips of metal strapped to a piece or two of leather. Death drops, double Axels, triple whatevers, never-ending spinning without getting the shakes. That’s just very cool.
Then there was the local angle of Emily Hughes.
But there was something I left out of my “Save Bill” campaign. Such disclosure at this time, quite a few hours after his cry for help, should make Thursday night’s long program more comfortable for him and anyone else stuck in such a quandary of watching figure skating and trying to act like they don’t care about it.
It was 9:36 p.m. and I threw on my “Enzo the baker” jacket to go to my car and get the DayQuil. (Yes, it’s been that kind of week.) I was concerned about missing Hughes’ performance, even though I already knew what happened.
“Oh wait, let me go set up the TiVo in the conference room so I don’t miss Emily,” I said.
Chalk that up as No. 6 on my “Thing I never thought I’d say or do” list.
When I returned to my desk a few minutes later, I asked “Did I miss Emily?”
Nope. Whew! Time to turn off the TiVo and remove any physical evidence of such a statement.
So, Wiffle Ball friend Bill, take comfort in the fact that you’re not alone. However, there’s no need to watch “American Idol.” She’s right there on NBC. Her name is Sasha Cohen. And she’s bad-ass.