Jeopardy in a Small Town

Yesterday, I emerged from a downtown doctor's appointment only to find a long line stretching down Campbell Ave. Unbeknownst to me, Roanokers were lining up to test for Jeopardy, right here in our own little hamlet. The Jeopardy "Brain Bus" was parked outside of Center in the Square as a diverse group shuffled cattle-like down the street. I thought "could the Brain Bus be like the bloodmobile?" Where people donating grey matter to help the infirmed? Thankfully, this was not the case.

Driven by a curious impulse, I slid into line and followed the crowd.

It is interesting to see what comes out of the woodwork when something foreign stops by a small city. The line included people with babies, suited business people, blue collar workers, high school students and a dog who was carrying his own leash. I know that Golden Retrievers are considered to be intelligent, but this pup was taking it to the next level.

The man standing in front of me struck up a friendly conversation and I learned that he too was an intrigued passerby. Jim is a very nice fellow from nearby Radford, Va who was sporting a grisly looking scrape on his nose. I found myself drawn to his injury, staring at the wound as we spoke. My concentration was finally broken when Jim asked "I bet you are wondering what happened to my nose?" I pretended that I didn't even realize that there was something wrong with his nose, fumbling my words like Tiki Barber carrying the ball on a rainy day. Jim went on to tell me a very detailed account of his nose accident, the set-up of the story was so long that we parted ways before I hear the rest of the story. (Note: Jim referenced scores of relatives who contributed to or witnessed the incident, several of his house pets, as well as weather conditions and precise timing of the event, down to the minute.

Upon reaching the front of the line Jim and I were directed to tables located on either side of the room. In a "Sophie's Choice-like" moment, we were separated. The shnozz story would be lost forever.

I sat, pen in hand and answered ten questions designed by some TV producer in hopes of weeding out the dummies in the group. After all, Jeopardy is supposed to be a show for more educated audiences, isn't it? I mean contestants are not randomly picking metal briefcases held by leggy models or swimming the length of an Asian lagoon with a bamboo pole in their mouths on Jeopardy, are they?

Nine of the ten answers came easy for me (What is the capital of New Mexico? What was the name of Polonius' daughter?) , but question number seven took me a while to ponder. It concerned a nautical idiom that meant "out of control." My mind was a blank and I started to sweat. The timer was ticking. I searched the many closets of my brain and found only a linty sweater and a pair of busted flip-flops. Finally I scribbled "a bull in a china shop" knowing that the answer was wrong. Rarely do cattle and china travel aboard ship together, and, if they did, some poor sailor would have a lot of cleaning up to do.

The timer rang and a smug looking college student appeared, grabbed my sheet, and blurted "You missed one, but that still passes around here" rolled his eyes and spit "You will have to come back tomorrow at 2pm!" I told him that I had to work and could not make it. Angrily he responded "Then why did you come down here then!" tossing my test in a nearby bin. Somewhere, in game show heaven, the classy Art Fleming is selecting "Rude, low-paid Interns" for $100.

I took my complimentary Jeopardy pen and left the premises. I had almost reached my car when I spotted Jim walking down the street. Flagging him down, I shouted "Hey Jim, how did you do?" His response? "I feel like I've been thrown from stem to stern" he answered, giving me an immediate headache.

Jeter Taking the Soul Train?

The origin of the Faust legend can be traced back to northern Germany in the early 1500's. Three hundred years later Goethe embellished the tale for the theatre. On May 29, 1995 Derek Jeter made his professional debut in a Yankee uniform signifying opening night for demonic drama in the Bronx.

How can one man have so much? Jeter hits .300 plus every year, plays a flawless shortstop, has a handfuls of World Series rings, earns 20 million a year playing ball, and has a dating Rolodex that would make Hugh Hefner turn pea-green with envy. Why? One need only refer to Goethe's text for the answer.

I might be mistaken, but I think it happened something like this.... Somewhere in Michigan on a hot summer night in 1989, a lanky schoolboy titled a weegie board at an off angle and mistakenly conjured up the "Prince of Darkness" himself.

Startled by this horrifying apparition, the young boy fled into a nearby cornfield only to find Lucifer waiting for him among the stalks.

"Come forward child, I will not harm you" spoke Satan, fixing his fiery eyes fixed on the trembling youth.

"I don't know who you are Mister, but you sure are f-f-f-ffast" stuttered the boy

"Ran the forty in 1.3 back in the day" spoke The Evil One "How would you like to have that kind of speed son?"

"But I'm the slowest kid in school" said the boy "and the ugliest too"

"I might have guessed that second one on my own" said Satan, shading his blazing eyes "You look like a gargoyle I once knew named Reggie. Yikes!"

"Gee whiz mister, I get enough of that school" said the boy bowing his head.

"It doesn't have to be like that" said Satan "I can help you run faster, look handsome and be the idol of thousands."

"Really?" said the boy "Could you make me a great baseball player like Mickey Mantle?"

"Who?" asked Satan

"Mickey Mantle from the New York Yankees, silly!" exclaimed the boy

"Oh yeah, Mantle, sure, I remember him. Met him when he was about your age" said Satan

"You know Mickey Mantle?!" asked the boy

"Absolutely, how do you think hit all of those home runs when he was half-in-the-bag?" said Satan

"Can you make me a great player like Mickey?" said the boy

'Sure can" assured Satan "All you need to do is sign your name on this piece of paper and all of your dreams will come true."

From beneath his robe Satan produced a brittle looking scroll and a small dagger. With an outstretched hand Satan grabbed the boy's palm and pricked the child's thumb with the knife.

"Holy Cow, that smarts!" cried the boy

"Don't be a baby!" snapped Satan "it's just a little blood. Now take your boo boo finger and sign on the bottom line of this contract.

Satan had not created Steve Boros yet so the negociations went quick and smooth.

The young boy scribbled his name in blood and the deal was forever sealed.

Derek Jeter had signed a eternal term pact with the Devil and the rest is recorded in the annals of Yankee history.

Somewhere in America a slow witted, non-athletic child dreams of being the next Derek Jeter. In the Bronx, a super-model waits in Jeter's Yankee Stadium luxury box witnessing her shortstop boyfriend's assault on the post season record book. Lurking in the shadows is Satan, thirsting for fresh souls and biding his time until he collects his debt from the Yankee captain.

Hell's co-ed softball team will be adding a new middle infielder someday, moving Jack the Ripper to third base.

Does the seven train stop in Hell?