Operation Boob Tube, Part 3: The Part of the Story Where It Ends

Concert Crowd (Osheaga 2009) - 30000 waiting f...

This is approximately how big the crowd was in this story. (Photo credit: Anirudh Koul)

And now the exciting conclusion…

We sat there throughout the game. Sure, I was enjoying the hockey, but I had destiny on my mind.  With  a minute left in the game, I gave my sister the top-secret ultra-hush-hush super-stealthy signal that it was time for my plan to be sat in motion.

“Hey,” I said. “We need to go down to the lower level now so that we can beat the crowd down there and get to the postgame show so that I can be on TV and stuff.” On second thought, it wasn’t near as sneaky as I thought it was.

We headed out as quickly as can be. Taking a quick left, we bypassed the slowest escalator known to man for a staircase on the outside wall of the arena. We were making great time and it would be no time until I had reached that utopia.

Just steps from the bottom of the staircase though, we found a surprise. As quick as we had been, it hadn’t been enough. The flood of disappointed and dejected hockey fans was pouring out of the arena to their cars where they could weep in private. If I were to take one more step, I would be swept into the crowd, pushed outside to a dark camera-less existence.

I knew, though, that I couldn’t let it end like this. There was no way. I turned to my sister and gave her the look. She knew exactly what that meant.

We were going full speed ahead.

I weaved in and out of the crowd, narrowly avoiding each person as I passed. Of course, this meant that my sister did not narrowly avoid these people, instead crashing into them. What am I supposed to do, stop and wait? I was on a mission.

Eventually we busted through the crowd and were home free. We rounded the corner and there sat a postgame show. And a crowd. A big crowd right where I needed to be.

There are a lot of advantages to being a shorter man like myself. I am able to walk under tree branches that many people would slam their face into. My pants and clothing are all much shorter saving those poor kids in sweatshops a lot of time while sewing. I can comfortably fit in the backseat of a coupe. While these are huge plusses, being seen over a crowd on regional television is not one of them.

I stood at the back of the crowd and, for what seemed like the 30th time that day thought my mission was over. I had been defeated and could go home dejected. Just like the times before, though, I did not give up.

I began to jump.

My first jump was high, but not high enough. My second was even higher.

Mustering every bit of energy I had left from my rollercoaster of a day, I flung myself into the air. My arm extended as if I were trying to touch the ceiling. Then, through a gap in the crowd, I saw the monitor. There in full view, above everything else, was my hand.

My hand was now famous.

The takeaway from this story is simple: never give up. You can do anything with a bit of effort and a strange amount of focus on one tiny weird thing.

Also, it helps to know where the pregame show is to begin with. It will save A LOT of time.


3 thoughts on “Operation Boob Tube, Part 3: The Part of the Story Where It Ends

  1. Hahahaha a man on a MISSION! Well done. Here is a story of another hand – a few years ago when my husband and I hosted a German exchange student who was barely younger than ourselves, we took her to Canberra on a holiday and drovce around the embassies. I spotted the German embassy and told her that if she stuck her hand through the fence, it would be in Germany. So naturally, she wanted to do that. And take a photo of it. And at the same time a Federal police car drove past, the copper stopping to ask us what the bloody hell she was doing. When we explained, he gave us a look like “well, now I’ve heard everything” and drove off. But obviously he had NOT heard everything because he did not know about YOUR famous hand!


      • Oh don’t do that. It would take too long to learn to type with your toes or to write with a pencil in your mouth. Then we would not get anywhere near as many interesting blog posts from you. The world would surely be a sadder place if you had no hands.


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