The Cardinal Rule: Don’t make me dance
It was an early inning and the crowd at the Cardinals ballgame apparently needed some fire and focus.
“Everybody clap your hands,” was the song on the PA system. Not everybody clapped their hands. Many did. In perfect rhythm. Clap, clap, clap, clap … clap.
I looked at my friend. “If you ever see me clapping my hands to that song at the ballgame, punch me in the arm. Hard. Make me stop.”
I explained that I may not know all the new acronyms and metrics of today’s baseball, but I still know when to clap my hands. I think.
It’s a harmless portion of a line dance song called “Cha Cha Slide” by an artist named Mr. C the Slide Man. You know line dance songs. It’s when everybody hits the dance floor, forms a line and perfectly dances alike. And I get a fake phone call. Or hit the restroom. And return when the room gets back to normalcy. Which means no perceived pressure to be on the dance floor for a group line dance.
I have the same reaction at a Blues hockey game when the Blues go on a power play. A large portion of the crowd does this little power play dance by raising their arms to their sides. Harmless fun, sure. But as I’ve said a hundred times, you ever see me do that little power play dance at a hockey game, punch me in the arm. Hard. Make it hurt a little. I need a jolt. Make me stop it.
As I head forward into my golden years, there may be other moments when I lose my coolness and have temporary weakness. I ask that if you are near me, just give me a good punch in the arm. Make it hurt a little. I need it.
Some examples:
Accidentally lip sync to even a few words of a Taylor Swift song. Nothing political here. A man in his 60s should know better.
Bring up politics in public. Period.
Start thinking that a few innings in the “tarps off” section would be fun.
Make an argument that we are still too young and healthy to tee off from the gold tee box for seniors.
Argue that any music after 1990 is new music.
Wink at anyone. It’s weird.
Argue that AI will ruin society and then ask Alexa to play some Van Morrison greatest hits.
It’s OK. Wear the Crocs out tonight. They look great.
Talk proper punctuation at social gatherings. Get heated about reckless overuse of commas.
You become interested in pickle ball rules, equipment and apparel.
You say aloud, “Let’s go home. The music is too loud.” And you go home.
You tell the story of when the mall was built, and when you used to stuff six friends in the car trunk and go to Skyview Drive-In, and right over there, that was a Naugles … great big cheap burritos after hours.
Cargo shorts are cool.
Gibson would have hit him right then and there with a fastball.
Just a good stiff punch in my arm.
Make it hurt a little.
Thank you, in advance.
