Scott's View - Cape Fear
Ron and I arrived at Fayetteville ’s J.P. Riddle Stadium rather early for the evening’s Cape Fear Crocs game, and killed time by wandering around the concourse behind the stands. We browsed the souvenir shop, purchased some refreshments, and so forth. During this time, for some reason, the Croc mascot took a shine to us. He followed us around, snatched our caps, even made some politically-incorrect hand gestures regarding the fact that we were two men at a ball game together. Strange, but all in good fun.
One thing we encountered during our loitering was an area where fans could write their names on slips of paper for a chance to compete in the between-inning activities. While we don’t always feel the need to do so, on this sparsely-attended night Ron and I decided the odds were pretty good that one or both of us might actually get chosen for something.
Having filled out a slip and pretty much forgotten about it, I relaxed and enjoyed the first few innings of baseball. At one point during an inning break, I decided to stretch my legs and take a walk; Ron opted to stay seated. As I made my way up the aisle, I suddenly heard the P.A. announcer saying my name, along with another, requesting we report to the customer relations booth. I glanced back down at Ron – he didn’t seem to have noticed.
I made my way up to customer relations, where they told me I’d been picked for the Kit Kat Karaoke Challenge: The other contestant and I would each take a turn singing the Kit Kat song – you know: “Gimme a break/Gimme a break/Break me off a piece of that Kit Kat Bar!” The crowd would then vote for their favorite by applause, and the winner would get a king-sized Kit Kat bar. Never mind that I’m a terrible singer. It’d be fun, and there wasn’t much at stake. And Ron still had no idea.
Then, as the appointed inning arrived, the other guy still hadn’t shown up! The PR guy handed me a microphone and said, “Don’t worry about it. Just sing the song and we’ll give you the candy bar.” Talk about an easy win! The third out was recorded. I stepped onto the field, looked toward Ron in the stands and enjoyed the priceless stunned look on his face as I strolled down the third-base line alongside the same Croc mascot who’d been tormenting us earlier.
The P.A. announcer improvised to cover for the lack of a second contestant by simply stating, “Scott’s here to sing the Kit Kat song for us.” I did so, and it inexplicably came out as a bad Elvis Presley imitation, after which the announcer quipped, “Uh, would somebody please tell Scott that Elvis is dead?” It got a laugh from the crowd, I got a nice memory out of it, and the Kit Kat bar, split by Ron and me much later that night, helped ward off any hangovers the next morning.
Ron and I arrived at Fayetteville ’s J.P. Riddle Stadium rather early for the evening’s Cape Fear Crocs game, and killed time by wandering around the concourse behind the stands. We browsed the souvenir shop, purchased some refreshments, and so forth. During this time, for some reason, the Croc mascot took a shine to us. He followed us around, snatched our caps, even made some politically-incorrect hand gestures regarding the fact that we were two men at a ball game together. Strange, but all in good fun.
One thing we encountered during our loitering was an area where fans could write their names on slips of paper for a chance to compete in the between-inning activities. While we don’t always feel the need to do so, on this sparsely-attended night Ron and I decided the odds were pretty good that one or both of us might actually get chosen for something.
Having filled out a slip and pretty much forgotten about it, I relaxed and enjoyed the first few innings of baseball. At one point during an inning break, I decided to stretch my legs and take a walk; Ron opted to stay seated. As I made my way up the aisle, I suddenly heard the P.A. announcer saying my name, along with another, requesting we report to the customer relations booth. I glanced back down at Ron – he didn’t seem to have noticed.
I made my way up to customer relations, where they told me I’d been picked for the Kit Kat Karaoke Challenge: The other contestant and I would each take a turn singing the Kit Kat song – you know: “Gimme a break/Gimme a break/Break me off a piece of that Kit Kat Bar!” The crowd would then vote for their favorite by applause, and the winner would get a king-sized Kit Kat bar. Never mind that I’m a terrible singer. It’d be fun, and there wasn’t much at stake. And Ron still had no idea.
Then, as the appointed inning arrived, the other guy still hadn’t shown up! The PR guy handed me a microphone and said, “Don’t worry about it. Just sing the song and we’ll give you the candy bar.” Talk about an easy win! The third out was recorded. I stepped onto the field, looked toward Ron in the stands and enjoyed the priceless stunned look on his face as I strolled down the third-base line alongside the same Croc mascot who’d been tormenting us earlier.
The P.A. announcer improvised to cover for the lack of a second contestant by simply stating, “Scott’s here to sing the Kit Kat song for us.” I did so, and it inexplicably came out as a bad Elvis Presley imitation, after which the announcer quipped, “Uh, would somebody please tell Scott that Elvis is dead?” It got a laugh from the crowd, I got a nice memory out of it, and the Kit Kat bar, split by Ron and me much later that night, helped ward off any hangovers the next morning.
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