That's Church

Last night I met Mario Lemieux.

I’m sorry. I think I’m going to cry. Give me a minute.

Okay. So, after years and years and years and YEARS of loving the man, and after more recent years of kinda sorta stalking the man and trying to steal his stuff from his foundation offices, with no luck (yet), I finally was in the same room with Mario Lemieux, walked up to Mario Lemieux, talked like a demon-possessed kid speaking tongues to Mario Lemieux, got my picture taken with Mario Lemieux, and was — wait for it — TOUCHED BY MARIO LEMIEUX.

I need to cry again.

The reason my husband and I, and my butler Mike and his wife Meg, and Luke from Microsoft and his wife Jessica were invited to the event was because of Make Room for Kids.

The event was the table games preview at the Casino last night, with all losses benefiting the Mario Lemieux Foundation.

The reason we were able to corner the man, and I DO LITERALLY MEAN CORNER THE MAN, was because someone ill-advisedly put us all on the VIP list. That person, who shall remain nameless, will probably never do that again.

Right now, she’s all, “That’s church, sister.”

Upon arrival at the casino, the six of us headed straight for the VIP restaurant area to eat delicious noms. There were spicy watermelon things, buffalo chicken things, tiny Primanti sandwich things, mystery lobster things, crab cakey things, and on and on and on. Oh, and cheesecake things.

So there we were, like jesters in the royal ballroom, sitting in a booth, eating all manner of weird, but delicious foods, and drinking wine.

Delicious wine.

The six of us were sharing stories of our run-ins with famous people when Mario and his beautiful wife Nathalie walked into the restaurant.

And a hush fell over the crowd.

Not really. A hush fell over our table and then our conversation turned to this, “HE’S HERE HE’S HERE HE’S HERE THERE HE IS LOOK AT HIS HEAD. HE’S HERE. WE ARE IN THE SAME ROOM WITH MARIO LEMIEUX.”

The fact that we were the ONLY people in the VIP room doing that tells me something, but I’m ignoring it. LALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU TELL ME I’M COMMON FOLK.

We began strategizing because no way in hell were we leaving without a picture of us with Mario. As we were discussing strategies, Mario and his wife left the room, probably to go mingle with the common folk. HA! Kidding.

After about 15 more minutes of stuffing my face with tiny foods and downing my second glass of Riesling, we decided to head out to the table games and donate some money via losses at the tables. It was then, when we rose and walked toward the restaurant exit, THAT MARIO WALKED BACK IN.

We stopped in our tracks as he engaged guests in conversation.

And we laid in wait. When he had finished his conversation, he looked like he was coming straight for us and we collectively began to internally jump up and down. We all got big smiles on our faces and our shoulders rose with anticipation and we rehearsed in our heads what we would say to him, and Mario walked right past us.

So, most of the people in the VIP room, when they talk to Mario? It’s no big deal. They have an air of indifference. I’m sure he appreciates that, but I couldn’t do that, because I’m all too aware that in that room at that moment, Mario was the entire head at the top of the totem pole and I was the left half of the eyeball of the tiny bug pooping on the ground next to the totem pole.

After another minute or so of waiting, we did our CORNER HIM LIKE NINJAS bit, and approached him in a way that he had no way out but to go through us. And if he tried that, we were totally going to trip him.

I sort of spoke initially for the group and tried to give the Make Room for Kids elevator speech as fast as humanly possible and did it in a way that made zero sense, so little sense in fact that I’m pretty sure Mario thinks Luke Sossi invented the XBOX.

Let’s just roll with that.

So after my blah blah blah giggle XBOX transplant I love you will you marry me blah blah [click click] [pew pew] speech, I said, “Look, we’re probably the only people in the VIP section who are going to ask you this question, but can we get a picture with you?”

And Mario did not say, “I have hundreds of millions of dollars; my shoes are made from the hide of a royal cow who was fed only gold flakes; my watch costs more than most people will earn in a lifetime; and you, you common folk crashing the VIP section, I fart in your general direction.”

He said, “Sure!”

Of course the professional photographers suddenly appeared to snap the picture, BUT THAT WOULDN’T DO, because I’ll never get those pictures. So after they took pictures, I had to say to Mario, “Um. Could you stay there while WE get a picture now?”

And he farted in our general direction.

I’M KIDDING. He was gracious and kind and took the additional picture with us and then was immediately pulled away by other VIPs.

But we got our picture you guys!

He has his arms around my waist!

Do you mind if I cry again? Do you mind if I crop out me and Meg’s husbands just for a sec?

But wait. The fun didn’t end there.

We stalked Mario to the table games and I sent Woy to take pictures:

At this point, we decided we were risking a warning to leave Mario alone, so it was gambling time. Meg, Jennifer and I left our husbands at the craps table, which boy is THAT an appropriately named game. Know what else would be a good name for it? Chaos.

I much preferred the Monopoly machine Meg introduced me to. No skill. Just feed this machine a $20, smack this button here, and watch the little men in suits run around on the screen. She and I sat there for an hour maybe and took turns screaming and punching each other on the arm when the other would make some money while people all around us did the same. We were with our people. The common people.

Fast forward to later in the evening. Luke and Jessica and Mike and Meg had left. It was about 8:45 p.m. and I was standing in the High Roller room or whatever it’s called, watching my husband play blackjack. This will be the only time I’m ever in that room because for this one night only, the maximum and minimum bet was FIGH DOLLAHS!

I went between that room and the outer room where Mario was still gambling with his wife, and at one point when I returned to my husband he said, “Did you see Jerome Bettis?”

I was all, “JEROME BETTIS IS HERE WHERE OKAY BYE NOW DON’T LOSE ALL OUR MONEY!”

I walked out of the room and there was Jerome Freaking Bettis walking right toward me with a friend of his. He didn’t appear to be there for the table games preview event, but rather was just there on his own. I stepped in front of him, prepared to trip him if necessary, and I said, “[Gasp!] Can I get my picture taken with you?”

But he kept walking, possibly farted in my general direction, and called out, “I don’t think they let people take pictures in here.”

I called after him, “Well, I’m a big fan!” and in my head I added, “You big fat jerk has-been!”

He stopped dead in his tracks like he heard me! As I wondered if I accidentally said that last part out loud, his shoulders slumped a bit and … he burst out laughing, turned on his heel and came back to me to shake my hand and say thanks.

I was on top of the world.

I met Mario. I was touched by Mario. I had a chance encounter with Jerome Bettis who I may or may not have insulted out-loud. I mingled with the filthy rich. I ate rich foods. I felt like I had climbed up the totem pole. Like maybe I was the entire bug that was caught in the spider web two heads from the bottom of the totem pole.

And the universe saw this and the universe said, “BAZINGA!” and smote me immediately with the worst migraine headache I have ever had in my whole life. I spent the last 45 minutes at the Casino wondering if the VIPs would be grossed out if I used one of the tiny dessert spoons to scoop my throbbing eyeball out of my head and place it in a martini glass.

In the car ride on the way home, it felt like someone had replaced my eyeball with a billiard ball. Just shoved it in there. The car ride home was also when I learned from a phone call to my Mom that my daughter had taken ill with a high fever.

Two hours later, close to midnight, having met Mario Lemieux and Jerome Bettis, and having spent time in places I’ll never be again with important people I’ll never be with again, I sat in my living room, my feverish, weeping daughter on the couch with my husband, my son crying because he was so tired and his room was messy and he couldn’t sleep in a messy room, the dogs tearing through the living room chasing each other like common folk dogs do, and I puked and fell off the totem pole, landing hard on the ground where a monkey stepped on me.

And the Universe slowly nodded its head and said, “That’s better.”

But who cares. Mario Lemieux touched me. And it’s all because of you.

The point of this post? Just wanted to say thank you, you guys, for giving me one of the best nights of my life.

I’m going to steal a hockey stick for you next time I’m in the foundation offices.

One of the things I wanted to write about last week before my Internet died and I declared war on India (SHOCK AND AWE!) was a little gem found in the latest copy of ESPN Magazine which I would just like to once again remind you that I subscribed to ONLY so I could show you Casey Hampton’s gaping maw of a belly button.

You’re welcome.

Back to the little gem … the issue was all about number ones. The best. Tops. Can’t get any higher.

The issue included The Ranking List, which grades every team in football, baseball, hockey, and basketball, across eight categories — affordability, bang for the buck, coaching, fan relations, ownership, players, stadium experience, and title track.  The Pittsburgh Penguins came in at number five, just below the New Orleans Saints, the Orlando Magic, the LA Angels, and the Colts.

As an aside, does anyone else have a love/hate relationship with Peyton Manning? I hate him as a football player with his red-faced bitchy whining and arm-flapping, but he cracks my shit up as a commercial actor and makes me want to have a beer with him.

I apologize for the meandering path of this post.

The reason the Penguins are so high on the list is because A. they rock and B. they are the highest ranked professional sports team in the “fan relations” category.

That is church.

That is so much church. That is church with the little fat ladies wearing hats and waving handkerchiefs and shouting AMEN! while sweating through their Sunday best. That is church with a rocking choir and a screaming preacher all, “MINE EYES HAVE SEEN THE GLORY! CAN I GET AN AMEN?!”

Especially in the last few years, the Penguins have completely ruled the world in making their fans feel loved. Players delivering season tickets to fans’ doors. Season ticket holders getting to have their Christmas pictures taken on the ice. The giant Trib Tron camaraderie. Twitter ticket contests. Jordan Staal showing up unexpectedly to take me to lunch … in Paris.

I might have pretended that last one. [sigh] [SLAP!]

We’re back.

Hell, THEY LET THE FANS FLUSH THEIR TOILETS! That’s love.

Now, to answer your question, the Steelers are at number 28 and the Pirates are number 82 on the list of 122.

I’m not going to lie to you. I swear on the last Zima in America that I didn’t even think the Pirates would be on the list, because I thought that in order to quantify just how miserable the Buccos perform in the ownership, coaching, and “title track” categories, ESPN statiticians would have had to invent new numbers.

Like negative doomity suckiteen.

Can I get an amen?

P.S. Any other ladies out there can’t take their eyes off of that one section of Sid’s thigh up in that picture? Anyone? Anyone? Can I get an amen?!

Without need of comment other than this one to the girls, “[High-five!].”

Also, the caption for this picture said there’s a Geico caveman in it somewhere, but it’s odd, because I count two.

Pedro “El Toro Salvador” Alvarez has been called up and will try to negate the suck that is the Buccos of Suckitude, starting tonight.

He is hopefully to the Pirates, what Sidney Crosby was to the Penguins … The Suck Destroyer. And to hear the media and the blogs and me inside my head talk about it, you’d think he truly is coming as the savior of Pittsburgh baseball.

Fingers crossed.

If you know it, sing it with me, Burghers!

“Every eye shall now behold him …”

Don’t know that one?

How about this one?

“Got my hands up, they’re playin’ my song.

Yeah, I’m gonna be okay.

Party in the USA!”

1.  [meaningfully hums Debbie Gibson's "Lost in Your Eyes"]

Sorry. I should never ever lead off a Random n’at post with a picture of David Conrad.

2. How did I miss that hot dinosaur doctor Matt Lamanna modeled for the Eyetique campaign?!

So, I’m not the only one that appreciates the man’s face as much as his big beautiful brain.

But step off, Eyetique.

3. I spy with my little eye about 30 male readers preparing a “TOO EFFING MUCH ESTROGEN!” comment.

4. Speaking of self-united husbands, If you don’t yet love David Conrad for his devotion to Pittsburgh, I’m going to help you out a bit.

Pick one:

• He showed up and spoke at the Reuse the Igloo press conference. Go watch that video and then let’s all meet for coffee and swoon over him, okay? Or you can swoon over him in person as he performs Celebrity Autobiography at the City Theater. I’m told his dates are June 20, 21, 28, and 30. But I learned that on Twitter and I can’t confirm it.
• He bought the boat for the Waterkeeper program.
• He bought the W.R. McIllwain Store and Warehouse building on Point Street in Saltsburg for preservation.

Pick one, any one. Fall in love. Then step off. Srsly.

(h/t Cari)

5.  The Pittsburgh Symphony’s South Side Stroll, An Evening in Four Movements, is taking place on June 21, and will be followed by a fun, networking after party and dessert reception at Diesel.

Tickets to the after party/dessert reception are $26, but readers of my blog are welcome to use the code SSPSO upon checkout to purchase tickets at only $15 each. Click here and scroll down to find the after party ticket portion of the ticket order form.

The ticket price includes a free drink, free desserts, a free performance from the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra (about 30 min), networking, and dancing courtesy of Diesel’s house DJ.

FUN!

6.  Bryan Adams is writing some songs for an animated version of the Wizard of Oz, starring Glee’s Lea Michele. Bryan Adams and Glee. All we need now is David Cook to find a way into the equation. Maybe he can voice Toto.

(h/t Kym, who understands my obsession with all things Bryan Adams)

7.  I take back what I said about Paul McCartney’s Depends-wearing fanbase, because the dude sold out two shows in minutes.

Geriatrics all over Pittsburgh will be pounding back a few extra shots of Ensure and rocking out for two straight nights.

I’m kidding. I have since learned that he has lots of young fans, too.

Don’t snail mail me handwritten hate letters, grandmas!

8. Sports Illustrated’s Peter King is in South Africa for the World Cup:

I’m here with my wife, and the other day, we were in a cab in Cape Town and the driver asked where we were from.

“I grew up in Pittsburgh,” my wife said.

“The Steelers!!!!” the fellow said.

“You know the Steelers?” she said.

“Everyone knows the Steelers!” he said.

[fist bump]

Hey, write your own bathroom stall joke.

(h/t James)

9.  Artists and illustrators, Pittsburgh does not have a logo in the CitID collection. It’s time to get to work.

Please make it better than Philly’s.

(h/t Charles)