It’s Monday night and instead of sitting in the grandstands at Yankee Stadium rooting against the home team (the Red Sox played this morning, so I can’t be at Fenway), I’m volunteering at the Jefferson Jackson Bailey dinner, a fundraiser for the Democratic Party.
I can’t believe how much of a nerd I’ve turned into. I used to think the only cool smart people were baseball writers like Peter Gammons, but now I have a different view on politics.
Heck, I’m genuinely excited when Stamford Mayor Dan Malloy, a candidate in the 2006 Connecticut Governor’s race, shakes my hand and at least acts like he remembers me from our brief chat a few days earlier at the College Democrats state convention.
Really though, what I’m waiting for is the arrival of one man: the guy who came within 60,000 votes in Ohio from being the vice president of the United States, John Edwards. He’s the Ken Griffey, Jr. of politics – the shining star that any self respecting fan can’t help but root for.
It’s getting closer to 7 a.m. and he’s still not there yet. The people working at the check-in desk are grumbling about it, but hey, he’s a politician. He has to be late.
In walks Fairfield politics professor John Orman, who is running against Joe Lieberman in the Democratic primary for senate. It’s good to see him here, and nice to see know that Doc. O is giving out his first batch of bumper stickers.
Twenty minutes later and still no Edwards. By now the flow of people coming in has turned to a trickle, and someone a bit higher on the volunteer food chain tells us she thinks we’ll be off duty soon.
Then something crazy happens. I hear some girls screaming as if they were invited on stage with the Beatles. The man who would have been vice president and could have been president has gone in through some other entrance, and people are flocking towards him.
I walk up to him, thinking it’d make my day just to shake his hand. This guy lights up a room the same way Dick Cheney makes people shudder, and right now the room is glowing. I’m two feet away from him, next in line to greet him, when he gets on a cell phone.
When he hangs up he does something that reminds me of a ball player walking into the dugout before concluding his autograph session: he walks into another room without giving me so much as a head nod.
It’s not his fault, of course. He’s on a tight schedule and his aides want to make sure those Very Important People can get their picture taken with him. Now I feel just like the little kid at Fenway who didn’t get any autographs. I’m disappointed, but I’m ready for the game to start.
He gets up to the podium about half an hour after the hand shake that never happened, and delivers a clichéd speech that still sounds brilliant even though it’s the same junk that he filled the airwaves with before the election.
I head home satisfied. After all, I might have just almost shaken hands with the future president of the United States.
Leave a Reply