Jeremy: Cheering for... chicken?

In case the readers (and I have no doubt there is a veritable throng of you out there) weren't aware of it, our young Jeffrey has his very own radio show in the thriving metropolis known as Valley City, ND. Yes, that's right, he is officially famous. He has officially left me behind. I have faith that he will still grace us with his presence on this very website (hold you applause please), but it appears that you will be subjected to my demented takes a little more often (no booing please). Yes, it appears that I will have to carry Midwest Sports Rubes while Jeff gets used to his more busy schedule "on air."

It happened a fortnight ago. An evening that I will not soon forget. That's correct, just two weeks ago I was given the "work" (and I use the term loosely in this situation) task of delivering food to the Metrodome before a Vikings pre-season football game against the Arizona Cardinals. Doesn't sound too exciting does it? Perhaps it gains a bit of luster when I further explain to you that my charge was to deliver pre-game food to the Vikings Cheerleaders?
I had The Dan put on a shirt donning the logo of my company and I forced him to join me in the endeavor. Driving to the Metrodome 2 1/2 hours before the game we were giddy with anticipation. It was a forgone conclusion that the ladies would be overjoyed to see us, but just how would they show their admiration for us? Our imaginations ran wild. We just could not get our simple male brains around it.
Trying to explain who we were, what was in the aluminum pans (grilled chicken and salad) and where we were going to the security folks was a task in itself. But we were undeterred. We forged ahead, through the under-belly of the Metrodome. Past dome staff, security, vendors, ball boys, etc. We finally made our way to the lower level and were directed down the hall to the baseball visitors locker room, where the cheerleaders make their home before each Vikings home game.
One of the cheerleaders coaches (Cheer coach? Coach of cheer? Leader of cheerleaders?) was outside. I explained, in a calm, unhurried manner, who we were. She walked into the locker room, turned a corner and yelled words that I will never forget. "MEN COMING IN, GIRLS! EVERYBODY DECENT?" This was followed by the screeching "NO!!!" of several women. A couple of minutes later we were escorted into the locker room where around 40 women in purple felt mini-skirts and tops with tall white leather boots were standing like they had been anticipating our arrival. Our task at this point was simple: put the chicken and salad out on the table, don't sweat, keep our eyes to the ground, and try not to look... um... aroused. For what seemed like an eternity, but was literally no more than 4 minutes, we were surrounded by beautiful scantily clad women. Normally a man would have to pay premium dollars to be in such a situation. The Dan claims that one of them touched his arm, I got a pat on the back. All of the women said thank you as we left their locker room. Were they thanking us for the food or for leaving? We may never know. Their thanks was not the reward that we sought, however. Just being in the presence of such beauty, such talent, such incredible amounts of purple felt, that, my friends, that was thanks enough.
As we walked out of the locker room and back through the seedy bowels of the Metrodome, we felt slightly saddened, but nonetheless confident. As we walked past the Cardinals locker room, a plump, arrogant man stood with one foot on the ground, one on a chair, leaning with his elbow on his knee. This was the unmistakable stance of former Vikings head coach Dennis Green. Little did Denny know just seconds prior I had just been in the presence of greatness and his stature as an NFL head coach meant little to me at the time. Unfazed, I walked right up to him, offered my hand, and gave a confident, "How ya doin'?" He was surprised, but he shook my hand, and offered a "Fine, thanks. And you?" I simply replied "great," but I was already on my way.
I will admit, I lead somewhat of a charmed life. A couple of my friends have referred to me as Forrest Gump. They say I'm everywhere. I just say I'm lucky. I believe, for a brief few moments on an August Saturday afternoon, some purple felt-clad ladies felt lucky as well. Unfortunately, that's all they felt.