A Sporting View: An old-style epiphany

Epiphanies are overrated.

That thought occurred to me while legendary Kansas City Chiefs broadcaster Bill Grigsby and I sat in our massage chairs, enjoying our pedicures at a salon just outside of Kansas City. I had never had a pedicure before, but it was hard to resist after the way huckster Grigs sold me on the idea.

“You’ll feel like you’re walking on air after one,” Grigs promised, and off we went.

Surely, I thought to myself, there was something to be learned in all of this. I mean, here I was, on a random Tuesday, surrounded by some of the city’s finest assets (the patrons and those that worked in the establishment were quite easy on the eyes), having my feet washed. And stuff.

A quick glance at my compadre however, led me to believe otherwise.

“If we had a couple of martinis, this would be perfect,” Grigsby commented.

I mean, I already knew that.

A few days later, I found myself in Chicago — but not in the epiphany sort of way. It didn’t take long for me to make it up to the friendly confines on the north side of town.

Before the game, I was recognized by a vendor who was selling programs, a guy I used to play Wiffleball with in Kansas City.

I could tell he was embarrassed — it didn’t look like he had a set of keys to the executive washroom, in other words. But I felt like he was doing a job that every guy should do at least once in his life — that is, hawking crap at baseball games.

I made it to the show in 1995. I wanted to be a beer man, but at Camden Yards they made you earn it. The foreman handed me a shirt that was two sizes too small and a tray of rainbow-colored snow cones. Well, on that day, it was unseasonably cold and sleeting.

For whatever reason, the Baltimore fans didn’t seem to warm up to a kid who looked about 90 pounds, soaking wet (which I was) with a rock in his pocket trying to sell them $5 snow cones — in the freezing rain. Maybe it was my muted delivery, but needless to say, I never made it to beer man status.

Over a few Old Styles in Wrigleyville, I could tell that my friend was looking for an epiphany, too. And that’s when I remembered the pedicures. As we had sat there getting our tootsies massaged, Grigsby shook his head and said to me, “I don’t know why more men don’t do this.”

And that was the epiphany. Say it loud, and say it proud my friends, because it really can be a beautiful life.