By Mark La Monica
On the scene for ESPN College Gameday In Kentucky last month, I formed an opinion: No one controls the masses like Lee Corso.
With the simple wave of a hand and the donning of a school mascot's headgear, Corso is the pied piper of sports. If he made a run at the presidency in 2008, he'd be the most compelling figure in the race.
This past Monday night, that opinion underwent some serious radical reformation. The true pied piper of sports? The dude or dudette willing to part with free T-shirts at sporting events. It's empowerment unlike any other. Like Tony Montana said in "Scarface," first you get the T-shirts, then you get the power.
While filming the Dec. 6 episode of ExploreTV, my weekly Web show about places to go and things to do on Long Island, at Nassau Coliseum, I wielded that power. That ability to control the minds of the masses. That rare skill to get normal people to do whatever you want them to do, simply by holding a T-shirt in my hand and offering to launch it in their general direction.
The good folks in the Islanders' media relations corps were kind enough to indulge my mind-control fantasy. When I asked, "Hey, can we film a scene during the second intermission of me on the bench with the Ice Girls throwing out free T-shirts to the crowd?" the Isles' rep said "Sure." (Gripping dialogue, I know, but that's how it went down.)
I worked my way from the tunnel where the Islanders enter and exit to the visitors' bench. Walking on cut-up ice after a period is quite easy.
Ice Girl Brittany and a teammate of hers whose name I can't figure out based on the photos on their fan site (it might have been Alison, but I can't confirm that) joined me shortly thereafter.
"Hey, can I shoot the T-shirts at people?" I asked. A natural question.
"No, we can't let you do that," Brittany said. Understandable, I thought. Upsetting, but understandable.
"C'mon, it's for the show! I won't hurt anyone."
"We can't do it."
Clearly, they don't watch my show. Oh well. With limited time to affect the masses, it seemed futile to argue. I asked to load the gun instead. They agreed. So I reached into the bag, stuffed the gun and watched the other Ice Girl launch the upper-body apparel toward the clamoring fans. Feel the power!
The next step was to throw a few into the crowd on my own. My mama didn't raise no fool, so I asked first if that was OK. They acquiesced to my request. Uh oh, here comes power.
With a bag of free T-shirts, I could lead the free world. I could probably set the rest of the world free, too. Maybe even save some rainforests or something. That's the kind of juice we're talking about here.
I took the T-shirt and looked into the crowd. Several thousand people focused their attention on my left arm and the direction my eyes were looking. Anything they could do to garner my attention in hopes of me throwing the T-shirt to them. I haven't had this much crowd control since my sophomore year at Cornell when I had 8,000 people "doin Da Butt" on Slope Day.
I targeted some dude with a gray shirt about 30 rows behind the bench. I pointed at him, he signaled back and prepared to catch the shirt. I reached back, cleared the glass and threw a perfect strike. Of course, the guy one row in front of him snatched it out of the air just before he could catch it. Sorry about that, guy.
Energized by this puppetmastery experience (remember that "Absolute power corrupts absolutely" quote), I dug into the bag for a second go-round with the crowd. This time, I was more into it, like Vince Vaughn telling the crying story in the trailer in "Swingers."
I grabbed the T-shirt with my left hand and went Hulk Hogan with the right hand. Yes, I did. I waved my right hand in a circle then put it up to my ear as if to tell the crowd "I can't hear you." Not really sure how many of the people appreciated the reference (then again, how many of them actually saw Hulk Hogan do that, be it in the Coliseum or elsewhere), but they knew what it meant. The louder they screamed, the better their odds of getting a free T-shirt.
I don't know where in the fine print on the back of the ticket that's written. It's just understood. The unwritten rules of sports fans, perhaps, in between booing the road team and yelling about the ref's call when you're in the last 10 rows of the stadium.
With each Hogan wave, the crowd grew louder. The anticipation boiled. Where would I throw the shirt? The fans wanted to know. So did I.
I went with the honorable move (hey, the Ice Girls next to me were pretty cute, so it was the right play on my part) and singled out a young kid in a red sweatshirt. Of course, he was even farther away than the first guy I shorted, but no one else noticed. (Well, maybe the guy who got shorted noticed.)
One more Hogan wave.
I reared back so I could announce my presence with authority like Nuke Laloosh. Fire!
Another strike . . . not counting the five rows I was short. But hey, a straight line is a straight line. It's not as easy as it looks. And remember, I didn't have the T-shirt gun.
By this point, the T-shirt supply dwindled to memories of what could have been. That's probably a good thing since that second throw shredded whatever part of my rotator cuff still was properly attached.
Amazing command one wields when armed with free T-shirts and a large crowd willing to listen. Wars were started with less. Scary.
I worked my way from the bench to the tunnel where the visiting team exits and enters. Walking on ice just made whole again by the Zamboni man is quite difficult.
Besides, if I fell, no one would have noticed. I was out of free T-shirts by then. Persona non grata. Power trips can be so fleeting.
(Shameless plug time: Watch our night at the Islanders game on ExploreTV on Dec. 6)