With that thought in mind, I found myself pondering the merits of playing for the upcoming Jazz game against the Sacramento Kings. After all, the Jazz have not won a game in the last seven contests. The fans are beginning to grumble. I hear them all the time. Some even go so far as to insinuate that I am the root of the problem. Blowing my pipes is viewed as bad luck in their eyes I guess. One guy asked me a question,
"Why do you only play the pipes when the Jazz Loose?" I answered,
"Hey, I play for every Jazz Game, you do the math."
It really hurts as well. I mean, I don't make squat when they loose, not that I do that well when they win either. So I have a vested interest in their success you might say.
So there I was just waiting for the mass of humanity to flow past my waiting trap. It took forever.
"Come on, Come On, I have places to be ya know! I still need to try to play for the guys up at Abravanel Hall. Let's go, let's go!"
Finally a large group of people make their way to where I am waiting patiently.
"So, who won the game guys?" I asked hesitantly.
"We don't know, they are tied and going into overtime." Came the reply.
"Overtime, are you kidding me? Don't they know who I am? Why, I have half a mind to walk right in there and give them a piece of my bagpipe's mind... OK, Bob just calm down."
It was 9:25 already and the symphony got out at 10:00. There was no time! Great beads of sweat began to break out on my forehead. I felt torn, do I stay or go? It didn't help that I had some vagrant who decided to share with me his love of bagpipes and his desire to learn, even though he had no way of paying for it. That was fine actually, if he would only let me play. But no, he just kept talking.
"Uh, I hate to be rude but I really need to warm up."
"Oh ya, right. Just go ahead. I'll just stand over her and enjoy your music."
"Fine, thank you."
I said, though I would have preferred he listen from a distance. What made it worse is that after every tune he must have felt I needed a break, because he again launched in to a tirade of questions about the pipes. Mind you, I have no problem sharing my culture and heritage, just not when I could be making money by playing my pipes for the oncoming Jazz fans. Well finally I could see the masses working their way to the exit doors of the Energy Solutions Arena.
"Finally!" I thought to myself.
As the first people came toward me I shouted,
"OK, which do I play, Victory tunes or funeral dirges?"
They gave me the thumbs up as they shouted,
"We won!"
Hallelujah, the day of miracles has come! The long drought is over, my people have been set free! Free at last, free at last. Praise the Lord my team is free at last! Of course my motivation was much different than the other Jazz fans. I couldn't give a rat's %*&&% about basketball, I just love it when the fans are happy.
And Happy they were. I played my best Jigs and Reels and they cheered and needless to say I was the benefactor. But what of the time? I looked and it was 9:55 P.M. Holy Crap! I looked and most of the crowd had come and gone, there were just a few stragglers. Do I wait, maybe pick up an extra few bucks, or race for the symphony? I made my decision and packed my pipes hastily.
As I walked, I felt my pulse quicken and my breath become labored. You see, it is virtually impossible to run in my Piper Brogues. I silently wished for a pair of Air Jordans. There it was, the final corner. If I could get there and then up the street to the hall I'd be in, like Flynn. As I rounded the corner I saw a horrifying sight. My pace slacked as I felt a wave of defeat wash over me. There striding in my direction were a few people dressed to the nines. Hesitantly I asked,
"You wouldn't be coming from the symphony by any chance, would you?"
One of the men nodded and my hopes were dashed in an instant. I had made a fatal error. I had allowed my greed to overcome my sense of prudence. Had I listened to my inner "Yogi" I would have heard the wisdom of truth.
"Stay and play, my son. One in the hand is better than a long shot at two."
Oh well, that's what life is I suppose, just a continual series of events from which we can either learn or continually be a slave to. I walked away a poorer but wiser man.
