Well, Readers, I know that the baseball season officially ended more than a week ago (grumble, grumble, Yankees, grumble, 27 times too many, grumble, grumble, *sob*), but I just watched the Will Ferrell one man Broadway show You're Welcome, America and it reminded me of the timeless dancing fake umpire shtick. In the play (in which Ferrell performs as former president G. W. Bush, from a too-long SNL skit into a too-long stage performance) there is this really great pudgy straight man (a comment on his stature and role in the performance, not necessarily his orientation, readers) who plays a secret service agent that stands center stage during intermissions (of which there are several). He basically does a variation on the classic "dancing umpire;" gradually--imperceptibly at first--dancing along with increasing fervor to the catchy technopop music that plays between acts.
This is an age old gimmick worthy of the name Charlie O. Finley, whereby we, the unsuspecting audience (lured into thinking this is a real umpire), are supposed to be entertained by the (hilarious) goofy mascot taunting the (lame) official. At least, that's what we think we're supposed to think--but there's another layer at work here. You see, this is not the official official--it turns out he is a payed dance professional (one assumes), and the joke is actually on us (and Birdzerk also, in the above case) because that dude can totally dance his regulation polyester pants off, and the cocky mascot instigator totally gets served by the underdog fake umpire's flashy moves set to the pop styling of C + C Music Factory! A rather elaborate scenario for a little between-innings palette cleanser, don't you think? Our farm teams try so hard to make us love them. (additionally, pay special attention to what the video takers are saying--I mean, this is old hat for me, a frequent minor league patron, but their comments make it seem like they are seeing this particular scenario for the first time. At one point a woman, incredulous, asks "Are you getting this??" and then later, as if she is worried others will not believe her stories: "We should put this on YouTube!!")
Anyway, I was wondering where they recruit these fake dancing umpires: off-season dance companies? Dinner theater troupes in-between performances? Chorus line drop-outs? The random local misty-eyed dreamers? Or maybe this has become a professionalized niche demanding its own kind of training, certification and accreditation. So you could call up the Dancing Umpires Express, LLC in Chattanooga and they'd send you some headshots--you could choose from some average looking skinny guys (the lowest price range) and some huskier types (the priciest, as these would make for the best on-field deceptions). They show up, the picture of professionalism in their own standard-issue minor league regulation uniform, and the crowd totally goes for it--they are, for just a few seconds maybe, fooled into thinking that they are witnessing a pivotal moment in the life of an individual who, up until this very moment, only ever did things strictly according to the rules. For a brief moment our man would create a beautiful illusion of free spirit spontaneity breaking the surface of clench-jawed authoritarianism--like watching The Man light up a doob. Maybe Birdzirk is just the catalyst we all need to propel us into uncharacteristic fits of rule-breaking madness, throwing off the shackles of our preconceived identity roles and allowing the rhythm to take control.
Posts
