Sorry, Bob

 “Hello, and welcome to day two of the bobsled finals in Whistler British Columbia. I’m Samantha Hartford, reporting from ESPN.”

 “And I’m Earl Waylon Skaggs. Howdy y’all, from the West Virginia Sports-o-rama.”

 “The West Virginia – what?”

 “Sports-o-rama. All the sports news worth betting on.”

 “You’re a long way from West Virginia, Earl. How did you—”

 “Well, some folks just have what it takes to go the distance.” [In a confidential undertone:] “I know a guy. Tell you later.”

 [Samantha, to the cameraman] “Can we start over? Ok, ready? Hello, and welcome to the final day of the bobsled competition, here at the Whistler Sliding Center of the Vancouver Olympics. I’m—”

 “This lovely gal is Samantha Hartford, and yours truly is Earl Waylon Skaggs, from the West Virginia Sports-o-rama. All the sports news worth betting on.”

 “Right. And I’m from ESPN. And I’ll bet that we have an exciting afternoon ahead of us.”

 “Haw! I see what you did there!”

 “Earl, would you like to tell us about the U.S. team competing here today?”

 “Nope.”

 “Okay … well … thank you for giving me the opportunity. This four-man team overcame a rocky start at the World Cup and fought their way to a top ranking. They will be the first team to compete today.”

 “Yep. I’ve also had to fight my way to the top a time or two. You should see the other fella.”

 “Speaking of getting to the top, the Whistler Sliding Center—”

 “Hold up. Did you say, Whistling Sliding Center?”

 “No. Whistler.” [sound of wolf whistle] “Not that kind of —”

 “Sliding Center? Really? Any old fool can slide. Last winter, in the church parking lot, my mother-in-law ….”  

 “I take it you don’t cover sliding sports in the West Virginia Sports-O-Rama.”

 “Oh, sure we do! My mother-in-law won me a 50 dollar bet that day.”

 “Anyway, where were we?”  [sound of wolf whistle] “Right. Speaking of getting to the top, the Whistler Sliding Center has the greatest vertical height of any Olympic track, 148 meters — that’s nearly a 500 foot drop from the starting elevation to the finish. The sledders have to navigate nearly a mile of track, including 16 curves.”

 “Hoo! That track is steep as a robber hung by his toes and twice as crooked.”

 “Well, that’s an interesting way of—"

 “I haven’t seen curves like that since my first wife fell off the fried chicken wagon."

 “Not appropriate, Earl. But you’re right, the track is very—"

 “More twists and turns than my cousin’s wedding.”

 “As I was saying, this track has a reputation for being one of the fastest in the world. Bobsled teams have reached speeds up to 92 miles per hour.”

 “That’s nothing. I got my first speeding ticket for going 104. But it was 2am on a Sunday morning, so they went easy on me.”

 “No speeding tickets for these teams, just a gold medal for the fastest!”

 “So what kind of tires do they put on these go-karts? Must have good traction to keep them on the ice.”

 “There are no wheels—Earl, do you know anything about bobsled racing?”

 “Well, sure, but if it wasn’t on Cool Runnings, I’m shooting in a dust storm.”  

“Maybe let me do the talking then? Look, the U.S. team is preparing to start. The pilot’s name is—”

 “Bob, duh.”

 “—Mike Sage, and the brakeman is—”

 “Bob.”

 “Anthony Ashcroft. Then there are two pushers and NO, THEIR NAMES ARE NOT BOB!”

 “So what are they?”

 “Xavier Gomez and … uh ... well …"

 “Spit it out, Sammy.”

“Robert Manhein.”

“Sorry, couldn’t hear you?”

“Fine, his name is Bob. And don’t call me Sammy. My name is Samantha.”

“Oh, everybody needs a nickname. Mine’s Early. Wanna know how I got my nickname?”

“No, I’d rather focus —”

“I’ll give you a hint. My first girlfriend gave it to me.”

“And they’re off!”

 “Look at that sardine can go!”

 “Made it through the first two big curves, Earl don’t you dare say anything, heading into the loop—coming up on the most dangerous stretch of the track, four curves in a row called the Gold Rush Trail. Their speed is record-breaking—Earl, be quiet—whizzing through the first two curves, running a little high on the wall of the third—oh—oh, no—"

 “Wipeout! This is better than NASCAR! Well, almost.”

 “The U.S. bobsled capsized. It doesn't look like anyone in the sled was hurt, but one of the team was thrown from the sled—”

 “Bob the Pusher. Flew like a poptart out of the toaster.”

 “Robert Manheim landed on the ice and is—”

 “Out of the fry pan, onto the floor.”  

 “—sliding down the track—”

 “Like when the midwife missed the baby.”

 “The medics are on the track, helping him up. He is limping but able to walk off the ice on his own, so that’s good news. Of course, this means the U.S. team will be eliminated.”  

 “Hear that? All you folks back home who bet on the stars and stripes, you owe me double odds.”

 “That’s—I can’t even—how dare—oh, just shut up!”

 “You know, when I was a nubbin, they used to say that so much to me that I thought it was my name. Shut Up Earl Waylon Skaggs. Got me in a heap of trouble when I started school.”

 “You know what? This will probably cost me my career, but I give up.”

 “Bingo, I win again! Great day at the races for me!”

 “With apologies to all who are watching, this is Samantha Hartford—”

 “And Shut Up Skaggs...”

 “—signing off.”  

***

 The line "steep as a robber hung by his toes and twice as crooked" comes from a story I wrote when I was 9, about a misadventure involving a girl, a bike, a famously declined San Francisco street, and a greenhouse.

I've always loved that metaphor, and I'm thankful for the chance to pull it out and give it another run.

Though it just occurred to me -- both stories involved humorously catastrophic crashes ... Hmmm.