Saskatchewan Roughriders quarterback Shea Patterson, who was drafted by the Texas Rangers in 2018, was a natural choice to find the plate.
So off we went to the Queen City Ex midway and, as part of the Ex-cursion, we did our utmost to destroy dishes with a projectile.
As well, we threw darts at balloons (largely in vain), aimed baseball-sized objects at beer bottles, and launched some free throws.
All in the name of redemption, from a personal perspective.
I shared my long-simmering shame with Shea as we walked around REAL District and approached the selection of midway games.
The backstory is this: In early August of 1997 — when Shea was a mere 5½ months old — I took my then-girlfriend (now my wife) Chryssoula to what was then known as Buffalo Days.
I was determined to win her affection. That seemed to be an unattainable goal at the time, so the desperation Plan B was to win her a stuffed toy that she would cuddle and cherish forever, or at least until garbage day.
As it turned out, I rolled a ball with such a bare minimum of competency that I was rewarded (?) with the non-negotiable acquisition of a snake (ewwww!) that left my date (“please don’t call me again”) suitably rattled by the utter embarrassment of it all.
In my case, then, the bar was buried somewhere near the Earth’s core as I bravely returned to the midway. As a security blanket, there was my friend Shea — a sensationally nice person who also happens to possess an impressive and multi-faceted athletic pedigree.
Before becoming a quarterback at the professional level, he played NCAA football for the University of Michigan Wolverines and at Ole Miss.
His grandfather, George Patterson, played for the National Basketball Association’s Detroit Pistons in 1967-68.
And, as referenced earlier, Shea was a 39th-round choice in the 2018 Major League Baseball draft.
His presence ensured that one of us possessed the always-important athletic cred.
The entire grand plan was conducive to success, I assured myself.
What could possibly go wrong?
Alas, my balloon burst when several balloons simply would not burst.
We tried … and tried … and tried.
“They cheated us, man,” Shea said with a chuckle. “I hit one and then tried the second one to win the teddy bear, or whatever it is. I hit it right in the middle of the balloon and it didn’t pop.”
The same thing happened to me!
I hit the balloon — dead centre — and the dart simply bounced off the target and fell harmlessly to the ground, as did my spirits.
Free throws? Same thing.
I did make one basket — a feat that was captured for all time by Digital Media Producer Blake Tiedeman, who has mastered the fine art of shooting video while walking backwards amid a throng of people — but the edited version does not show the assortment of other wayward attempts that landed somewhere near Sintaluta.
The beer bottles? Virtually unscathed by both of us. My confidence, if not the targets, ended up being shattered.
The plates? Well, I nicked a corner of one and, with the next throw, reduced the target to powder … while (ahem) actually aiming for the plate that was two feet to the left. (It’s our secret, OK?)
I was simply in shock. Shea, ever the consummate teammate, celebrated strenuously enough for both of us as I was given a choice of not-even-remotely-huge-but-infinitely-superior-to-a-snake prizes.
One life-altering, confidence-boosting decision later, I was presented with a stuffed red thingie that looked like a heart with eyeballs.
When the carnie flipped the long-awaited prize in my direction, Shea darted in front of the glazed-over recipient.
“Interception!” he exclaimed.
Shea’s midway memories don’t stretch back nearly as far as mine — my age exceeds his by nearly 33 years — but my fellow fair-goer was nonetheless nostalgic.
“It took me back to my childhood days,” he said. “I got the opportunity to experience the festival scenery and I got to play some old festival games that I hadn’t played since I was a little kid.
“It was a great time.”
A time that reminded him of the Lucas County Fair — a summertime staple in Toledo, Ohio, where he was born on Jan. 17, 1997.
“I remember going to the fair with all of my older siblings,” he said. “We’d go on the Ferris wheel and all the rides and play all those games.
“I just remember that being very enjoyable.”
Sort of like the emotionally energizing experience of breaking a plate.
“Of the eight or nine throws, the one I hit felt great,” Shea said with a laugh.
After the whirlwind, post-practice tour of the midway, Sno-Kones hit the spot on a day when the temperature soared past 30 degrees.
Our favoured flavour: Lime.
“We definitely picked the right colour — Rider green,” Shea noted.
“It had actually been a minute since the last time I’d had a Sno-Kone, so that was a big milestone with Rob.”
As a bonus, my millstone — the lingering embarrassment over the scarring snake mistake — was finally consigned to the past tense.
That was a topic of discussion as we approached our mutual workplace, Mosaic Stadium, after a midday midway visit.
Instead of a handshake, we resourcefully opted for a Sno-Kone bump, as I protectively clutched the only substantial prize of my life as a fair-goer.
“You’ve got to give that to your wife,” Shea suggested, “to make up for the snake.”
I resolved to take his advice — recognizing that a failure to do so might result in the much-beloved Chryssoula becoming my Ex.
