Lamar's and My Worst Night of the New Year

Dear George, 

Katja had been looking forward for months to Renee Fleming’s farewell tour performance at the symphony.  I was more conflicted since the concert occurred at the same time as the NFL playoff game between the Baltimore Ravens and the Tennessee Titans.  Most experts had picked the Ravens to win the Super Bowl and Ravens quarterback Lamar Jackson to be named the league’s Most Valuable Player.  I’m not ordinarily a Baltimore fan but I joined the bandwagon this season.

The Symphony actually phoned us on Thursday, but Katja wasn’t at home and I didn’t bother to pick up.  It rained all day Saturday, and I suggested that we leave for Music Hall at 7:10 to give us plenty of time for an 8 o’clock start time.  As we walked out the door Katja asked if I had the tickets.  “No,” I said, “you have the tickets.”  “No,” she replied, “I left them right here on the counter for you.”  “I never saw them,” I said.  “I’m sure of that.”  We argued back and forth for a while.  Then it dawned on me that I’d sorted the mail on the counter, tossing most of it into the recycling bin.  I rummaged around and there at the bottom were our tickets.  Whew!

I dropped Katja at the front entrance of Music Hall and circled around to the parking garage on Central Parkway.  I gave the attendant $10 but I couldn’t understand her instructions when she gave me my ticket.  She repeated herself, but I still didn’t get it.  Finally she took the ticket back from me and held the bar code up to the scanner so that the gate opened.  I was surprised that the garage was so filled since I’d gotten there quite early, and I drove up to the top deck.  As I walked away from the car, I noticed that my front parking lights were still on.  I figured that they would go off in a second or two so I kept walking.  But they didn’t go off.  Finally I turned around and went back, wondering if I had failed to push some light switch on the dash.  We’ve only had the car for six months, and it’s still a bit mysterious.  When I sat down in the driver’s seat, I noticed that the keyless ignition button was glowing red.  The car, virtually silent, was still running.  Oh, no, not this again.  I turned the engine off, the parking lights went out, and I set off through the drizzle.  

Much to my bewilderment, the main front doors of Music Hall were locked, and nobody appeared to be in the lobby.  Were we there on the wrong night?  Fortunately a side door was open.  I had trouble getting my wet umbrella into a plastic umbrella bag, and a helpful usher held it open for me.  I put my car keys and coin purse in the basket and walked through the metal detector, but a buzzer went off and a security guy hurried over.  I stepped back, added my forgotten cell phone to the basket, and successfully passed inspection.  I showed my ticket to another usher, and she politely explained that the concert had begun at 7 p.m.  It was now 7:40.  “You aren’t the only one,” she said sympathetically, and she directed me to the Founder’s Room which was broadcasting the concert in real time.  The room was packed with latecomers.  “This is the waiting room for idiots,” I thought to myself as I found a seat in the rear.

After ten minutes the orchestra took a break while they removed a piano from the stage, and we latecomers were all encouraged to hurry to our seats.  An usher pointed Katja and myself to row M, but when we got there strange people sitting in our seats.  The concert was about to resume at any minute.  I rushed back to the usher to explain the problem.  She seemed taken aback, but she did straighten out the mix-up.

The gentleman sitting next to me was mildly amused by our late arrival.  He explained that the concert was an hour earlier than normal because many people had bought tickets for a special dinner at Music Hall after the concert.  Renee Fleming was wonderful.  The voice of an angel.  We were sad that we had missed much of her performance, and the concert seemed to very quickly.  We got up to leave, and, as we filed out of our row, I felt a tap on my shoulder.  The gentleman who’d been sitting next to me smiled and handed me my umbrella in its plastic bag.

The only redeeming note was that we would get home in time for the fourth quarter of the Ravens game.  It would probably be a blowout by the Ravens by that time, but a big victory would lift my spirits.  When we got home, much to my shock, the Ravens were losing, 28 to 6.  The final score was 28-12.  The Ravens had been overwhelming favorites, but Lamar Jackson had had his worst outing of the season.  Two interceptions, one fumble, and a quarterback passer rating of 63.2 (vs. 113 for the regular season).  A catastrophe for Baltimore fans but a fitting climax to our Saturday night.  

The way I’ve come to think of Lamar’s and my evening is that life isn’t perfect.  Most days include a blunder or two.   Occasionally, though, a whole slew of them arrive together, and that’s what happened to Lamar and me.  While I worried at the time that I was losing my mind, it’s really just a matter of probabilities.   Lamar actually had fewer blunders than I did, but they were a lot more consequential.   He took responsibility for his team’s  painful loss.  Then he added, ““I don’t really worry about what people say…We can only get better.  It’s only up from here.”  I think I will  make that my philosophy too. 

Love,

Dave