“How did he get here? Why was he available for hire on such a Keystone Cops project?”
The guard gates opened after a plethora of security protocol. Fingerprints, copy of my ID, vehicle registration and insurance docs, while another guard circled my car looking inside… not exactly a search, but a look see.
Thoroughly vetted, I drove past the small lake toward the home.
A friend of mine had gotten into trouble with a job and she called in a panic for help. The design room I entered was filled with nervous women chatting because they all feared the silence of their minds.
“I bet you don’t have to introduce yourself often, my name is Hippy”.
She had appeared out of a hidden stairway and I reached out my hand to greet her.
“You a Bear fan? We have a big game tonight.”
I was wearing a Chicago Bear hat.
“I loathe the Packers ma’am.”
The next three minutes were surprisingly alert in terms of her sports knowledge.
The rest of the room went quiet, like a vacuum of anxiety.
“If you guys need anything, let Carmen know in the kitchen, thank you for your hard work” was her exit. Crisp as her entrance had been.
The silence was broken once the gaggle was sure that our client had climbed the stairs.
“How did you do that?”
The ladies were in shock that I held a casual conversation with the woman of the house.
“You’ve met her before?” was all they could come up with.
“No, the Mrs has taught her but as you ladies saw, I didn’t mention yoga.”
Nelson Mandela was visiting the home that evening for a private dinner, fundraiser. Big wigs attending to dine and social network. Wealth doesn’t do Fuckbook, but they do expensive meals.
Something just didn’t feel right about it. Sure, he controls OUR sport and is terrible at his job, but how did he get there? More importantly, why was he available for hire on such a Keystone Cops project?
Let’s assume he had some responsibility for Oprah’s programming becoming a monster hit with middle-aged white women. His association with Harpo Productions has always been his pedigree when questioned about his new vocation.
Oprah is ELo’s street cred.
But who would leave an ascending, very lucrative, high-visibility job in entertainment to run a failing sports entity with limited demographic appeal?
He didn’t even surf.
I can’t think of one incentive he could have to make that particular job switch.
The only answer to such a downward career trajectory was he was fired or given the opportunity to step away with dignity.
Nothing else makes sense. No one would trade Oprah for JMD.
Sophie maybe, you ever see her legs?
But Erik appears to be a permanent bachelor, impervious to the charms of Sophie’s feet.
I left the home that day and met a woman walking half-a-dozen dogs, her full-time job. Stunning, she towered over me and I’m 6’1”. Nordic DNA and genetically perfect, yet cold AF personality wise and there was no way I was getting her to smile.
She interrupted me petting the Labs. I do love dogs.
“We have to bathe the pets,” was all she said, humorless.
As I pulled away, I wondered if the poor dogs had to be bathed because I had touched them?
That’s when the dots connected.
The security guards at the party were female… ish.
The huge staff of house keepers were all female. Landscapers, you guessed it, all female (when have you seen female gardeners?).
Was I the only penis on the property?
Heady times.
Why would Elo leave that world to promote such a horrific schedule end at Lowers?
