Down goes Brian!

I tried to be Mr. Cool.

Two weekends ago, my wife and I went out to dinner with my brother- and sister-in-law. It was a wonderful dinner with great food and conversation. As we left the restaurant, I knew the sidewalk would be slick. The falling snow had been replaced by an icy sleet. Still, I wasn’t all that worried. I would be fine.

Now my wife, that was a different story.

I worried about her sprawled out on the sidewalk. I should explain. My wife hates ice like some people have a deep hatred for loud chewing or strange smells. Years ago, when we were traveling in Hawaii, she fell, dislocating her elbow. And then three years ago on another trip, she fell and broke her wrist. Those two falls were on dry land. Throw ice into the mix and it’s a whole different issue.

Rightfully so, she hates the feeling of slipping and sliding and losing control. (I joke that she needs to watch Hollywood stunt doubles and learn how to fall on her tush. Or apologize for whatever she did to upset the Snow Miser from the cartoon, The Year Without a Santa Claus. As you might guess, she’s not a fan of either joke!)

Reaping what you sow

So as we left the restaurant, she took three small steps and I let out a little self-righteous laugh. I admit now to poking fun of her. I might have even mocked her, saying to myself: “Better get a move on grandma or we’re never gonna make it.”

And right on cue, Boom!

I went down as quick as you can snap your fingers. It’s like Karma was ready for me. He was stalking me and ready to pounce like a tiger attacking its prey. He couldn’t wait to proclaim for all to hear: “What comes around, goes around.”

We had a man down on the ground. And that man was me!

One minute I was patiently waiting. And then the next, I was on the ground rolling around like a giant tortoise, kicking my legs and trying to roll off my back. I could feel the wet slush start to seep through my jacket and jeans.

Egg on my face

My sister-in-law was behind me and let out a gasp. From down on the ground, I heard her ask if I needed help. I tried again to get off my back and this time it worked. I stood up and dusted off my wet pants. I quickly responded, “Nope, nothing to see here. All good. Let’s keep moving.”

But, of course, I was fooling no one. My brother-in-law and sister-in-law had front row seats to my spill. My wife was in front of me, but she heard my spill loud and clear. I half expected the three of them to hold up judges scorecards like in the Olympics. “Yes, the Soviet judge gives your fall a 5.6, the Norwegian judge gives you a 5.7 and a 5.9 for difficulty.” My brother-in-law was concerned that I might have broken something. Fortunately, the only thing shattered was my ego!

Rolling with the punches

I made my way carefully to our car. A million thoughts raced through my brain. Strangely enough I kept coming back to the 1973 fight between heavyweight champion Joe Frazier and contender George Foreman.

My knowledge of boxing is limited at best, but the famous bout between the two boxers played in my head. Less than two minutes into the fight, Foreman stunned Frazier with a series of punches. Then he sent him down to the canvas with a right uppercut. In the ABC television broadcast of the fight, Announcer Howard Cosell made the legendary call: “Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!”

People who weren’t even alive in 1973 are familiar with Cosell’s call. The exclamation seemed to perfectly describe my situation: “Down goes Brian! Down goes Brian! Down goes Brian!”

Yes, it served me right. Mr. Joe Cool? Oh please, give me a break. Mr. Foolish is more like it! Or even Mr. Smug Idiot!

There is one good thing about my spill. It serves as a good warning: Watch out for Karma, he’s fast and he’s quick and he’s got a nasty right uppercut!