The restaurant was a thriving hub of personalities and ambition. The wait staff of nearly two-hundred all had dreams of fame and fortune. Some, like me, wanted to be writers; others searched for their stardom from acting, modeling, costume design and make-up or stunt work. Gary wanted to be an executive, either as a director or producer, or the creative mind behind a new situation comedy or game show.
We had a lot in common; he from a small town south of Chicago, me from a small town north of Kansas City. We both had given our father’s a pledge, this allowing us five years to pan for gold on the west coast. If we didn't strike it rich, we’d return to the family business, both involving franchising restaurants. We took our swings in Hollywood and life steered us elsewhere. I thank the good Lord for making this so.
When my phone rang over the Christmas holiday, I expected it to be a family member, sending thoughts of peace and love. To my total surprise it was Gary, tracking me down through the internet. It was such a pleasure to hear his voice.
We exchanged a brief summary of our lives and congratulated one another on surviving the valleys and cresting the summits. Life was good and we’re both extremely blessed. And then he asked for my thoughts on an idea he had. I was flattered. He wants me to spitball it with him, holding nothing back. I told him absolutely.
He had bankrolled a small fortune from hotdog stands along the mid-Atlantic and desired to get back into television in some capacity. The garbage being broadcast now with the multitude of options unnerved him, especially the proliferation of substandard football bowl games. He had crunched the numbers after doing the research and saw the profits, miniscule though they were, but profits nonetheless.
His vision is to create an outlet for small collegiate and vocational schools with enrollments less than two-thousand students, completely dedicated to and for holiday viewing of football bowl games. The games will be played after their regular seasons had ended, and then aired for only a month – probably early December to early January. The sponsors will be local businesses familiar to the viewership, and will also be sold to the highest bidder for the broadcast rights. He wants to call the enterprise the “OBGYN”: Obscure Bowl Games You Need!
“Well, what do you think?” he asks. I was silently contemplating things for what must have seemed an eternity when he asked again, “Well?”
“I tell you what,” I say. “Let me do some bird doggin’ and I’ll get back to you.”
Over the past few days I’ve done the bird doggin’. Gary is in Barbados for a week or so and unable to talk this through, so I’ll just email it. When he returns, this is what I have for him: The Southwest Louisiana School for Shrimp Trawlers is a fierce competitor to the Southwest Texas School of Oil Spill Eradication. They have a long history of hostilities, usually settled at a state line tavern called “The Dorsal Fin": a good potential financier.
The Idaho Institute for Russet Potato Producers has a grievance against the Washington Academy of Red Delicious Apples, this stemming from the Washington Academy also trying to enter the chip market.
The Kentucky Coal Dusters aren’t too fond of the Illinois Inhalation Tech student body, nor does the Wisconsin Cheese Curd Pride care all that much for the Minnesota campus of the Walleye Insemination do-gooders; all lactose free.
There are hundreds more Gary, but you get the jest of it. If you’ve got the coin and want to pursue this endeavor – I’ve always said “No guts No glory.” And I’m pretty sure the name of your enterprise is already trademarked.
Great talking to you again! My consulting fee is waived. Don’t forget me when you hit it big.
