It was a couple of hours before my big classical music debut with the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra on Friday night and I was scrambling to get ready when tragedy reared its ugly head.
I do not know a polite way to put this so I will be blunt -- I could not find my pants. I am talking here about my one pair of "good" pants, the only pants I own that are not liberally coated with taco chip crumbs and a thick layer of snack-related grease.
From left: Goldeyes announcer Ron Arnst, Doug Speirs and assistant conductor Rei Hotoda at Hometown Heroes.
Remarkably, I remained calm and did what classical performers are trained to do in situations such as this -- I opened the bedroom door and yelled for my wife.
"HONEY, I CAN'T FIND MY GOOD PANTS!" is what I hollered.
"Look in the closet!" is what she hollered back.
"They're not in the closet," I responded, firmly.
"Yes they are."
"No they're not."
I am not a student of classical music, but I suspect major composers such as Beethoven and Mozart did not have to deal with this sort of pre-concert crisis. I will bet you Mrs. Beethoven had all kinds of pants ready for her husband to choose from before he went on stage.
I pointed this out to my wife. She did not take it well. "Maybe you should ask Mrs. Beethoven to find your pants?" she said in what I felt was a less-than-helpful tone given the gravity of the situation.
But that's not the point. The point is I was pretty pumped up when I arrived backstage to get ready for my part in the WSO's Hometown Heroes Pops program, which is an amazing show that wraps up this afternoon.
Imagine my excitement when I discovered I had -- get ready to be insanely jealous -- my very own dressing room, complete with those cool mirrors that are surrounded by dozens and dozens of lightbulbs to help you see when you apply your makeup, if you are so inclined.
Technically, I did not need a dressing room, given the fact that I had found my pants and was already wearing them. If I am going to be truthful, I did not really need pants at all because my part consists of me sitting behind a desk that hides my legs, so I could be in my underwear and the audience would be none the wiser.
Still, I sat in my dressing room for several thrilling minutes until I got lonely, then I joined everyone else in the wings to engage in a time-honoured symphony tradition -- waiting around for the show to start.
It's hard, using mere words, to convey the spine-tingling sense of excitement one experiences sitting backstage with world-class symphony musicians as they put on their high heels (this would be the women) and white dinner jackets (this would be the men) and wait for the curtain to rise on opening night, but I will try: It is very, very exciting.
"They sure sound great," I said to a stagehand as I listened to a run-through of a tune I did not recognize. "What do you call that one?"
"We call that one warming up," he said, frowning.
I had to maintain a high degree of alertness to ensure I was not skewered through an important body part because every few minutes a violinist would dart by with the pointy end of his or her bow thrust out like a duelling sabre.
My part in the show involves me and Ron Arnst, the voice of the Winnipeg Goldeyes on game days at Canwest Park, serving as baseball-style play-by-play announcers for a performance of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.
This performance pits the home team, the WSO, in a thrilling "Reality Orchestra Match" against an undefeated visiting team in the form of celebrity guest conductor Carl Topilow of the Cleveland Pops Orchestra.
Ron and I don't go onstage until the second half of the show, so I spend most of the night sitting behind the percussionist watching him jangle his triangle and battling an overpowering urge to sneak up behind him and wallop his gong, which is easily the size of several manhole covers.
Anyway, you should have seen the excitement when Ron and I did our thing. I sure wish I had. Unfortunately, to read the script, I have to take off my glasses, so when I look at the audience or the orchestra all I can see are fuzzy, random-shaped blobs.
Still, I know the crowd went wild, especially during the part where Ron, in a voice that conjures up all the sights and sounds of the ballpark, read the following line in the script: "The crowd is going wild!" and then both of us, using sweeping arm gestures, exhorted the crowd to go wild.
Later, as we strode in triumph from the stage on opening night, Ron and I exchanged high-fives with assistant conductor Rei Hotoda, who is responsible for telling us when to talk and when to shut up.
If you have never been to the symphony before, I strongly recommend you drop whatever you are doing and run out right now and buy tickets for this afternoon's performance.
Make sure to wear your good pants.
doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca
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