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Aug 25, 2004 I plan to watch the Republican Convention next week, but not to see President Bush take up the party mantle again and make an acceptance speech not aimed toward me. I’m tuning in for something infinitely more important—the balloon drop. Nothing says “party” like a balloon drop, and rest assured that both the Democrats and Republicans know a little something about this cherished tradition. The 2000 drops, feting George W. Bush at the First Union Center in Philadelphia and Al Gore at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, were simply joy to watch. Both were beautifully choreographed and both came off without a hitch. I still have fond memories of the 1992 drop at the end of Old Man Bush’s acceptance speech. Over 200,000 balloons, some as big as Volkswagens, cascaded from the roof of the Astrodome in Houston, in one of the biggest drops of all time. And right now, as my background on my computer, I have a shot from the 1996 Democratic Convention in Chicago, where over 100,000 balloons bombarded Bill Clinton and his minions. But there’s one balloon drop that I would have loved to have seen, and it’s because it didn’t happen. Jack Kent Cooke, the man who built the Great Western Forum for his Los Angeles Lakers in the mid-1960s, was so confident his team would beat the aging Boston Celtics in the 1969 NBA Finals that he ordered thousands of balloons prepared for a glorious celebration after winning the title in Game 7. The proud Celtics took umbrage to having to play under the clouds of balloons, and beat the Lakers in their own building to take the title. The balloons wound up at a children’s hospital, instead of on the Forum floor. There’s just something about a balloon drop that brings out the kid in me. It revs up my imagination and takes me back to simpler times. Times when ringing in the new year meant watching Guy Lombardo and his band play to the merrymakers at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, anticipating the stroke of midnight and waiting for a shower of brightly-colored, inflated latex. Or times when watching a big winner on a game show meant watching their families rush on stage to congratulate them as the floor became a bed for a bouncing rubber sea. When it goes right, it’s a sight to behold. Of course, when it goes wrong, it’s a sight best forgotten. Anyone remember how much flak the Republicans took for hosting their 1996 convention in San Diego? The balloons fell without a hitch, but with a relatively low roof, they didn’t have very far to fall. Some people still think that Bob Dole lost because of a weak balloon drop. Then there’s the balloon artist’s worst nightmare—balloons that won’t fall at all due to tangled nets, fouled ripcords or, heaven forbid, static cling. I saw that happen once on a major national charity telethon, and it wasn’t pretty. And, in a particularly bad omen for Jimmy Carter and Walter Mondale in 1980, it happened to them in New York. So I’ll skip all the hot air from the rest of the convention. I’d rather watch the real stars of the convention—the thousands of red, white and blue balloons that will fall from the Madison Square Garden ceiling—do their thing. It’s the best part of the show. ------------ About the author: Ever since he was a kid, Claxton Graham has enjoyed playing with balloons. He shares that joy with his teammates at work, who usually find their cubes filled with balloons on their birthdays. Email: scifiwriter8502@email.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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