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Jessica Simpson, Meet Miss Candy

Posted by Ryne E. Hancock on December 22, 2007

A year ago, this columnist was Tony Romo.

No, I wasn’t a very talented quarterback that came from nowhere and became linked with a ridiculously hot singer, but on a very small and shoestring scale.

Prior to my current position as a part-owner of this blog you’re reading now, I was doing my best to be the next Bob Costas as Fan Radio announcer for the Triple-A Memphis Redbirds.

For the better part of my time as announcer, I was always distracted by a cheerleader named Miss Candy who I met during the hottest day of the Summer in 2005 when the Redbirds faced the Round Rock Express at Autozone Park.

As luck would have it, the same day that I met her was the day that I was pressed into service as broadcaster and with the chocolate cuteness still fresh in my head, I managed to get the teams confused on the air.

Which would be the equivalent of what happened in that movie “Can’t Hardly Wait” when Ethan Embry’s character first met Jennifer Love Hewitt’s character when they were in ninth grade, only to wait four years until he could finally say what he felt to her before they graduated.

A year later, on the Fourth, with 18,302 fans in the stands and a whole lot of luck, I managed to invite Miss Candy into the broadcast booth less than a month after I admitted to openly liking her personally and a week after I spotted her up around the broadcasters’ area after the game against the Isotopes.

Instead of being calm and doing my job to the best of my ability, I found myself. thanks in part to the fact that she was sitting next to me. being heavily distracted and out of focus with what was going on with the game.

What saved me from blowing the whole thing was the fact that I was smart enough to bring some chocolates to give to her mixed in with a poem that was written by a friend of mine at a writer’s workshop.

“The title of this poem,” she said on the air to our affiliates around the region, “is ‘Feelin’ U’.”

After a minute-and-a-half of listening to her read the poem on the radio, she then turned to me as my face turned red.

“Did you write this yourself or did you find it?” she asked.

Given the fact that I was a bit punch-drunk and really didn’t know what to say, I kept trying to stammer through what I wanted to say only finding myself to say this.

“This guy wrote it,” I repeated.

When it became apparent that the chocolates were melting in the Memphis night as she opened the box, I was trying to convince her not to open it because they were melted.

“That’s fine,” she said, “Are these for me?”

“Yeah,” I said in a dry voice, “they’re for you.”

Our chaperone for the little dinner date, Sharika, who was also a high school classmate of mine at Whitehaven High School was up in the engineer’s chair gushing at the thought of the two of us together on the air.

Even though this was her first time on radio anywhere, she was much more calmer than I was when she made her final thoughts on the radio.

“Well,” she said, “it was very nice coming up here. It’s an experience I’ll never forget and uh, I’m glad you all listening were able to experience this with me.”

At the end of the broadcast, my real engineer came into the broadcast booth to help me refocus my attention to the game.

“She’s very cute and you’re very sweet,” she said to me.

“And I’m very goofy,” I said.

“We’re all are,” she said.

Four days later I would return to the broadcast booth when the Redbirds faced the Isotopes with her nowhere around the ballpark, which would be similar to Jessica Simpson’s no-show Saturday night when the Cowboys faced the Panthers for the right to earn home-field advantage.

The only difference between myself and Romo was the fact that my friend Sharika told me what Miss Candy thought of me even though for all intents and purpose I lost focus during the time she was up there.

“Well, she kept saying how sweet you were.”

Wonder if that was what someone on the Cowboys said to Romo after Jessica Simpson distracted Romo during the Cowboys-Eagles game last week.

Probably not.

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