Cool, I think.
After The Red Coats finish their number, the crowd claps, and I announce various other acts—some fellow classmates sing and play instruments, some do dance routines, the kid in the medieval jester costume actually juggles knives and flaming tennis balls, which gets Prince Tony out of his seat. PT tries to stop the juggling act, but gets booed so badly that he eventually allows the kid to finish.
When I announce the Mackin’ Mathematician, Ricky takes the stage and Franks throws a couple dozen or so cheap calculators into the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a genius here with me tonight,” Franks says.
“Yes,” Ricky says into his microphone.
“Anyone who caught a calculator can ask Ricky to multiply any number and he will do it in his head in less than five seconds—providing you with the correct answer. You are welcome to check his math using the calculators, although I assure you this will not be necessary.”
“Yes,” Ricky says, standing center stage in his tuxedo.
Franks hops off the stage and walks the cordless microphone into the audience. “Who’s first?”
Some regular-looking dude raises his hand and says something to Franks.
“Ricky, this gentleman wants to know what is one-hundred fifty-seven times five-hundred twenty-one.”
“Eighty-one thousand, seven hundred and ninety-seven. Yes.”
“Is he right, sir?” Franks asks.
The man punches the numbers into his calculator, and then nods, looking amazed.
Fifty hands go up in the air.
“One thousand, two hundred sixty-eight times one-two-nine-six-oh, Ricky.”
“Sixteen million, four hundred and thirty-three thousand, two hundred and eighty.”
“Five times nine,” some little kid wants to know.
“Forty-five,” Ricky says. “Forty-five.”
“Sixty-five times three-hundred thirteen thousand, one-hundred thirty-one.”
“Twenty million, three-hundred and fifty-three thousand, five-hundred and fifteen.”
“Five hundred and sixty-eight point thirteen times five-hundred sixty-seven point seventy-seven,” some wise guy wants to know, throwing decimals at Ricky.
“Three hundred and twenty-two thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven point seventeen.”
Ricky does several more math problems in his head—each time the difficulty is raised—and he answers all of the questions correctly, before he says, “Ricky Roberts is hungry,” and then walks offstage.
The crowd claps for Ricky, and Donna looks so proud in the first row.
There are a few more singing and dancing acts before I make this announcement: “People, it is my pleasure to introduce my good friends Chad and Jared Fox, performing The Spinners classic ‘Working My Way Back to You’ accompanied by The Hard-Working Brothers and the Childress High School cheerleaders!”
Chad, Das Boot, Jared, and The Hard-Working Brothers take the stage.
My boys look good in their tuxedos, although Jared looks like he is about to crap his pants.
The Hard-Working Brothers’ drummer starts the song and the bassist plays some funky notes.
In this really affected put-on voice, from Das Boot, Chad starts singing about how hard he’s working to get back his woman.
When his brother begins to sing, Jared starts clapping and sorta moves his weight from one foot to another.
Suddenly, the cheerleading team comes flying across the stage doing cartwheels—their skirts flying up and down.
It is the strangest thing I have ever seen.
As Jared and Chad sing, the cheerleaders do all sorts of acrobatics—throwing girls up into the air, building human pyramids, and doing spirited jumping jacks with pompoms.
People in the audience actually start to get up and dance.
My boys are a hit!
Chad is doing circles around the cheerleaders with Das Boot, singing to them.
Jared is still moving his weight from one foot to the other, backing up his more confident brother—looking sorta like he is about to have a heart attack.
And I can’t help but laugh.
When the song ends, the crowd goes wild, and Franks hands me the next note card.
I take the stage and say, “And now performing selected scenes from West Side Story, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Childress High School football team?”
Lex and a bunch of his teammates walk onto the stage wearing purple shirts and pointy dress shoes—snapping their fingers in a crouched sneaky position.
The rest of the team enters from the other side of the stage wearing the leather jackets and jeans—also snapping their fingers while in a sneaky crouched position.
What ensues is a street war orchestrated through fabulous dance moves, and set to heart-racing jazzy recorded music.
And as I watch the football team perform selected scenes from West Side Story, I am amazed by how good they are. They are frickin’ pros.
As the quicksilver of fake knives flashes, people in the audience are on the edges of their seats!
These boys were born to do musical theater!