Dingy Ninja

Of the four favorite television shows I have, I sure don’t fit the demographic targets of one them.

"Columbo," the 1970s detective show starring Peter Falk, is one that does fit. He, like I, wears wrinkled clothes, appear scatterbrained and is forgetful. When I was a newspaper report I would always call back a source with the obligatory, “Oh, one more question…”

I also love watching “Dateline.” I’ve covered enough murder mysteries during my news career--including one that made it on Dateline--and I enjoy the storytelling techniques the NBC correspondents use to drive the show.

And the other favorite show, “The Twilight Zone”—the older 1960s version on MeTV—is a given. I greatly appreciate the writing of the show and it, like "Columbo," reminds me of earlier, better days when I was a kid.

But one show I make a point to watch is an oddity. Each Monday, I park in front of the TV and stare at “American Ninja Warriors,” the show that features people using their strengths to navigate a hellish obstacle course of balancing while running across rolling beams and small steps, swinging on trapeze-like bars over pools of water, finger-gripping along thin edges while suspended above another pool and running up a 14-foot embanked wall.

By definition of who I am, I’m the least likely to be interested in that program. I’m old and fat. I don’t enjoy getting hot and my fingers get tired typing for long period of time. I’m sure not going to able to inch my way along a ledge with them.

The only way I’d get through that is if they’d put a harness on me and lift me with a helicopter, like you see rescue teams hoisting cattle from South Dakota blizzards.

And those outfits they wear? I think it’s illegal to stuff my fat ass into shorts in at least 27 states.

My idea of an obstacle course is pulling myself up out of the couch I’ve sunken into, weaving around our coffee table in the living room, stepping over the cat that’s stretched out on the kitchen floor and popping open the refrigerator for another Pepsi. The challenge is to do that all during a commercial break so I don’t miss another contestant’s attempt.

The athletes also focus strictly on the course. I, like our friend Columbo, am always somewhat rattled. I spend a lot of time thinking of both the day’s job and future story ideas I can freelance write to the various magazines I file for.  I fret over the light bill, not working my way over a Ferris wheel-looking thing while thousands cheer and family members on video screens make that heart-shaped motion with their hands. I’d be happy with the heart-shaped hand sign for just making the house mortgage on time. Hear that, Wells-Fargo? Oh, right, because of Covid you aren't really dealing with customers much anymore and refer them instead to the automated pay system. 

(Those who are locked into the ball and chain of Wells-Fargo Home Mortgage will get that lame reference. [When I first bought a house, I was in a three-year revolving loan with Wells-Fargo, which meant every year for three years someone with the company would revolve their hand around and slap me in the face.])

American Ninja Warriors? How about American Ninja Worrier?’

So, why do I like this show so much? Maybe it’s because of the stories each contestant has. There are vignettes portrayed for each person; most have some sad story in their past that they overcome. They are tales of hope, and we sure need that now.

Maybe it’s the enthusiasm of the two anchors, Matt Iseman and Akbar Gbaja-Biamila, when people work their way through the course. These guys make a Game Seven Stanley Cup call by Doc Emrick seem like a quiet reading in a library.

Maybe it’s because the contestants are all rooting for each other and there’s no real competition between them. After watching the rough and tumble Stanley Cup series that included more skirmishes than 10-cent beer night in a Traverse City, Mich., bar last week, it was nice to see calm people.

Maybe it’s that hope. Hope that I could even dream of being healthy enough to be an American Ninja Warrior. 

Like my wife, Holly, said when watching it the other day, she’d get to the first obstacle and say, “Nope. I’m out of here” and then wave and walk off. And she’s healthy. She can get up off the couch without making grunting noises simply by standing up! Me, with my useless knees, have to push off the couch’s arm, and have that momentarily sense of weightlessness, wondering if I’m going to continue on my upward voyage, or if I’ll plop my ass back in the chair.

It’s a bad deal when climbing down that first step of the Ninja stage on the way to the course would tucker you out.

My chances of being a Ninja are Dingy, but come Monday, I’ll still be deeply immersed in the program, and the sunken sofa watching it.