I, like the many hundreds of millions of other folk, watched in amazement on tv the other day at the unfolding saga of Falcon Heene being, what we thought, swept into the air by his fathers homemade hot air balloon.

Along with 9/11, the Kennedy assassination, and the day Terry Fox died, I will remember exactly where I was the day little Falcon was abducted by a hot air balloon. It is/was that important.

I will not get into the details of what has since transpired, I would just like to concentrate only on the 1.5 hours that the universe thought Falcon was kidnapped by a hot air balloon. These are the 90 minutes I tend to believe that completely changed the entire world.

I happened to be in a bar with a lobbyist who was trying to secure a permit for a 34 lane bowling alley on ancient Indian tribal lands in NE Mitchieville when I first heard the news that a little boy was captured by a hot air balloon. I couldn’t hear the television due to the fact that some loose women were playing pool and talking really loudly, (and also the sound was off on the tube), so I could only read the ticker at the bottom of the screen. The first thing I read on CNN’s ticker was, “small child held for ransom by hot air balloon.” I was shocked, mortified, and really drunk.

When the waitress came by, I asked her if she would be a doll and turn the volume up on the TV. She obliged, but said that the TV was perched really high, so if she were to do it, I would have to hold the teetering chair while she strained to turn the volume up. I decided that this story was so important that I would put on my pants and help the waitress out. While looking up the waitresses skirt I came to two important conclusions 1) I really need to mow my lawn, and 2) 15% of the total bill is an outrageous amount to give for a tip, it should be more in the range of 8%.

After the volume came on, I found out we were about an hour into this episode. I truly thought the little boy that was seized by the hot air balloon was dead, but then I heard his name: Falcon.

From there, I knew the boy was going to be okay. Any family that would name their son after the fastest, most agile creature on earth obviously had inside information to their sons superpower abilities. Like, if the kids name was Anchor, or Sack of Potatoes, then ya, I wouldn’t have much hope for his survival, but Falcon? Please, the kid will be fine. I turned to the guy who was trying to exploit the ancient Indian tribal lands in order to build a bowling alley, and said, “I will make you a bet. I bet you that this Falcon kid will make it out alive. If I’m wrong and God takes the child to his bosom, I will let you build your 34 lane bowling alley on ancient Indian tribal lands, but if I  win, you owe me 5 cents.”

It was on.

For the next half hour we watched quietly as the news came at us like a bullet, except not as fast or deadly, so I suppose that’s a terrible comparison. But none-the-less, there was a ton of yammering about the whole thing. Then all of a sudden the balloon started to descend, the whole sad episode was about to end. I still had faith that the little boy that was lured away from his den by a hot air balloon was going to be okay.

As the balloon landed and law enforcement officials tried to stab and kill the angry, boy-snatching balloon with giant pitchforks, it was apparent Falcon had dun flew away. Falcon rules!

As the talking heads blah blahed as to the whereabouts of Falcon, I knew he was safe somewhere, perhaps among members of his own nest. My theory later proved to be correct, as Falcon was found having a shit in his garage, or something like that, I kind of lost interest after the 9th rye and ginger.

Falcon was alive and that’s all that mattered.

Children are our most precious resource, well, behind potash, oil and softwood lumber. So realistically, children are in the top ten most precious resources for sure, and that’s why I took such an interest in the whole sorry affair.

From here, there was only one last thing to do: collect my nickel. When I told lobbyist buddy to pay up, he reached into his pocket and with a smile told me he only has credit and debit cards, he doesn’t carry cash of any kind. So, in other words I said, your mouth writes cheque you can’t cash? Looks like we have ourselves a little problem here.

The night ended up on a sour note, with my fists making dead thump noises from the head and face of a fat lobbyist, but life is a lesson, we should never forget that. I’m sure fat boy won’t.

So there you have it, that’s where I was the day Falcon was shanghaied by a hot air balloon. I’m sure your memory is just as fresh, but yet I doubt it is somehow even 10% as exciting as mine. Just sayin’.

**Picture graphical from Bits & Pieces

This entry was posted on Saturday, October 17th, 2009 at 5:54 am and is filed under Animals, News. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.