By Jimmy “Hambone” Hamilton 
This is definitely not the story I intended to write. I had the other one more or less worked out in my head. Marcus Words our friend and favorite contestant would come bounding from the audition room, golden ticket in hand. High fives all around. Then we’d adjourn to the nearest watering hole for some frosty beverages while Marcus gave us his perceptions on Simon, Randy, Paula, and the whole operation. Unfortunately, that’s not the way it went down. For those just joining, let’s back up a bit. I wrote a story a few issues back about Hammerjacks, one of our favorite downtown spots for music and libation. I mentioned the talented Mr. Words who plays there Thursday nights and suggested he would do great on American Idol. For the next few weeks people kept telling him he should go to the
Registration was scheduled for Wednesday and Thursday, August 6th and 7th, beginning at 8 am. We decided to go early Thursday and let the bulk of the crowd go the day before. I made arrangements to pick Marcus up at 6 a.m. so we could be in line before the doors opened. Whenever I have to get up early, I can never get to sleep. I just know the alarm will malfunction. I must have rolled over and checked the time every 10 minutes. I finally gave up and got dressed around 5. Drank most of a pot of coffee and grabbed the cell off the charger as I headed out the door to pick him up. There was a text message from 1 am. “Can’t find my birth certificate. Need to stop at Patee Hall when it opens at 8. At least we can sleep in!”. I drank some more coffee and waited. 
We procured the document and headed down the highway. On the drive we talked about his plan for the audition. He had decided on a Phil Collins song, “Another Day in
I knew I was in trouble when they went for the walkie talkie. I suddenly had security and the PR rep in my face. They firmly explained that no media people are allowed in the building. They grabbed the ticket out of my hand, snatched the wrist band off my arm and escorted me out the door. Any attempt to report on what happens inside the doors would result in my contestant’s immediate disqualification. Wow! You would think they were guarding state secrets or something. As we headed back to town we discussed the plans for the next day. We decided to take separate cars. Marcus would go early to get in line. I’d head down mid-morning and join the media horde outside waiting for him to emerge. Thursday night’s crowd at Hammerjacks was a good one. The sign outside proclaimed him the next American Idol. Nobody inside doubted it for a minute. I got a call early Friday morning from Publisher, Jay Kerner offering to drive. He claims to never watch the show. I think he secretly has a crush on Paula Abdul. Since I couldn’t get inside, I was glad for the company. When we got to the arena, it was a different scene entirely from the previous day. Media trucks were all over. Camera crews were staked out at both the north and south entrances. I learned that all of the contestants that were turned down came out one end, while the few that were accepted, came out the other.
We spent several hours alternating between ends. On the “loser” end, the stream was nearly constant. Young people with tears in their eyes talking about the unfairness of it all. Over the course of a several hours I heard at least a hundred angry kids scream, “**** American Idol!” On the other end things were a lot quieter. A contestant bounded out every half hour or so jumping up and down. There was the David Archaletta look-alike stretching to his full 5’2 for the cameras. The Amy Winehouse wannabe, with teased hair and ridiculous eye makeup, enjoying her moment in the sun before her eventual date with her own rehab. There was the tall skinny girl from KC. Who must sing a lot better than she talks. I couldn’t make out much she was saying except how God sings through her mouth and has chosen her as this year’s winner. Had Simon been informed? Around mid afternoon Jay ran up to show me the picture on his camera. Giggling like a school girl, as he told me how he scored his coup. He was coming around the side of the arena to switch ends with me as a black limo pulled up to a side door. Ryan Seacreast ran out and stopped for a quick picture before jumping in and taking off. Other media people were furious. Nobody else had gotten a shot of him. Reps from other papers offered to buy a copy of the picture. The boss considered it, only if they agreed not to crop him out of the shot. That seemed to snuff the deals. I distinctly heard one call out, “Media Whore!” as she walked away. I bit my lip. About this time, we got a text from Marcus. He was in the last group to audition and it would probably be later this evening. Hot and tired, we decided to head back to town. I got a one word text about 9pm. “Rejected!” In retrospect, I hope the experience wasn’t a negative one for Marcus. While he won’t be making the trek to