It was nearly four months now since Alec Caraway, representing the Angels of Mercy Children’s Charity had approached Kermit and the other Muppets about hosting a twenty-four hour live Marathon show. It was sure to be a fantastically difficult undertaking and Kermit had been more than a little reluctant to take it on, despite the glowing reputation of the charity. He’d listed his objections calmly and very specifically, secure in the knowledge that most networks would be reluctant to give up that much airtime. Mr. Caraway had nodded thoughtfully, apparently noting Kermit’s objections, then he went off and handily overcame them. Kermit was not privy to the actual effort involved, but the energetic, warm-eyed philanthropist proved himself quite convincing and persistent. NBC had offered them a spot stretching from late Saturday to Sunday night. Gentle-natured Kermit had nothing on the ability to resist abject pleading possessed by the average television executive.
So it was on with the show. Early on, poor Kermit had had a bit of a panic on discovering the show was going to be a live broadcast. It had taken Fozzie and Rowlf the better part of an afternoon to talk the frog out of changing his name to Steve and moving to Canada. They had relied heavily on logic to soothe his jangled nerves.
“It’s cold up there!” Fozzie waved his arms in an unconscious imitation of Kermit.
“You don’t really look like a Steve.” Rowlf offered calmly, his entire demeanor in stark contrast to the other two.
“They have snow all year round! And polar bears! Mean ones!”
“That’s true, Fozzie, and you know Kermit, Steves have troubles too. It’s not all sunshine and lollypops being a Steve.”
“You’d need a better coat! And snowshoes! And what about the French! What if they want to eat your legs?!” Kermit made a face at Fozzie, who was disconcertingly genuine in his concern.
“You do look more like a Steve than a Philip though.”
“You think?” Fozzie left off his dire warnings about Northern wildlife to consider the issue.
“Sure, look at the eyes.”
“I dunno. Maybe we should get a second opinion.”
“Good idea. Hey, Miss Piggy?” Kermit waved his arms in a desperate gesture to ward off Piggy’s involvement.
“Mmmhmmm?” she greeted them sweetly, eyeing her frog in a speculative manner not entirely different than a French chef might.
“Do you think Kermit look more like-”
And so on and so forth until everyone was debating the issue the frog had sullenly agreed to stay, “before I end up being Mortimer the Amphibian Impersonator.”
After all, the show was not all bad news. The publicity would be good for them, assuming nothing horrible happened to any of the guest stars. Also, the Muppet Madness Marathon would allow (i.e. force) them to use those acts that were seldom seen, rarely seen, and never shown in the regular show. It was a wonderful time to be an acrobatic penguin or a singing mushroom. In the end, Kermit had quietly stocked up on headache medicine and coffee before throwing himself headlong into the project. Once he decided on something, anything, that he considered important, Kermit was relentless in his choice. This was no different, and he had been working himself to exhaustion in the process of getting the marathon together. His closest friends were almost relieved that he would be getting away from the theatre for a while. A whirlwind tour wasn’t the most restful of experiences, but at least he would be too busy to worry for a while and Kermit would have nothing to do but sleep during the traveling.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The door swung quietly closed with an ominous finality. It was official. The Frog had left the building. A familiar, almost friendly sense of barely controlled panic settled in immediately afterwards.
“So now what do we do?” Zoot drawled lazily, voicing the unspoken thoughts of the entire cast and crew of The Muppet Show. Scooter stared at his battered clipboard, hesitating. What would Kermit do? Rowlf and Fozzie looked at Scooter, then looked at each other and shrugged.
When the uneasy silence dragged on just a bit too long, it was Rizzo, small of body and large of voice, who snapped, “Let’s get this rehearsal on the road!” Gonzo opened his mouth and the rat hastily added, “the proverbial road! Not an actual road, people. Honestly…” and so he continued in like fashion, muttering to himself as he headed off to round up his rat compatriots.
A stock market of exchanged glances whipped around backstage for a second after his departure before the unlikely crew of entertainers scattered to their individual tasks. Unnoticed, Miss Piggy edged open the door to her dressing room and watched the frenetic activity unfold below her. After a moment, she turned her gaze to the table where Kermit’s cup sat in its customary place, waiting patiently for his return. She sighed mournfully before brusquely ducking back in her dressing room. Something had to be done about her costume for the Best of Broadway medley. Too many feathers in all the wrong places. Makes me look like a turkey, albeit a graceful, stunning, fabulous turkey.
“Mayhem band to the pit for Pachelbel’s Canon in D!” Scooter called brightly in Floyd’s general direction.
“Heh, heh, you mean Pachelbel’s Cannon in D- struction,” Dr. Teeth chuckled, beckoning to the other players. “Let us away to our stations.”
“PACHELBEL! WAH-HA-HA!”
Small crashes and complaints reached Scooter’s ears seconds later. “Whoops,” he sighed, “House lights up! And could someone move the bicycles?” The go-fer couldn’t resist a cheery smile. They had a show to put on in two days, and a massive project rapidly approaching, The Marathon. It was going to be an organizational nightmare and he couldn’t be happier about the challenge ahead.
