In this edition of ‘lies Carol Ann Harris told which are actually VERY easy to spot because of footage we have’, I give to you the AMAs…
Suddenly he leaped up like someone had lit a firecracker under his butt and took off after the rest of his fellow band members. Already a full minute in front of Lindsey, they were all gathered on the left side of the stage behind the podium, posing and smiling for the cameras as they waited for him to climb the flight of about fifteen stairs to join them.
And then it happened. Lindsey began to ascend the stairs. His legs looked like they were made of rubber as he started to climb: first one stair, then the next. With each step his legs were getting shakier and looser as though bones were dissolving in front of everyone’s eyes. A stunned silence fell over the auditorium as every living soul watched Lindsey’s progress in morbid fascination - for it was apparent to us all that the newly crowned guitarist of the American Music Awards’ Best Band of the Year was running a 90 percent chance of tumbling backward and landing on his ass in front of millions of TV viewers.
Too stunned to move, I started praying again. Praying that someone - anyone - from the band would go to his rescue. And, once again, my prayers went unanswered. Stevie and Christine, faces hanging slack in shock, stood in dead silence as they watched in horror his stumbling, bandy-legged ascent. Lindsey continued to climb, legs quivering… face beaded in sweat… looking like a character from a B-movie who’d been shot and was dragging out his last moments on earth as he mounted the steps to his pearly gates.
As if this spectacle wasn’t bad enough, Lindsey was not headed toward the podium on stage left. Instead, his superhuman effort was leading him to the opposite side of the stage. He was so cross-eyed, perhaps, that his line of destination was completely on the wrong side of the platform. Rising from my seat, I was on the verge of bolting to his rescue when, miraculously, he made it to the top of the stairs. Swaying and grinning like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, he made a little bow toward his captive audience and waved hello.
Throughout this nightmarish exhibition I tried to keep a smile on my face. Frozen as it might be, at least it masked the sick feeling of dread that was coursing through me like electricity. At least I hoped it did. Just as I felt as though I might scream at the band, “For God’s sake, go help him!” Mick and John raced across the stage and grabbed Lindsey by the arms, guiding him none too gently to the podium.
- Carol Ann Harris, Storms (Chapter Eight)