We Can't Get No … Then the famous people arrived and made everything better by taking the heat off us rookies. Lucky, lucky day: Angelina ended up sitting right next to me. Next to her was some new child actor, Jesse James, an incredibly cute, precocious, and chatty little guy. To his left sat Edward Burns, the only person in the whole stadium special enough to warrant a real beer. Bastard.
The next two hours flew by. In one scene, in which Kane's hometown hero hits a home run, the Rolling Stones' "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" started blasting and everyone (myself included) was ordered to dance. People looked really silly, mainly because they turned the music off halfway through and we were all forced to pantomime clap and silently cheer because the sound needed to be down for the dialogue.
After shooting wrapped, Angelina and the child star joked around (with plenty of profanities coming from Jolie's bee-stung lips) as she was swarmed by high-school kids for an autograph. Luckily, I had secured mine — a manly "To Marc, Love Angelina" scribble on the back of a receipt from my wallet — almost immediately after she sat down, but I was still stuck in the middle of the throng of people trying to get closer to the glow that was Angelina.
The whole thing was surreal. The bright lights shining as people like Angelina and Ed Burns, whom I'd witnessed only in two dimensions before, suddenly sat next to me, talking about baseball and Seattle and tongues and stale popcorn. Look for me in the movie; I'm the one with the stunned expression and powdered face, fake cheering at a fake Toronto Blue Jays-Seattle Mariners game and trying really, really hard to look interested in an imaginary ball.