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College football, like other sports, faces an uncertain immediate future as spring practices were canceled due to the COVID-19 pandemic. That’s sent coaches and players to work from home like the rest of us and prepare for a possible season under very different circumstances than they are accustomed to.

South Carolina coach Will Muschamp is adjusting to life at home, where he hasn’t spent this much time in 25 years since he started coaching, but beyond adjusting to holding meetings via Zoom like everyone else, he wanted to find a way to help healthcare workers in the community and make sure they knew they were appreciated. As such, he partnered with Marco’s Pizza franchisee Joe Walker to launch Feed Our Heroes, a foundation formed with the Central Carolina Community Foundation to feed healthcare workers at six hospitals in the area — with hopes to expand to more — twice a week (they currently have raised funding for about two months worth of feedings at the hospitals).

Last week, Muschamp and Walker spoke with Uproxx Sports about how they came together to create this foundation, why it was important to them, life in quarantine as a football coach and pizza restaurant owner, how Muschamp is still preparing his team for the season, what he’s told NFL teams about top Draft prospect Javon Kinlaw, and more.

How did Feed Our Heroes come together and why it was so important to both of you to start this program?

Will Muschamp: Well, personally, Carol and I were talkin’, this is two weeks ago now, just about the healthcare workers — the doctors, the nurses, the medical staffs, the first responders — about how they’re on the front lines right now. They’re in the line of fire, they’re saving lives and stopping the spread of this virus, and what can we do to help. We do have some means financially to be able help and do some things, and I just started thinking about it and I’ve known Joe since we’ve been here in Columbia, and he’s a go get ‘em kind of guy. Very active in our community and cares about our community, so I just called him up with the idea of Marco’s Pizza — and you think about the number of hours these people are working, to be able to have them feed them and taken care of as best we can. It’s a very small gesture but something to help and to just say thank you. Joe ran with it from there, I just kind of called him up and donated some money to hopefully help out.

Joe Walker: Yeah, and to pick up from there, when Will reached out with his and Carol’s idea of donating a significant amount of money to feed healthcare workers across our region, you know, Marco’s Pizza already being the official pizza of the Gamecocks already had a great platform and great relationship in place to execute on an even broader plan. I suggested to Will that we use his funding not just as a one time feeding, but to seed a foundation through the Central Carolina Community Foundation here in South Carolina. Thereby we can perpetuate the feeding and allow Marco’s and potentially other restaurants in the region to continue feeding these healthcare workers and really use their dollars at the beginning of a much larger program rather than a one-time opportunity.

What has the response been and what have y’all been able to do so far, you mention you’re about a week in, what has the response been from the South Carolina community?

Walker: Overall there’s been a lot of support from the University of South Carolina from the various personalities with the program, but more important from across the community you’re seeing it gain momentum. We’ve got a local singer/songwriter, he lives in Nashville now, but Patrick Davis who’s already hosted one tele-concert and is putting on another one this weekend in support of Coach Muschamp, which has been fun to watch. We’ve seen individual donations come into the foundation and thanks to Coach and Carol and their generosity and foresight, we’ve already seen $30,000 come in which should allow for the continuation of our feeding at hospital campuses. We’re now looking at six, seven, eight weeks of continuous feeding at this point.

Muschamp: Just to be at the supermarket and have people come up and say thank you, cause my dad’s a doctor or my mom’s a nurse, they’re going through this and people have no idea. When Joe and I delivered the first deliveries to Richland Prisma, to sit there and see those nurses and how appreciative they were. I’ve had multiple healthcare people reach out to me on Twitter and say thank you for what you’re doing. It just makes you feel good and it makes them feel very appreciated of the job that they’re doing, and that’s the biggest thing for me.

Being a football coach at a big program, particularly in the South, you have a significant platform and influence. When there’s something like this that affects the community so much, do you feel a responsibility in a time like this to use that to inspire some good?

Muschamp: Absolutely. I think any time we can positively affect our community, you need to be able to do it, and using the University of South Carolina and our football program and our athletic program, there’s no doubt about it that can get you a great opportunity to reach a lot of people and make a difference. That’s what it’s all about, making a difference right here in the midlands, and I’m really excited we are able to form this thing and really appreciate Joe and his efforts to make this thing work.

For you, coach, what is the day-to-day like right now for you? Everyone’s going through having to work from home and those changes. For you, how do you navigate trying to stay prepared for a season while at home?

Muschamp: Well there’s still a lot of work. We’re working on ourselves. We got through about five days of spring practice, so I’ve reviewed that film several times [laughs]. We’re working on opponents for next year. We have position meetings five days a week where we’re on Zoom with our players and going through our installations and different concepts we’re teaching them from anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour a day. We staff meet twice a week for about an hour to go over the recruiting board and any updates on the football team we need as an entire staff.

So, there’s a lot for us. Recruiting is year-round, that’s 24/7, so you’re constantly doing that. Evaluation of film, contacting — actually April 15, today, is the first day we could call the Class of ’21 as far as calling ‘em, you could text ‘em. There’s a lot going on, and I’m getting a lot of honey-do’s around the house. I changed a lightbulb for the first time in probably 20 years today. That was a first [laughs]. There’s a lot going on I didn’t know was happening at home, I can tell you that.

I was going to ask when the last time you spent this much time at home.

Muschamp: Well, I’ve been coaching for about 25 years, so 25 years.

Joe, the pizza business is somewhat uniquely prepared in this time of takeout and delivery only, but what have y’all had to do in terms of ensuring safe practices and preparations in the kitchen and delivery during this time?

Walker: Certainly, so Marco’s corporate has done a fantastic job tracking all the mandated stipulations whether it’s the CDC or FDA, and has kept its franchisees abreast of all those policies throughout this process by way of weekly calls to make sure we’re implementing all appropriate policies for the safety of our employees, which is paramount to us, but also thinking about the consumer. Because while we’re uniquely positioned to execute on this type of model, this is a unique time for everyone and we want to make sure we’re going above and beyond what’s required to ensure the safety of our food, our employees and our customers.

Along with that, this program is obviously about helping healthcare workers and letting them know we appreciate them and are thinking of them, but also helps your employees and food workers who I think the world is recognizing as being so important to getting people food and keeping folks fed. What would you tell folks about the efforts of kitchen staff and delivery staff during all of this?

Walker: I would tell them that it’s monumental. It’s an example that I take pride in, the pride of ownership. Our employees take pride in the store level. The pride I have in the brand, Marco’s Pizza, where I have the opportunity to engage in non-profit activities at the store level and allows us to give back to the community that we serve. It really is inspiring to watch the Marco’s community come together in a time of crisis.

Last one for you, coach. The NFL Draft is coming up and you’ve got a few guys that’ll get their name called, particularly Javon Kinlaw. Have you had contact with teams asking about him, and what have you been telling them about what they’d be getting in that young man?

Muschamp: Yeah, I’ve probably talked to the whole NFL, whether it’s a general manager, assistant, or head coach. I mean, the guy, I think his best football is ahead of him. His incremental improvements from Year 1 to Year 3 was pretty large. I mean he stepped on campus at 345 (pounds) and he’s now down to about 295 and in the best shape of his life going into his senior year. He played the way you’re supposed to play as a senior, but I think his best football’s ahead of him. His block recognition continues to improve, he’s a very unusual combination of length and power and athleticism. But that length and power, you don’t find that as far as inside players.

What We Do in the Shadows (FX, 10:00 p.m.) — The vampires attend their first “Superb Owl” party while Guillermo’s search for virgins leads to a startling discovery.

Mrs. America (Hulu) — As “Stop ERA” grows and gains media attention, Betty Friedan, the mother of the feminist movement, makes it her mission to take down Phyllis.

Harry & Meghan: A Royal Rebellion (CW, 8:00 p.m.) — As Prince Harry and Meghan Markle settle into their new life in California with baby Archie, PEOPLE is taking a deep dive into the causes, fallout, and significance of this unprecedented chapter in British royal history in this two-hour special.

Survivor (CBS, 8:00 p.m.) — One castaway plays double agent and goes undercover to infiltrate a group they want to vote out. Also, one player who has been playing it cool finally goes to work to search for an idol.

The Goldbergs (ABC, 8:00 p.m.) —While throwing a telethon at their college to raise money for Earth Day, Barry attempts to woo Ren when he overpromises he can get Hall & Oates to perform.

The Masked Singer (Fox, 8:00 p.m.) —The four remaining singers battle it out in another round of smackdown.

Schooled (ABC, 8:30 p.m.) — Smitten with environmental consultant Paloma, who was hired to oversee William Penn’s Earth Day activities, CB’s feelings may change when he learns she wants to stop an important construction project at the school.

American Housewife (ABC, 9:00 p.m.) —Against Greg’s better judgment, Katie pushes Taylor to lighten up and participate in her school’s senior prank. Meanwhile, Anna-Kat asks Oliver to give Franklin a makeover so he won’t embarrass himself at a classmate’s party.

Motherland: Fort Salem (Freeform, 9:00 p.m.) —Abigail has to come to terms with her vulnerability in the aftermath of horrific events, while Tally struggles with being supportive while also keeping a secret from her unit.

Single Parents (ABC, 9:30 p.m.) —Will works through a difficult situation after he learns something about Angie’s new boyfriend, Colin, that she won’t want to hear. Meanwhile, Poppy and Douglas struggle to see eye-to-eye about their future.

Two cats from two separate households in New York City have just tested positive for COVID-19, making the cats the first two housepets to test positive for the novel coronavirus in the United States. According to CNN, the two pets exhibited mild respiratory symptoms before being tested and are expected to make a full recovery. The cats now join ranks with a tiger and a lion from the Bronx Zoo who have also tested positive for the virus since it hit New York City.

In the case of one of the cats, the test was administered by a veterinarian after showing symptoms, though it’s unclear where the cat picked up the virus, though it’s possible it could have contracted it from someone in the same household who was asymptomatic. The other cat hails from a household of someone who tested positive for COVID-19 before the cat started to show symptoms. A second cat in the same household remains asymptomatic.

Before you start freaking out and giving your pet the side-eye, don’t worry, the CDC says that so far there is little evidence to suggest that pets can infect humans with the current strain of the coronavirus, despite a few cases of reported person-to-animal infection. However, it’s probably not a bad idea to keep a close eye on where your pets roam around when they aren’t in the house. The CDC’s recommendation is that cats should be kept indoors whenever possible, and your pets should, in general, remain the recommended 6 feet from others when you’re outside of the household and refrain from spending time with people or other pets outside of your quarantine contact group.

Star Wars, what a concept!

Variety reports that Leslye Headland, the co-creator of Netflix’s Russian Doll, is working on a Star Wars series for Disney+. Little is known about the plot, other than “sources say it will be a female-centric series that takes place in a different part of the Star Wars timeline than other projects.” Headland, who also wrote and directed Bachelorette and 2015’s underrated Sleeping with Other People, is attached as showrunner and writer.

There’s no word on casting yet, but the time is now (or whenever it premieres) for Natasha Lyonne to be in Star Wars. Either that, or Columbo.

The still-untitled series joins two other Star Wars projects currently in development for Disney’s streaming service: the Obi-Wan Kenobi series with Ewan McGregor and a Rogue One prequel following Diego Luna’s character Cassian Andor. That’s on top of The Mandalorian, which was recently renewed for season three; The Clone Wars animated series (series finale on May 4, a.k.a. Star Wars Day); and the Legends of the Hidden Temple-indebted Star Wars: Jedi Temple Challenge, hosted by Ahmed Best.

By 2022, Disney+ is going to be all Star Wars and Marvel shows. Not that I’m complaining, necessarily. It beats the current strategy of Baby Yoda and not being Quibi.

(Via Variety)

Though many of us are spending much (if not all) of our days confined to our homes, we’re still trying our best help out our local bars, restaurants, distilleries, and breweries. By now, you know that all “non-essential” businesses have either been forced to shutter altogether or are only offering delivery and pick up options. This is impacting businesses all over the US in a major way. If this outbreak lasts for months, many of our favorite purveyors of spirits and beer will be out of business for good.

That’s why right now it’s vitally important to support our local brands as much as we can possibly manage. Sure, your list of “must-haves” is heavy on hand sanitizer, toilet paper, and bread. But maybe you should throw in a six-pack of locally brewed beer or a bottle of locally distilled whiskey to your next supply order.

Even though they’re mostly stuck at home, many bartenders are still doing their part to support the distilleries in their areas. To find out who they’re helping, we asked a handful of bartenders to tell us the local distilleries they’re supporting during the lockdown.

Bully Boy Distillers (Boston)

James Arensault, director of food & beverage at Harbor View Hotel on Martha’s Vineyard

I am currently and always support Bully Boy Distillers in Boston. I’m a fan of their whiskeys and growing selection of rums, gins, and vodkas. They even make a bottled old fashioned that’s perfect for quarantine drinking.

Callwood Distillery (Cane Garden Bay, British Virgin Islands)

Everson Rawlings, mixologist at Scrub Island Resort Spa and Marina in the British Virgin Islands

Callwood Distillery. It’s been open for over 400 years and still operating. It is a small handcraft operation, the smoothness and the texture work well for desserts, caramelization, and signature cocktails.

TOPO Organic Spirits (Chapel Hill, North Carolina)

Scott Daniel, bartender at The Ballantyne in Charlotte, North Carolina

We are supporting distilleries from all over North Carolina, ranging from Durham Distillery and TOPO Organic Spirits in Chapel Hill to even closer-to-home outfits such as Southern Artisan Spirits in Kings Mountain and Doc Porter’s Distillery here in Charlotte. Our pastry chefs at Gallery Restaurant are currently featuring Queen Charlotte’s Reserve Rum from Belmont’s Muddy River Distillery to give the ladyfingers in their signature Queen Charlotte dessert a boozy boost. We’re doing our best to support as many distilleries as possible during these strange times.

Dakota Spirits (Pierre, South Dakota)

Zac Johnson, general manager with JJ’s Wine, Spirits, and Cigars in Sioux Falls, South Dakota

I’m supporting Dakota Spirits out of Pierre, South Dakota, and Glacial Lakes located in Watertown, South Dakota. I’m still anxiously awaiting the opening of a distillery in Sioux Falls. Maybe after the quarantine one will open up.

Bulrush Gin (Powdersville, South Carolina)

Brandon Carter, chef at FARM in Bluffton, South Carolina

I’m supporting Bulrush Gin. I like to support people that I like. Tony’s a real good dude and his gin is super tasty too. Try the bourbon barrel-aged if you can find it.

Leopold Brothers (Denver)

Sebastien Derbomez, brand advocacy manager of William Grant & Sons

I really enjoy what the team at Leopold Bros in Denver is doing; their liqueur selection is super tasty. Their Michigan tart cherry liqueur is a great addition to many cocktails. It’s easy to support a distillery like Leopold Brothers during this crisis.

Balcones Distilling (Waco, Texas)

Jon Joseph, bartender at JL Bar Ranch, Resort & Spa in Sonora, Texas

This list could go on and on due to so many spirits and beer being made around the state at a high quality. Being out in the middle of nowhere, what is local to us? This question we have asked ourselves and decided that all of Texas is considered local. We’re always supporting Texas-made spirits from Balcones and Garrison Brothers.

Tropical Distillers (Jacksonville, Florida)

Hayden Miller, head bartender at Bodega Taqueria y Tequila in Miami, Florida

J.F. Haden’s Mango from Tropical Distillers is in the workings of a new cocktail. They strive to support local sourcing of natural mangoes. The result is a simple, solid product — a huge plus.

Still Hollow Spirits (Harman, West Virginia)

Nicole Quist, beverage director at Bartaco in Aventura, Florida

I’m based out of Northern Virginia and have stumbled upon a gem of a distillery in West Virginia – Still Hollow. All small batch production, local grain. Be on the lookout for more from them soon. At Bartaco, with our emphasis on agave spirits, we don’t always get to work with local distilleries, thus our support for local breweries. When we can, we do, and we’ve found a great partner in Jack Rabbit Hill Farm in Western Colorado. Excited to get to some South Florida distilleries later this year.

Seven Three Distilling Co (New Orleans)

Alan Walter, spirits handler at Bar Loa in New Orleans

At Bar Loa, we enjoy the Seven Three Distilling Co. in New Orleans. Their spirits pay tribute to the different neighborhoods of New Orleans. The gin is truly world-class. Balden Vodka, also in New Orleans, has a less filtered European style vodka that is delicious.

Where do the roots of the modern mockumentary begin?

It’s an oddly relevant question in a time when bingeing feel-good sitcoms seem to be our collective comfort food and we all seem to be doing our own version of talking-head confessionals on Zoom calls. Who do we thank for the straight-to-camera confessionals, the cringe-comedy, the voyeuristic shooting style that’s enticed audiences to return to these beloved TV shows? Do we look at Ricky Gervais’ British experiment, a pseudo-doc shot in an indistinct office building following a group of average workers with comedic quirks? Do we go further, to Seinfeld, the comedy about nothing, that introduced the idea of low-stakes television being used as a vehicle for multi-plot storytelling and evergreen jokes on network TV even without using the classic mockumentary style?

Maybe we go to Orson Welles and his boundary-pushing, mass-hysteria-inducing radio work of the late 1930s. He famously read a fake radio broadcast adapted from the H.G. Well’s sci-fi epic War of the Worlds on air to convince listeners that a hostile alien race had, in fact, invaded Earth. It’s the kind of screwball hijinks you might see on one of the more modern mockumentary experiments on this list – a crude joke Michael Scott might find funny, a prank David Brent might inflict on his employees, a disaster Leslie Knope might try to mitigate.

Or perhaps we jump forward, past The Rutles’ All You Need Is Cash parody to Christopher Guest – the Godfather of the mockumentary, though he’d probably hate being called that. Guest managed to popularize the genre on screen by following a group of earnest, heavy-metal rock stars on tour in 1984’s This Is Spinal Tap. A buffet of quotable dialogue, most of it improvised, and a honed ability to use the camera as a satire of the genre itself, the film launched a new wave of comedy, one that Guest has repeatedly gone back to and one that directly inspired creators like Gervais, who gave British audiences a riff on Guest’s work with The Office.

Perhaps chronicling the mockumentary’s decades-long history isn’t as important as charting its most recent evolution, from an intimate look at the trivialities of office life saturated in dry humor and wit to its Americanized predecessor, with quirky characters and a longer-running premise.

When The Office first came across the pond, it seemed dead on arrival. The insufferable nature of Gervais’ main character just didn’t translate to Steve Carrell’s Michael Scott and the plan to lift dialogue straight from its predecessor meant jokes often fell flat. It’s only when showrunner Greg Daniels suggested they lean into the likability of a cast that included Carrell, John Krasinski, Jenna Fischer, and Rainn Wilson, that the show found its groove.

“That thing was like a boot camp in learning how to write a mockumentary,” writer Dan Goor tells us. Goor would spend a short stint on the show before transitioning to Parks and Rec (and eventually, heading Brooklyn Nine-Nine). “It created a trend in sitcoms.”

At the very least, it opened the door for others to experiment with the shooting style. Goor and showrunner Michael Schur would employ some of the same techniques that endeared audiences to the employees of Dunder Mifflin in their government-centric follow-up.

“[The Office] really had a theory about how to use talking heads,” he explains. “You could use them as a shortcut for getting exposition out, because a person could literally narrate what was happening and there was comedy in that. That’s a huge advantage, especially on a show like Parks and Rec, which was about a world that people aren’t familiar with.”

This messier style of shooting also felt far-removed from the multi-cam sitcoms that had previously dominated network comedy. Shows like Friends, Cheers, and Everybody Loves Raymond were housed on well-lit stages in front of studio audiences with laugh-tracks that dictated where jokes would land. There were clear boundaries – the actors were playing to viewers, unlike mockumentaries that invited fans to feel part of the scene. Seinfeld worked to bridge that gap in many ways, slowly transitioning away from the tried-and-true model. Veep showrunner David Mandel got his start working on the show, arriving in the show’s later seasons.

“Even though it was technically a multi-cam sitcom being shot on a stage with an audience, there were huge sections of the show, week in week out, that were being shot elsewhere, as exteriors or more complicated sets,” he shares. “So, it practically was already almost like a single cam hybrid by the back end of it, even though no one was calling it that.”

Single cam may give comedy a more cinematic feel, but that’s not what appeals to mockumentary fans, or the people who create them. Looser scripts, more room for improv, and the ability to punch up the humor through quick-paced editing are all advantages of the genre.

“I think it gives you more of those moments where you can see genuine reactions from people,” says Jimmy Tatro, who’s worked on shows like Netflix’s American Vandal and created his own reality satire Real Bros of Simi Valley. “One of the cool things about American Vandal is, I wouldn’t know what they were going to ask me in the interviews, so they would get a genuine reaction from me hearing the question for the first time. I think that ad-libbing in general, it does make these things feel more real. It gives them more of an authentic vibe, more of a raw feel.”

The Office, much like the Netflix true-crime parody, would eventually evolve to become a commentary on the mockumentary genre itself, introducing fans to members of the crew that had been “shooting” the series and suggesting relationships had been formed off-camera that viewers had no idea about.

But the success of the series also meant that shows like Parks and Rec would have to evolve too. Goor says crafting a copy-cat of the workplace comedy wouldn’t have worked. Instead, Schur’s follow-up cherry-picked the best of the genre and slowly shrugged off the meta. The show’s characters still gave lively confessionals,— though those began to teeter off as fans became more familiar with the inner-working of Pawnee’s government — but eventually, the mock-doc’s presence could only be gleaned whenever Adam Scott’s character would raise a questioning brow or Aziz Ansari would direct a surprised smile to the camera.

What stuck was the use of the camera as simply another character – one that could whip, float, or accentuate a joke by directing our view to a certain interaction. Believing these shows were shot as documentaries meant creators could play a bit loose with continuity, the camera could miss something and have it be excusable.

“[On] one episode of Parks, Ron Swanson gets shot in the head with a shotgun on a hunting trip,” Goor shares. “We couldn’t break it. We just couldn’t figure out what happened next. And, one of our writers said, ‘This is a documentary and the documentary doesn’t have to see the moment he got shot. And, if the documentary doesn’t see that moment, then it’s a mystery. And then, the episode can be a mystery.’ And, that was how we cracked it. And then that was exactly what happened, that they tried to figure out who shot Ron in the head.”

Perhaps it’s that freedom that makes the style of shooting in a mockumentary so appealing, even on shows that aren’t classified as strictly part of the genre.

“Having done Curb, having done Veep, I think there’s a naturalness to it,” Mandel says. “It feels more real to me. And I don’t know whether that’s the camera movement or the editing patterns.”

Veep, like Curb Your Enthusiasm and Brooklyn Nine-Nine, is a show that employs the same frenzied camera work and quick-hitting comedy as more traditional mockumentaries, but, save for a few episodes, the shows’ characters never acknowledge why or how the audience is able to look in on their most vulnerable moments.

“As professional politicians, as incompetent as they were, had there been a crew there shooting, I think they would’ve been more self-conscious about what they allowed to go on camera or not. And I think that would’ve undone certain things,” Mandel explains.

Similarly, Goor took what he learned on Parks and adapted it to a different government workforce.

“One of the reasons we use flashbacks on Brooklyn is to have that same sort of rhythmic pop as the talking head. To be able to have a little bit of comedy at the top of the scene, and then maybe pop back for a funny flashback, and then come in and have the bulk of the scene — that was, in some ways, so we could scratch the itch we felt once we’ve lost talking heads,” Goor explains. “But yeah, I like the frenetic camera. I like the camera that can punch in, the camera that can find the joke. That sort of cinematic vocabulary of cop shows in the drama world is similar to a mockumentary camera. It’s often a little bit dirty, a little bit shaky, a little bit handheld.”

Why do some shows choose to go “all-in” with the mockumentary format while others simply borrow some of its more established techniques? It depends on the kind of storytelling the comedy wants to do. When we’re invited to share private moments in people’s lives, when the action feels more mundane, when there needs to be some excuse for the style of camera-work, shows seem to more readily fall under that mockumentary label – think #blackAF, Real Bros of Simi Valley, and Reno 911.

Kerri Kenney-Silver, who helped create one of the first cult mockumentaries for Comedy Central (Reno 911), says the idea of a pseudo-doc about a bumbling police squad in Nevada was a bit of a Hail Mary, but it ended up inviting the kind of improv the show is now known for.

“The writing process is really more about creating an outline of scenarios and letting the actors guide the story as we go,” Silver says.

Similarly, Tatro found that to be the case with his Facebook Watch series as well, adding that the cheat of using confessionals for exposition often helps jokes to land harder.

“For Real Bros of Simi Valley, there are so many improv moments that come up on set where all of a sudden we’re talking about something that isn’t in the script and we riff on that, Tatro says. “A lot of times it’s like the funnier it gets, the further away from the storyline it goes. That’s why it helps to shoot those confessionals after the fact so that we can address those moments where it kind of starts to veer off the storyline and you use it to bring it back.”

And with more mockumentaries popping up on streaming platforms where creators are given more control and leeway to tinker with how their subjects are shot and which narrative paths they want to take, expect the lines between what’s real and what’s not to blur even more in the comedy realm.

“I’m not sure anyone’s going to reinvent the wheel, but maybe there’s just a way of gussying it up a little bit so it seems a little different,” Mandel speculates. “Maybe there’s a way of putting some zooms here and there that might give you a really interesting feel that is at least different than Veep but still in the ballpark. I don’t know. I haven’t really gotten there yet.”

Wheel of Fortune is a show often defined by the failures of its contestants, but rarely does a contestant call themselves a “big loser” during taping. Enter the enthusiastic and polarizing Aurora De Lucia, who on Tuesday night became a show champion that was not afraid to let their emotions show.

De Lucia’s excitement throughout the episode even earned her a promo in some markets, which she shared on Instagram.

instagram.com/p/B_QhNtDnsua/?igshid=y1p0ze36tab8

The show’s own Twitter account noted how emotive Aurora was during her appearance, especially during a big win in the Express puzzle.

“She’s emoting, right here on stage,” host Pat Sajak said after the win, “Or molting, I’m not sure?”

The lead was enough to get her into the final bonus puzzle, where unfortunately disaster struck. She couldn’t solve “A FIRM OFFER” despite some help, which would have netted her another $37,000 in prize money. Her reaction to losing made Sajak make a joke about her possibly in labor, while she then offered a frank assessment of her own performance on the show.

“I’m a big loser,” she said. “I hope nobody watches this.”

Sajak, of course, said that he did. But the reaction, and her performance on the night, was sure to get a lot of reaction on social media. A number of Wheel watchers noted how bizarre the episode felt at times. One tweet equated it to a Saturday Night Live sketch, while others flooded Twitter asking about her hairstyle. She even defended herself on Twitter about the pigtails and took screenshots of negative reactions online.

As it turns out, De Lucia is no stranger to the game show stage. She was already a winner on The Price is Right and, according to her blog, has also appeared on Let’s Make a Deal. So it’s clear that De Lucia knows that enthusiasm is a big factor in not only getting onto a show (The Price is Right in particular) but also is a big factor in standing out to those watching. In any case, it seems she’s had fun interacting on social media with people reacting to her performance. She’s also offered some enthusiastic insight into what goes on during commercial breaks while taping episodes.

Despite declaring herself a “loser,” De Lucia is now officially a Wheel champion. And for those that were upset by the episode, unless something crazy happens she won’t be allowed back on the show anytime soon.

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With protests around the country over pandemic lockdowns, it’s clear that many Americans are frustrated—and understandably so. We’re in a frustrating situation, where leaders and public health officials have to make impossible decisions based on constantly changing data, with terrible consequences resulting from every choice.

But some folks seem to be a bit unclear on exactly what these lockdowns have been preventing. In areas that haven’t been hard hit, the measures feel like an overreaction. That’s why we need to be reminded of the real, dire human toll this virus will take if allowed to spread. And not just in numbers, which are too easy to dismiss, but in stories that describe the reality of what can happen anywhere the virus is allowed to take hold.

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Jason Hill, an ER doctor at New York Presbyterian Hospital in New York City, shared some of his personal journal entries during the peak of New York’s outbreak. They offer a painful but beautifully crafted window into why we’ve been locking down and must continue to do what it takes to keep the spread to a minimum.

Jason Hill

www.facebook.com

Dr. Hill wrote on Facebook on April 15:

“Thanks for all the bday wishes. Several people have asked me about what it’s been like in the ER with Covid. I’d done some journaling the last couple weeks. As I turn forty this is how my head, heart, and soul have been occupied.

Covid at 40.

The eyes stay with you. In peace time most of those we intubate are chronically ill, or profoundly confused, or unconscious and unaware of the world around them. Covid has changed the equation. Most of my patients now remain awake and alert until the end. These days the ER is permeated with frank conversations about death and dying and what a chance to live entails. It is a hard thing to tell a healthy and functional person who felt fine and well six days ago they may be dead in a day or two and humbly ask how aggressive they want us to be. A chance to live comes with the risk of dependence on life support and pain. The alternative is the guarantee of an imminent but peaceful death. I have never had more harrowing, more frequent, more brutally honest, more meaningful, more exhausting conversations in my life. Complete strangers open up to you in profound ways during such times and you can only hope both your expertise and your humanity serve them well. And the eyes stay with you.

For those I intubate, those who choose intubation, I often find myself having a final stare. After all the words are spoken, the decisions made, the medications drawn, the bed positioned, the tubes and drips and ventilators readied, there is a final stare. It is a stare of intention. It is a moment of humanity. It is a shared space, a hallowed space, the final moment of someone’s awareness, possibly forever. It is a space where fear and hope mingle, where autonomy fades into trust, uncertainty into acceptance, and all they have left is placed firmly in your gloved hands. It’s brief, and you’re busy, and time is essential, but you find a few seconds to share this final breath. That stare lasts a moment. That stare lasts a lifetime. And the eyes stay with you.

I see them often in my mind, and although haunting I am glad to keep them with me. I warm my hands on the raw humanity inherent in such moments and they empower me to carry on. For carry on we must because the room is full of agony and sickness and fear that must be attended to quickly and humanely.

//

I am asleep before a long night shift. I awake to the sound of cheers and yells. To hooting and hollering. To the clanging of cow bells and the banging of drums. They yell and shout and scream to honor us. They shout from rooftops and ground floors and all the windows and balconies in between. I am asleep before a long night shift. It wakes me up. I am scared shitless. I think the building is on fire. I run around panicked and confused for several minutes. Why do the fire sirens sound like drums and cowbells? Do I even have a fire escape?? WTF is going on?? Oh. Ohhhhhhh. Ok. I get it now. My heart is still racing, but now I’m grinning. Thanks. I feel grateful…mostly.

//

Oxygen Rounds is a new term we have become all too familiar with. I have a hospital full of medications. Antibiotics and anti-virals and sedatives and vasopressors and steroids and opiates. But the only truly effective medicine we have is Oxygen. We blow it at high flow rates into people’s mouths and nostrils, a crutch to help the lungs that are struggling and staggering. And it’s in a shorter supply than I’d like. It flows forever from spickets on the walls, but we have many times more patients than spickets and even fewer rooms so an ever increasing number of patients on stretchers line hallways further and further from the spickets on the walls. We place portable tanks next to stretchers, but the tanks run out and we can’t refill them fast enough. Once per hour, sometimes twice, I walk the halls, hunting for gauges approaching empty and hoping the cabinet holds a replacement. Invariably I find empty ones and hope it hasn’t been empty long. Invariably someone is turning blue. It’s no one’s fault. it’s everyone’s fault. it’s Covid’s fault. And there just aren’t enough eyes and hands to keep up. I mutter a promise to check three times next hour. I pull a step ladder from the utility closet and string plastic connecters end to end to end threading them from wall spickets through corrugated ceiling tiles to drop down above patients’ heads in the hallway so they aren’t reliant on a tank. It’s hard to tell which knob goes to who, but at least it doesn’t run out. It’s a strange time when a step ladder becomes a more useful tool than a stethoscope.

//

I admitted four of my colleagues today. Four of them. They had the usual symptoms. A week or so of cough and chills, fever and body aches, fatigue and loss of smell. They stayed at home and took Tylenol and sipped chicken soup and wondered which patient they had gotten it from. They stayed inside and washed their hands and waited to feel better. But better never came. The cough worsened, they had trouble walking around their home without getting winded, and they knew all too well what that meant, so they came, each of them, not knowing the others were doing the same. I’m in a room with four chairs housing four colleagues with oxygen flowing into their four noses. I’m used to seeing strangers, people I care about because they’re human, but a stranger still. I can maintain a detached distance. This is different. These are my friends and colleagues. These are the people I suit up with and go to battle beside. This is my team. I’ve had harrowing experiences beside them for years. They keep me sane and effective and capable. Together we’ve saved lives and lost lives and everything in between. But now they are on the other side of the curtain. Their coughs hurt my ears more, their fear becomes my fear, I check on the them to the point of harassment, can’t help it, can’t fix it, they’re on a path I can’t cure, can only support through. Can only stand beside them and hope. They try to reassure me, a strange role reversal that belies their strength. I well up with a deep respect. I well up with tears. The front line really feels like the front today.

//

The makers are my favorite people this week. Several days ago I intubated without a face shield. It was three in the morning and we had run out. There were simply more intubations than face shields and we had burned through the stash. But a patient came in and was suffocating in their own lungs and needed a breathing tube, so they got one, and they got one from me, and I did not have the proper armor. Today I stand in a room with hundreds and hundreds of face shields. They are pulled hot off the 3D printers like newspapers off a press. They are arranged on tables by volunteers who add elastic bands and attach shields to complete the ensemble. In the background the gentle hum of a dozen printers working around the clock is an echo of the thousands of engineers and designers, seamstresses and manufacturers, cooks and delivery workers and writers all contributing to the cause. Each shield is a person protected. Each volunteer is a soldier in the fight. I feel less alone.

//

Oxygen means something different in this new reality. In peace time an oxygen level below 95% is bad. An oxygen level below 95% on a non-rebreather face mask is terrifying. That’s a no-brainer. That gets fixed quickly or that gets intubated. Everything is different now. We hang facemasks of oxygen on people with 85-90% saturations for days. They are on the edge of the cliff with one foot dangling and there they stay. Will they inevitably fall off? Are we helping or merely delaying? No one knows. Ventilators are in short supply, ICU beds are full, and ICU docs are tired. We’re all tired. So we temporize, hoping a few will sneak by and not get intubated. Hoping someone doesn’t fall off the cliff when we aren’t looking. The monitors don’t help. They are all beeping and blaring all the time from every direction. The background music of a pandemic. They only tell us what we know, everyone is sick. Only our eyes and experience can help us now. I take another lap around the ER to check the cliffsides.

//

I’m baking a mask tonight. My single use N95 has been on my face for days. The backs of my ears are raw from the rubbing of its straps and my nostrils are filled with the scent of fibers mixed with my coffee flavored breath. My mask bakes and bakes, sterilizing it and killing any viral hitchhikers that attached themselves today. I wish I could do the same for someone’s lungs. It comes out warm and toasty and clean. It comes out safe. I set it on the windowsill to cool, like an apple pie from easier days. Worst desert ever.

//

All hands were on deck today. Elective surgeries have been cancelled and the surgeons and anesthesiologists and neurologists and orthopedists and urologists and rehab specialists and pediatricians have been deputized as ER and ICU docs. Urology attendings and shoulder surgeons are rounding with ICU teams, adjusting ventillators, and drawing blood gases. Pediatricians are seeing adult patients and monitoring oxygen levels. Outpatient docs are working in tents in front of the ER to decompress volume. General surgeons are going from room to room to room putting in Central lines and Arterial lines on our sickest patients. Anesthesiologists are running in to intubate. It remains busy. It remains overrun with sickness and suffering. But today we have more help. Today we have reinforcements. Today we feel like one big army devoted to one fight. Today it feels like maybe, just maybe, we can keep up.

//

Es El Fin. Today I’m a palliative care doc. This man is not doing well. This man needs intubation to survive. He’s 67 and only speaks Spanish. He’s healthy. He’s dying. His oxygen is very low. His respiratory rate is very high. He’s getting tired. He’s suffocating in his own body. He needs to be intubated. He doesn’t want to be intubated. He doesn’t want to be on a machine. We ask if we can help call his family to say goodbye. He looks at us puzzled, somehow still not fully understanding. Esta Muriendo senior. Es el fin. This is the end. He gets it. He’s stoic despite the tears. He’s strong. If this disease attacked character instead of lungs he would have a fighting chance. We set up a video call with his family. He says goodbye. They say they love him in a dozen different ways. He touches the screen. A digital hand hold in a pandemic age. We make him comfortable. He’s still drowning but he can’t feel it. He says thank you before his eyes close. I can’t help but wonder if he would have survived had he been intubated. The odds say no. The sense of defeat within me screams maybe. I try to remind myself this is what he wanted. That this is for the best. I quickly forget.

//

I give out more juice and blankets than I ever have. In peace time the ER is busy, always busy, but most people are not dying. Very few are dying, and even fewer are acutely and actively dying. The scourge of Covid has rewritten those rules. Everyone in the ER tonight is too sick to go home. Many are dying. Many will never leave the hospital. Many will never have a meal or a juice box again. In peace times I often can’t be bothered to bring someone juice. It’s not a priority. Tonight anyone asking gets juice. Even those not asking get juice. Often it’s the only comfort I can provide. A small ease of suffering. A brief distraction from the fear. It may be the last juice they ever drink. Some nights it’s the best medicine I have.

//

We had a patient tonight that impaled her hand with a crochet needle. Right through her hand. Simple stuff for us. Easy to take care of. Three of us ran over. Two more than was necessary. An orthopedist playing ICU doc was walking by. He ran over. He was excited. We were all excited. This was not Covid. This was something we could fix. We did it together. Eight hands to do the job of two. We removed the needle, help it up like a trophy, washed it off and gave it back. Our patient smiled, said thank you, and went home in one piece. It was the best we’d felt in days.

//

My colleagues are tired. The patients keep coming. The ER is wall to wall misery and mayhem. Only five people died on me today. Only five. But everyone there is dying to varying degrees and at various rates. The ER is a cross section of the disease. The well who will stay well. The well who will come back much worse. The sick who are stable. The sick who are crashing. It’s all around us. It keeps coming in through the front door. It keeps coming in through the ambulance bay. And my colleagues are tired. We give oxygen. Everyone staying gets oxygen. Needs oxygen. We try antibiotics. We try antivirals. We try hydroxychloroquine. This week we use steroids. This week we limit IV fluids. This week we give blood thinners. Does anything work? Are we saving anyone or just supporting them as they go along a path pre-determined by the virus coursing through their insides? Is the inevitable inevitable? Some days we just feel like spectators, front row observers going through the necessary motions of a play whose final act has already been written. So much death. So much dying. And my colleagues are tired. We’re all tired. And yet somehow, for some reason, I find there’s no place I’d rather be. I leave the ER, the sun has come up and I walk around enjoying its warm tendrils. Its quiet. Stores are shuddered, streets are empty, and sidewalks are bare. It seems peaceful. Its an illusion. But I appreciate it. Time to go home. Time to recharge. Tired won’t last forever. Covid won’t last forever. And there is still plenty of fight in us.”

Imagine this being your current reality, then imagine what it must be like to see people protest the measures that are keeping that reality out of other communities. We’re not doing all of this for nothing. Yes, it’s frustrating, but we face nothing but frustrating options at the moment.

Thank you, Dr. Hill, for sharing your experiences and for doing your best to save lives. Let’s hope people see the warning in your words and act accordingly.