I’m behind the bar, doing my thing, somewhat slow, a couple people at the bar. I get to chatting with this guy. Interesting fellow. I would describe him endearingly as a dick. The tables turned, he gave me shit. I screwed up on pouring the wrong beer, and he didn’t let it go, saying, first day? After much un-funny ribbing, I say to him, you don’t have a lot of insecure friends, do you? He says, yeah. We all stab each other in the back. That’s what everybody does in the business.
I find out he’s a big producer for ESPN. Traveling to Iowa City to run a Iowa Hawks game, then off to Vegas for another game, then off to blah, blah, blah. A real jet-setter.
I say, you know, I just can’t really get into sports. I feel like Will Ferrell in Zoolander when he says about Derek Zoolander’s famous looks, Blue Steel? Ferrari? Le Tigra? They’re the same face! Doesn’t anybody notice this?!? I FEEL LIKE I’M TAKING CRAZY PILLS!!! I mean, it’s guys throwing a ball around. And they make it into such a BIG DEAL.
He says, comically, Shhh-shhhhh-shhhh. Keep your voice down.
I have a big house on a golf course because of it.