Remember your high school yearbook? Me neither, but I do remember signing them for friends (stay cool, dude!), non-friends (trying to cleverly mix the word “fart” in there somewhere) and wish-they-were-girlfriends (my phone number) like I was some sought-after athlete whose scrawl would be cherished for generations, if not days. Mine of course, would get the standard: Have a Neat Summer! (or was that Kevin Arnold?)
So, living in this fantasy land I call life (or maybe it’s the other way around), I got to dreaming what it would be like if today’s greatest athletes stopped me in some heaven-like high school hallway and asked me to sign their yearbook/media guide.
Here’s what I think I might write:Ben Roethlisberger: Yo, Ben! Dude, if you wanted to see what the inside of a Crown Victoria looks like, you could have just asked the lady! Kidding buddy, you know we’re cool like that. I can joke about you being dumb and stubborn about the helmet thing, ’cause you’re a local boy. In fact, I’m glad you’re dumb. Dumb enough to go on the road in the playoffs three straight weeks and have the gall to believe you could win. Dumb enough to be the youngest QB to win a Super Bowl. Dumb enough to take all the crap this town has thrown at you in your first two plus years with humility and class. Remember that time at the Super Bowl party with those three chicks and that midg…sorry, dude….don’t wanna get you in any more trouble, I know your mom might read this (Hi, Mrs. R!). Stay cool, dude (I should say stay dumb).
RJ Double U–as in I got double the chicks than U! haha
John Mikulik: Coach M!! Does it now stand for crazy “M” F’er? What was that thing with the umps all about? I mean WTF?? It was pretty awesome, though. It was like a Greatest Hits of all manager tirades. You had the Earl Weaver kick-the-dirt thing, the Lou Pinella cover home-plate-with-dirt special (the mud-pie was an added bonus), the Lloyd McClendon rip-the-bag-from-the-ground trick, the old Billy Martin Bat Toss; and you topped it all off with your very own Clown Dive into second base. Nice touch!
Your star student-athlete,
RJ (I always hated when you called me Robert)
P.S. — The “abortion” comment didn’t bother me, as that’s how you described my swing.
Roger Clemens: Hey Rog, old buddy! Thanks for letting me have the privilege to sign your book. I haven’t talked to you in like, the ten years since you left the Sox. I have to ask, though: you need any cookies with this milk? I mean, how long can you play this thing out? I might retire, no, yes, maybe, give me more money and I’ll think about it, Koby needs a Humvee, I ain’t goin’ on no dang road trips, oh, ok – but it’ll cost y’all. I’ll give it to ya though, the Astros bought it hook, line and sinker–like that time back in October ’86 when you told Coach Mac you had a blister, so we could sneak out of the dugout at Shea and go to that strip club…ooops, wrote too much, sorry. Those were the days, huh?
Your old pal,
Bobby Warner (I write under RJ now — aren’t I clever?)
Maria Sharapova: Dearest Maria, Have I ever told you how much you meant to me? Not only did you win Wimbledon, you won my heart. Did I ever tell you I fall asleep each night to a VCR tape of you kicking Serena’s ass in the semis? Each grunt you make brings a smile to my face. Did you ever read that poem I slipped into your tennis bag? How come you never returned my phone calls where I asked you to prom on your voice mail? I won’t be doing much this summer, so if you like, wanna hang out after England, that’d be cool – because I know you don’t do much the rest of the time you’re not at Wimbledon.
Your future husband (doesn’t sound that bad, does it?),
Whatever (or whenever) you want to call me
Brett Favre: Dude, I’m not signing this for you, just read what I wrote Clemens. Unlike you, his skills haven’t eroded to the likes of Billy Joe Tolliver. It just gets tired, Brett.
Your former friend,
Barry Bonds: No way in hell I’m paying $45,000 dollars to sign this!! but iF Any otheR idioT is dumb enough to, remember, it’s www.irs.gov to keep yourself out of trouble. Oops, too late!
Greg Anderson (it’s the only name that can save you now).
Alex Rodriguez: Dear A-Rod….have a neat summer!
In fact, everyone have a neat summer, ok?
Your friend and blogger,