They got me. I promised, back in January, that I wouldn't speak with the media this season. I pretty much didn't even when Diane Sawyer came to our home a week later and have been able to keep that promise to myself since.
Until this morning.
I was in the clubhouse this morning around 7:15. One of our trainers, Bing Levine, was working on my elbow, kneading it like bread dough, when I got a call on my cell phone. As I was one-handed, and it was very early, I picked up, assuming it was Vanessa. Instead, it was "Ted from Accounting" who wanted to go over my last paycheck to make sure they took out the right amount of FICA.
"Ted" had a deep, professional kind of voice. And he kept asking personal questions that had nothing to do with FICA, like if I spent my money wisely, did I use it to pay for the logo at the top of this page, would I consider donating some to his "charity for reformed former virgins."
It was around then that I realized "Ted" was either a crazy fan who somehow got my number, some other blogger or a person trying out his snarkiness. I was close. It was a Z-100 radio phone scam. After he revealed himself, I offered an embarrassed laugh and asked where they got my number. The DJ guy (I don't listen to the station) said he couldn't reveal his sources. Ha ha.
He asked me if I realized he was a member of the media and I'd broken my "sacred vow" to never speak with the media again. I responded that it was a season-long vow with an option to renew and I didn't consider a Morning Zoo disc jockey to be the media. "You're more like the cousin nobody wants around but has to put up with because you exist."
He then asked me if I'd appear on their show every week, since they weren't really The Media. I said no. They couldn't afford me. Then I told them it was time to wrap it up. I was having arm transplant surgery in an hour and the cadaver had just arrived. Right before I hung up, I heard one of the other Zookeepers mention it must have been a gorilla cadaver. Another hearty ha ha.
So they got me. They scammed me. I was punk'd. I was on Candid Camera (phone).
Bing asked who had called and I looked at him while he wrapped a steaming hot towel around my multi-million dollar elbow. "Just my cousin. I'm not talking to him anymore."
"Must've been a bad call," Bing said.
"He works in a zoo," I replied. "I hope they never let him out."
Showing posts with label fame. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fame. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Fan Fest, Day 2
I didn't plan on attending Fan Fest for a second day, especially after the problems I had on Day 1. But super agent Jack Perry told me Pepsi had a booth there and asked me to stop by and say hello. Apparently, I'm Pepsi's new golden boy, standing up against media, management and the culture in today's sportsworld of either getting arrested or speaking only in cliches. So I drove back into NYC and paid my $65 (if you didn't buy a combined Day 1/Day2 ticket for $50, you had to pay $65 for Day 2 only). I waited in line with some fans who couldn't believe I was 1) waiting in line with them and 2) actually buying a ticket. I told them I didn't think Rick would let me in unless I paid. And besides, Pepsi was going to reimburse me for parking and gas. What's one more $65 expense?
Got inside and enjoyed the swarm of fans who swarmed around me. No interns for "security." No agent or agent's wife to hold my hand and lead me through the little people who spent $65 for the priviledge of buying wet $5 hot dogs served on soft, cold buns. I felt like the Pied Piper as I made my way to the Pepsi booth, which was not where I was told it would be. 20 minutes, 200 fans and one frankfurter later I found it. It was set up so kids, or older fans, could stand at a home plate and hit hard plastic balls shot through a hole in a screen that showed video of me, Kai Goto and the rest of the team's pitchers go through our motions and fire away. I had a blast when it was my turn to bat against myself. I struck myself out on 3 pitches.
But Jimmy, what about your elbow?
It doesn't hurt when I bat. Weird. Truthfully, it doesn't hurt at all anymore. It's been a week since the scar tissue was discovered and I was told to take it easy. So my three-a-days were scaled back a bit. I will start throwing again tomorrow.
By the way, it's only 8 days until spring training. Normally, I'd be excited to go. But this stuff with my manager and GM, occassionally supplemented by interference from our owner, Mrs. Joan Delaney, has soured me a bit. But as sour as I was, standing in and around so many fans today was incredible. The support I got, the pats on the back (a few hurt because the guys patting my back were like 10 feet tall Sumo wrestlers or something), the handshakes and shouts of "Go, Jimmy, go!" were pretty cool. It kind of wiped the slate clean for me and made me feel good again. So thanks to all of you.
As an aside, I did not see Rick there. I understand he was counseling the custodial staff on the proper way to use their brooms. I hope the man is as intense about whether or not to double-switch for me in the 8th inning come September. I have a feeling he doesn't think I'll be on a mound then, at least for him. But I've made a deal with myself to make it happen. I'm going to be a factor for the team this year. I'm going to make those fans who supported me today proud.
And maybe next year I can play for free. There's got to be a way to lower the price of a ballpark hot dog. I'll do my part. You keep doing yours.
Got inside and enjoyed the swarm of fans who swarmed around me. No interns for "security." No agent or agent's wife to hold my hand and lead me through the little people who spent $65 for the priviledge of buying wet $5 hot dogs served on soft, cold buns. I felt like the Pied Piper as I made my way to the Pepsi booth, which was not where I was told it would be. 20 minutes, 200 fans and one frankfurter later I found it. It was set up so kids, or older fans, could stand at a home plate and hit hard plastic balls shot through a hole in a screen that showed video of me, Kai Goto and the rest of the team's pitchers go through our motions and fire away. I had a blast when it was my turn to bat against myself. I struck myself out on 3 pitches.
But Jimmy, what about your elbow?
It doesn't hurt when I bat. Weird. Truthfully, it doesn't hurt at all anymore. It's been a week since the scar tissue was discovered and I was told to take it easy. So my three-a-days were scaled back a bit. I will start throwing again tomorrow.
By the way, it's only 8 days until spring training. Normally, I'd be excited to go. But this stuff with my manager and GM, occassionally supplemented by interference from our owner, Mrs. Joan Delaney, has soured me a bit. But as sour as I was, standing in and around so many fans today was incredible. The support I got, the pats on the back (a few hurt because the guys patting my back were like 10 feet tall Sumo wrestlers or something), the handshakes and shouts of "Go, Jimmy, go!" were pretty cool. It kind of wiped the slate clean for me and made me feel good again. So thanks to all of you.
As an aside, I did not see Rick there. I understand he was counseling the custodial staff on the proper way to use their brooms. I hope the man is as intense about whether or not to double-switch for me in the 8th inning come September. I have a feeling he doesn't think I'll be on a mound then, at least for him. But I've made a deal with myself to make it happen. I'm going to be a factor for the team this year. I'm going to make those fans who supported me today proud.
And maybe next year I can play for free. There's got to be a way to lower the price of a ballpark hot dog. I'll do my part. You keep doing yours.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Three Faces of You
When I walk into a room or situation where human beings are present, I immediately categorize each into one of three categories:
1. People who want to be near me because of who I am
2. People who try desperately to appear normal and treat me normally
3. People who feel the need to one-up me or prove they're better than me
It comes with the territory, the way they feel and the way I react to their feelings. We're a celebrity-obsessed culture; we were before I was born. It seems worse now only because there are more outlets to express that culture - Internet, additional channel spectrum on TV, proliferation of magazines, etc. I'm a fan/geek as much as the next person, the only difference being I don't go ga-ga over baseball players.
The key to dealing with the three kinds of people listed above is to try to appear indifferent to each while in contact with them - while in contact with you. The folks in #1 desperately want to get close to me. They want to be able to tell their friends, but most important tell themselves, that they had an impact on my life. They want to go to parties at my house, have private conversations with me on our cell phones, talk to me one-on-one about...stuff. In effect, they want to feel special.
There's nothing wrong with this, by the way. Who doesn't want to feel special? Keep in mind I fall into the same three categories, only with other kinds people. So my point of view on this subject is the same as yours, but also from my own perspective, which 99.9% of the world will never really understand.
The other folks in #1 want something from me. They think I can help them. If they befriend me, which is virtually impossible to do (think about it, how many new friends have you made and kept since you got out of high school or college?), they think I'll be able to get them a job, or a phone number, or raise money for their charity, or host a dinner party in their honor at their house in front of all of their friends.
It ain't gonna happen.
Look back at previous posts. Find out how I acted when I met Steven Spielberg. I am you, people. We nearly always screw these chance meetings up. If you meet me, just ask for an autograph and move on to your inevitably more important next task in life, like curing cancer.
The people in the second category, the people who desperately try to act like they always do and treat me normally, are the easiest to get along with. Yes, there's always the unspoken "thing" between us. They always know I'm incredibly rich, incredibly famous, and one of the best pitchers to ever pick up a baseball. And I always know they know. Yet we both pretend I'm just a guy who shuns overalls. I'm just a 39 year old guy who has a wife and two kids and crazy work hours. Yeah, we share those traits in common. We can get along just fine.
Only I'm going to probably earn $17 million this year and, 6 years later, be inducted into the Hall of Fame.
You'll be scraping for pennies to send your youngest daughter, Ishtar, to her third year at Vanderbilt. And you'll be doing it under a cloak of regularness.
Let me interject quickly to state none of this means I'm better than you. We're just in different situations.
There. I don't seem like such a conceited jerk now, do I? (Vanessa implored me to put this part in. She says I seem like I'm a conceited jerk.)
The people in category #3, the ones who try to one-up me the second I'm in the room, are the hardest to deal with. There's friction. I mean no harm. None whatsoever. Chances are, I don't even want to be in the same room as you. Chances are good I'd rather be at home sleeping or playing games on my really, really big HDTV. And deep down, these people mean no harm. But they're either so unhappy with their lives, or jealous because a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/son/daughter falls into category #1 around me, that they need to try to rise above my station in life by proving their worth. These people are completely self-conscious and lacking in self-confidence. These are the ones to fear.
Category #3 people generally don't cause physical harm. Those folks, the Mark David Chapmans of the world who kill their idols, are insane. Seriously. Category #3 people are not insane. They're just immature emotionally in this one part of their personalities. Which only makes sense. How many times do most people rub elbows with mega-millionaires who are incredibly famous for achieving something 99.9% of the population doesn't have the God-given skills or passion or luck to achieve? These people overcompensate for their inability to compete at my level - which is, in the scheme of things, a very unimportant level when you think hard about it. These people try to make fun of me. Or they try to fall into category #2 but fail by explaining how I'm not as good a pitcher as someone else. Or if I'm so great, how come the team doesn't win a championship every year. Or if I'm so rich, why don't I give most of my income to charities or poor, dying children in third world nations.
The best way to deal with people from #3 is to ignore them. Find someone in category #2, who might stick up for me in a rational manner. Even someone in category #1 will come to my rescue. Of course, they'll want me to repay them by guilting me into having dinner with them at their house. (The bodies of their families are in the basement, hidden under the concrete floor. Yes, the insane Mark David Chapmans fall into category #1.)
So how do I cope? I just do. Part of the price of being someone in my situation is to shrug my shoulders and just plow ahead. There's a yin/yang principal to life, the yin being the good and the yang being the opposing force. For every good thing that happens, an opposing bad or more difficult force arises. My success, fame and fortune are the yin. Everybody else in the world is the yang.
Looks like I'm outnumbered.
I'm told this particular yang eases after retirement. I'll be no longer active, no longer in the headlines. But there will always be the three categories for the rest of my life. Retirement just gives gloss to #1, a stronger handshake to #2, and power to #3 (they're still working + I'm not = I'm a no good bum).
After I retire, investigators will one day discover my career, hidden under the concrete in the basement. At least I'll be around to positively identify it at the morgue.
1. People who want to be near me because of who I am
2. People who try desperately to appear normal and treat me normally
3. People who feel the need to one-up me or prove they're better than me
It comes with the territory, the way they feel and the way I react to their feelings. We're a celebrity-obsessed culture; we were before I was born. It seems worse now only because there are more outlets to express that culture - Internet, additional channel spectrum on TV, proliferation of magazines, etc. I'm a fan/geek as much as the next person, the only difference being I don't go ga-ga over baseball players.
The key to dealing with the three kinds of people listed above is to try to appear indifferent to each while in contact with them - while in contact with you. The folks in #1 desperately want to get close to me. They want to be able to tell their friends, but most important tell themselves, that they had an impact on my life. They want to go to parties at my house, have private conversations with me on our cell phones, talk to me one-on-one about...stuff. In effect, they want to feel special.
There's nothing wrong with this, by the way. Who doesn't want to feel special? Keep in mind I fall into the same three categories, only with other kinds people. So my point of view on this subject is the same as yours, but also from my own perspective, which 99.9% of the world will never really understand.
The other folks in #1 want something from me. They think I can help them. If they befriend me, which is virtually impossible to do (think about it, how many new friends have you made and kept since you got out of high school or college?), they think I'll be able to get them a job, or a phone number, or raise money for their charity, or host a dinner party in their honor at their house in front of all of their friends.
It ain't gonna happen.
Look back at previous posts. Find out how I acted when I met Steven Spielberg. I am you, people. We nearly always screw these chance meetings up. If you meet me, just ask for an autograph and move on to your inevitably more important next task in life, like curing cancer.
The people in the second category, the people who desperately try to act like they always do and treat me normally, are the easiest to get along with. Yes, there's always the unspoken "thing" between us. They always know I'm incredibly rich, incredibly famous, and one of the best pitchers to ever pick up a baseball. And I always know they know. Yet we both pretend I'm just a guy who shuns overalls. I'm just a 39 year old guy who has a wife and two kids and crazy work hours. Yeah, we share those traits in common. We can get along just fine.
Only I'm going to probably earn $17 million this year and, 6 years later, be inducted into the Hall of Fame.
You'll be scraping for pennies to send your youngest daughter, Ishtar, to her third year at Vanderbilt. And you'll be doing it under a cloak of regularness.
Let me interject quickly to state none of this means I'm better than you. We're just in different situations.
There. I don't seem like such a conceited jerk now, do I? (Vanessa implored me to put this part in. She says I seem like I'm a conceited jerk.)
The people in category #3, the ones who try to one-up me the second I'm in the room, are the hardest to deal with. There's friction. I mean no harm. None whatsoever. Chances are, I don't even want to be in the same room as you. Chances are good I'd rather be at home sleeping or playing games on my really, really big HDTV. And deep down, these people mean no harm. But they're either so unhappy with their lives, or jealous because a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/son/daughter falls into category #1 around me, that they need to try to rise above my station in life by proving their worth. These people are completely self-conscious and lacking in self-confidence. These are the ones to fear.
Category #3 people generally don't cause physical harm. Those folks, the Mark David Chapmans of the world who kill their idols, are insane. Seriously. Category #3 people are not insane. They're just immature emotionally in this one part of their personalities. Which only makes sense. How many times do most people rub elbows with mega-millionaires who are incredibly famous for achieving something 99.9% of the population doesn't have the God-given skills or passion or luck to achieve? These people overcompensate for their inability to compete at my level - which is, in the scheme of things, a very unimportant level when you think hard about it. These people try to make fun of me. Or they try to fall into category #2 but fail by explaining how I'm not as good a pitcher as someone else. Or if I'm so great, how come the team doesn't win a championship every year. Or if I'm so rich, why don't I give most of my income to charities or poor, dying children in third world nations.
The best way to deal with people from #3 is to ignore them. Find someone in category #2, who might stick up for me in a rational manner. Even someone in category #1 will come to my rescue. Of course, they'll want me to repay them by guilting me into having dinner with them at their house. (The bodies of their families are in the basement, hidden under the concrete floor. Yes, the insane Mark David Chapmans fall into category #1.)
So how do I cope? I just do. Part of the price of being someone in my situation is to shrug my shoulders and just plow ahead. There's a yin/yang principal to life, the yin being the good and the yang being the opposing force. For every good thing that happens, an opposing bad or more difficult force arises. My success, fame and fortune are the yin. Everybody else in the world is the yang.
Looks like I'm outnumbered.
I'm told this particular yang eases after retirement. I'll be no longer active, no longer in the headlines. But there will always be the three categories for the rest of my life. Retirement just gives gloss to #1, a stronger handshake to #2, and power to #3 (they're still working + I'm not = I'm a no good bum).
After I retire, investigators will one day discover my career, hidden under the concrete in the basement. At least I'll be around to positively identify it at the morgue.
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