My life in baseball
Before I get rolling, will some legal-type person tell me if I can get in trouble for writing a fake Alan Rickman blog?
I know, I know -- I'm ruining the magic. But this way, I do get credit for convincing Maureen to take her clothes off.
Yes, I had a bat, and yes, my teensy mitt swam over my teensier fingers. Maybe my dad or my brother taught me how to hit and catch, but if they did, I don't remember it. I do remember being the last kid picked for a team, always, regardless of the sport -- even kickball. And I wasn't even half bad at kickball.
Elementary school softball: nearly every time at bat, I would strike out. I'd pray the ball would hit me, because then I'd get the walk. Invariably, the team captains made me an outfielder. The other outfielder knew that if the ball popped my way, he would have to catch it or there would be a home run for sure.
That went on all through elementary school and junior high school. In high school, we had several options for physical education. I took weight training every time, which allowed me to hang out with the stoners and the cholos and the ninja-wannabes -- other guys who hated team sports as much as I did. My people.
I thought I had escaped the horrors of baseball, but in 10th grade I became involved in the B'nai B'rith Youth Organization. Our parents thought BBYO was a youth group designed to help nice young Jewish boys meet nice young Jewish girls. In reality, BBYO helped me meet other nice young Jewish boys who shared my burgeoning interest in pot and alcohol. But, wouldn't you know it, the bastards liked to play baseball on the weekends.
Week after week, I dodged the invitation, and they would manage to round out their numbers by asking cousins, little brothers, or that kid across town who did pretty good in the Special Olympics. But one weekend, I couldn't escape; they made it a point of honor. I'd be letting my brothers down.
And I thought: You're going to guilt trip me? You sons of bitches. I'll teach you what it means to let you down.
They figured it out by the end of the first inning. By the third inning, their oft-repeated refrain had become music to my ears. I've repeated it to my son and my OR nurses -- it never fails to get a laugh. Thanks guys. I can still hear your warm words of encouragement.
***
My hatred for team sports is deep and abiding.
Wait, let me qualify that. I used to enjoy watching team sports. As a ten-year-old, I liked going to high school football or basketball games, for I had discovered that I was the perfect height to collide with shorter high school girls' breasts. Crowds, man. They're a bitch.
Participation, that's what got me down. I grew up at a time when sports defined the boy, and I had a narrow definition indeed. To appreciate my problem, one needs a sense of proportion.
HOFFMAN, YOU SUCK!
D.
posted by Douglas Hoffman at 1/10/2006 09:54:00 PM
11 Comments:
I am not a lawyer, but I reckon that you would need to watch out for defamation, and for any suggestion that you were gaining pecuniary advantage by passing yourself off as Alan Rickman. Beyond that, it is going to depend upon the sense of humour of Mr Rickman, Mr Rickman's people, and possibly Mr Rickman's people's people.
Ask Scott :-)
I hear your pain. (Didn't I say that on here not long ago?) I was (am) an introvert, and had a complete lack of self-confidence as a result. I was always picked last, too.
But things changed when I got older. I participated in oddball sports, like SCA fighting, and then joined a dragonboat team, which I enjoyed immensely.
As for the Rickman thing, I think you're ok as long as it's clearly satire. But Crystal's right, you might want to ask Scott, who knows a lot about such things as 'fair use'.
Rickman was a FAKE!?!
Consider me fully dressed again. Hmmph! I don't show off my age rings for just anyone, you know.
P.S. - Doug, your readers are all perverts. I'm getting all kinds of hits from folks popping over from here hoping to see me in the raw.
P.P.S. - Does anyone else wonder if every third blog on the net might just be another one of Doug's multiple personalities?
LOL, Doug! I sympathize, totally. Though I suppose it's probably harder on a boy to suck at sports.
Like my brother, who went by such charming nicknames in school as shrimp & munchkin, and inexplicably played little league for several years, where the coach's advice was invariably for him to crouch down while batting, making his strike zone so small that the opposing pitcher could never manage to get the ball there. :)
I was always, always the last person picked for team sports in school, and considered myself unathletic. Until I joined the army & maxed every single one of my PT tests. Take THAT you taunting high school sports mutants!
No, I'm not still bitter.
crouch down while batting, making his strike zone so small that the opposing pitcher could never manage to get the ball there.
Damn! How come I never got great advice like that?
Lol, I figured out the Rickman thing the moment it appeared. That Borges quote and Bare Rump as first one to reply were dead giveaways. :-)
I had hoped the Bare Rump comment would be a dead giveaway, but some people (oh, not to name names, Maureen, Crystal) WANT to believe ;o)
I assume you're both joking, but on the off chance you aren't let me redeem myself.
Yes, I knew it was a fake. (Now Crystal, on the other hand...)
Maureen: yeah, right. You e-hussy.
Google: Hustler Magazine and Larry C. Flynt v. Jerry Falwell, 485 U.S. 46; 108 S. Ct. 876; 99 L. Ed. 2d 41, Supreme Court of the United States [1988]
You're protected as long as it's listed as a parody. And in Fox News Network, LLC, v. Penguin Group (USA), Inc., and Alan S. Franken (2003) NY State court said parody was fast and loose and did not have to be explicitly stated.
You are more likely to be in trouble with the Harry Potter people for using the Snape likeness without permission, but I doubt it, as you are not making any money off the blog.
I still think arrrrr is sexy. And your efforts to increase your own traffic through search engine karma is commendable. Panties, panties, panties.
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