We Back Up

Many years ago I started a blog. In said blog, the first, second, or third post had something to do with pet peeves. If my knowledge serves me, my pet peeves were basketball shoes outside, “warsh”, and talking about your fantasy team. 

Well, there is a new leader in the club house: 40+ year old men with E-bikes and JBL speakers on the bike trail. You are the scum of the earth. No one wants to hear your crap, and you are a danger to everyone else on the trail. You know what? That’s not a pet peeve. That’s just a real problem/concern that our city’d better deal with, or I’m going to have to dust off the hockey pads and go vigilante justice on their behinds.

My real pet peeve falls into the same category as no one cares about your fantasy team. No one cares about your dreams. In a time before fantasy football, people had these things called dreams (fantasy football is a creation of the bourgeoisie to control the proletariat). And people loved to talk about their dreams, but their audience could not care less. Now you may be asking “why are you going to tell me about your dream if no one cares, Mr. Eric?” Well, the answer is simple. I still pay for this domain, so I have to use it to justify it as a tax write-off for Bteamballer Incorporated. 

I have had two dreams of significance in my life: the Bill Murray Dream, and the Idris Elba Dream. The Bill Murray Dream will be addressed at a later date. Today we will be focusing on Idris Elba. 

In my dream, it is the ESPN Celebrity All-Star softball game that always aired after the Home Run Derby. Kenny Mayne is doing interviews with a mic and camera while people are playing in the field, and that should be the exciting part, because Kenny Mayne is my favorite Sports Center anchor of all time, but it’s not. There is something more exciting, I’m playing in the celebrity all Star game! But wait, there’s more; I’m playing in the Celebrity All-Star Game with an actor from my favorite show, HBO’s The Wire. 

Before we get too far into the story, can we celebrate the fact that I got famous enough to play in the Celebrity All-Star Game? I don’t think that ESPN is taking the 15th best electrician from a mid-size electrical contractor in Sioux Falls as a celebrity, so I must have made it big as a writer! Congrats to me!  

Side note:  Normally they play the Celebrity All-Star Game in the stadium, just in the infield. This was played at one of the Frank Olsen Park fields (specifically the one on 18th street closest to the pool), set outside of Safeco Field in Seattle (or whatever it’s currently named).

Back to the story. Idris Elba and I are on the same team, which is cool, so we should have plenty of opportunities to interact. The issue is that I am terrified. This is Stringer Bell, the coolest, smoothest man on The Wire. He doesn’t care that I have a blog with almost a dozen subscribers. So I don’t talk to him during any of the pregame rituals. 

We take the field, and Idris and I are both in the outfield. Him in center, me in left. Now, if you are a real sports/pop culture double-crossover nut like myself, this should raise two red flags. First, Idris Elba is way too famous for the Celebrity All-Star Game. Second, even if he did play, the man is British and has never thrown, caught, or hit a baseball in his life. You would not put him in center field. Hide him behind home plate. 

Anyway, Idris and I are out in the field. I’m nervous, so to break the tension, I just shout “STRINGER BELL!” He gives a slight wave and a head nod in acknowledgement. Eric, you idiot, you just blew your chance. We get three outs, I don’t speak to him, the inning ends, and we’re up to bat, which I don’t remember happening. But I do remember going back to the field for the second inning. 

I have to redeem myself. I’m gonna quote the show to prove to him that  I’m a fan. I pound my fist in my glove and shout, “I want you to put the word out there…that we back up.”

He couldn’t be any less impressed. He politely says “Oh you are a fan, nice.” But in his heart he does not care. 😦 

The next batter is up. I have to come up with a deeper cut; I just gave him a common meme anyone could regurgitate. So I hit him with the “Are you taking notes on a criminal conspiracy?” 

He was not impressed and visibly disgusted. Mr. Elba says “I get it man, you are a fan of the show. I did that a long time ago; I’ve done a lot more things since then.” 

Last side note: my first sign this was all a dream is that he’s speaking in his American accent. The man is British; he doesn’t sound like Stringer Bell in real life.

I’m devastated. Idris Elba hates me. But you know what? I don’t even care. I like the show more than I like him as a person. The next batter is up, and I word vomit “The thing about the old days is…they the old days.” 

“That’s not even one of my lines!” he shouts at me as he starts to storm off in the middle of the inning. Kenny Mayne sees a problem happening in the outfield and runs to investigate the drama. I wake up moments later. 

And that’s were our story ends. Stringer Bell will never be Slim Charles, and you should never meet your heroes. Not even in your dreams.