What I wanted to say to LT — The REAL LT
March 3rd, 2007 | by LA Bob |
A few days before this last Christmas, I was slogging my way though the American Airlines gate area at LAX at the beginning of my almost-annual holiday trek to New Jersey to visit my only beloved daughter, her Jerzoid husband, my karate-kid grandson and my ballerina-princess granddaughter. This trip is a bit of a chore, though always a pleasure. The chore part stems from the airlines’ refusal to acknowledge the height, width and circumference of 70% of Americans. I do not fit in airplane seats and even though I had a first class ticket, I wasn’t looking forward to the 5 1/2 hours ahead of me.
Brooding over this as I reached my gate area, I spotted a giant African American gentleman, dressed chin-to-toe in what appeared to be custom-fitted black silk, no socks, expensive-looking black shoes and tasteful jewelry, including a diamond stud in his right ear, 1 carat at least.
There was an empty seat next to him, so I sat down in it, thinking I might get some commiseration on my airline-seat woes. The guy didn’t notice me and seemed preoccupied with his portable dvd player and his collection of Star Trek disks. For the first time, I took a close look at his face. All of a sudden, the size of this man, his clothes, his jewelry and why he was watching dvds with sunglasses on, all made sense.
He was Lawrence Taylor.
LT. The first, last and only LT in my book. I mean, how do you take the world-famous nickname of a Hall of Fame linebacking legend and hand it to that running back from San Diego like it was a quarter you found on the sidewalk? If I was LaDainian Tomlinson, I would insist the world call me LDT out of respect for Taylor. Period.
Anyway. I chose, as an opening line, something I thought might amuse LT, him being a guy who gets recognized and approached a lot,
“Excuse me — are you the real LT or do you just get falsely accused of being him by white people?”
He smiled, looking mostly unamused, and chuckled politely, “Both.”
I then said I wouldn’t go all star-struck and take his picture and start a crowd, since before I showed up he had successfully gone unrecognized in the gate area. He said that he appreciated that, and that he could often pop in a dvd, even nap behind his shades, and have some time to himself.
Unfortunately, that was my cue to shut up. That was my cue NOT to say any of the things a real fan of the real game of professional football would REALLY LIKE to say to one of the game’s real heroes. And not just a hero. Right there next to me was a guy who not only played the game I love, he CHANGED it. Like Russell, Jabbar, Johnson, Jordan changed their game. Like Ruth, Aaron, Cobb, Rose changed theirs.
I wanted to ask him a million questions: How did he like the 2007 rule book? How did he like having to bring a pillow, a blankie, warm milk and a bedtime story to legally blitz a 2007 quarterback? How did he feel about guys like Chad “Ocho Cinco” Johnson or Terrell “TO” Owens, and the sideshow clownery that now encrusts the game, much of it instigated, proliferated and glorified by the NFL’s OWN TV NETWORK? A million questions.
Instead, I kept my mouth shut, and hoped against hope that LT’s airplane seat was the first class aisle seat next to mine. On the plane, I reasoned, he might relax and open up and talk a little. So I sat there for 45 minutes, next to a living legend, and said nothing, while LT appeared to be napping. And I hoped.
It was not to be. Eventually, the podium lady announced a gate change. Her gate was for my flight through Dallas to Newark, and anybody waiting to board the Miami flight should move to the next gate down. Dashing my hopes that I would soon be buying him an onboard drink and settling in for the best airplane ride of my life, LT stood up and said, “Miami. That’s me.” I was surprised and startled at how sad and disappointed I felt. I barely got the chance to shake his hand and wish him a happy holiday.
Did you ever find yourself in a situation where time or circumstance or slow thinking prevented you from coming up with exactly the right thing to say until it was too late to say it and the opportunity was lost?
This was precisely one of those times. What I should have said, before I shut up and let him sleep, was:
“Before I shut up and leave you alone, I’d just like to say thank you. Thanks for playing the game the way it’s supposed to be played, no excuses asked, none given. Thanks for understanding and demonstrating that the way to win games is to break down the opponent, and the way to break down the opponent is to break his will to fight, and the way to do that is to instill fear and inflict pain. Thank you for passing on your respect for the game and your love for your teammates to those who have studied your career. Most of all, thank you for the sheer delight it was to watch you play your position and dominate a game like nobody else.”
If I had said that, I would have felt better about not getting to share an airplane ride with Lawrence Taylor.
Saying it now helps a little.
