Interference on the Play

I live in a small town that is regarded as a haven for the famous and sometimes, the infamous. Celebrities of all types come here to live or vacation, as we are known to give them the distance they seek, and are respectful of their privacy; they’re also attracted to the beautiful landscapes, great weather, and the company of other celebrities should they desire it. Once such celebrity lives near my home, he’s a retired athlete nearing sixty. At the height of his fame, I was too young to know of him; however his college career was spent at the same alma mater as mine, so I knew all about him long before we became residents of the same town. He has a face that’s easy to recognize and eyes that still shine when he smiles. When I see him in old photos, I can imagine the charisma exuded when he swaggered into a room.

Sometimes I see him at the grocery store, moving slow due to his numerous injuries and surgeries, or perhaps just easing through life now, without the demands of a constant cheering public wanting his valuable time. It was college gameday last season and I needed a few snacks for friends as we readied for the game (I take college football most seriously). Sporting a t-shirt with my alma mater’s logo blazed across it, I hurried through the grocery store aisles searching for the perfect condiment. As I rounded the end of one aisle, not looking ahead, I ran smack into a cart, hitting me in the side. Embarrassed, I looked up into his eyes and found instant recognition, he, of course, is used to that look and flashed a huge smile at me. “Are you okay, I didn’t see you coming,” he said. Now unaware of my pain, I turned into a 10 year old and yelped, “Do you think we’ll win today?” as I pointed to my shirt. This started a ten minute conversation in which he spoke football terms I’d never heard, and I nodded my head like a true offense aficionado. He acted as if he didn’t want me to leave. I finally became aware of the time and apologized for having to go. He held out his huge hand and introduced himself, as if I had no idea who he was, and asked for my name. I was so taken by his humbleness that I invited him back to our house to watch the game, and he was generous enough to say he’d already made plans.

As someone who is not easily star-struck, especially by sports figures or other celebrities, I was surprised by the effect this interaction had on me. It wasn’t his fame or his charisma, it was something else. It was more his enjoyment of interacting with someone who wanted nothing from him, lingering for a few moments to speak of a commonality in a place so far away from here, and discussing the hope of an upcoming season. The next weekend, due to a thoughtless moment with the media, his face was plastered in every news venue – TV, newspapers, the internet, he was everywhere. I watched as reporters hounded him, announcers made disparaging remarks, and writers ridiculed him, all in the name of getting more viewers to their market, regardless of the cost to his life. It was then that I understood why he lingered with me that day in the grocery store. Perhaps it was in the simplicity of the moment, discussing the team’s offensive tactics, that he, like me, was just a fan of the game.

It made me wonder about other times when this happens. Times when we get so caught up in the idea of something and everything that goes with it, (and wrong with it), that we forget the simple pleasure of just enjoying something of interest. Impressions and perceptions burden our experience to the point that our energy is more focused on what surrounds the event and how it is perceived, rather than just absorbing the pleasure it gives us. I try to keep that in mind now, when I start getting tangled in briars of the extraneous opinions of others, the interference, and forget my true pleasure, playing in the game of life.


--Angela Frisby