Sunday, September 19, 2004

Sharpova Ramblin'

The man fraternity is standing and applauding today. We have a new hero. His name hasn’t been given, but his efforts have hit the evening news and his exploit is cheered by all of us who understand.

An 18-year old Russian male just wanted a date with the girl of his dreams. It just so happens that girl is a world-class tennis player who recently won Wimbledon and is being compared to every other sports and modeling hottie in the world. Now many folks will scoff and chide this young man for his “lack of sense” and “didn’t he know better” try at getting past security at a major tennis event to meet her. But I know, men across the country, heck, even the world are standing up and cheering this young man.

How many of us have Maria Sharapova’s in our lives? That’s a lot of hands in the air. Mine is too. Both of mine.

It was the summer of 1983. After a full-year at the University of Mississippi, the training grounds for future Miss Americas, I spent the summer taking a few classes with a friend of mine at a smaller school. Our first week of being roomies, I thought I would impress him with my Ole Miss yearbook. I started pointing out beauties and saying I had met this one and had a class with that one and had said hi to this one when Bubba (yes, his name is Bubba and he actually does high end computer stuff with EDS) says to me, “How many of these women have you asked out?”

I stammered out a very weak, “none” and tried to show him some more. Bubba politely smiled and took my yearbook and closed it. He looked at me and said, “Just talk to me about the ones you’ve actually asked out.”
Our conversation ended and we went into some other useless drivel that 19-year old boys at summer school talk about, probably when the Pizza Hut buffet started or something like that.

Now this conversation didn’t break my spirit but energized me. I learned that “no” wouldn’t kill me, especially if it came out of the mouth of a drop dead gorgeous co-ed in training for Miss America. I finished that summer dating two or three local girls on the “hot” category and headed back to Ole Miss to conquer my Sharapovas. Needless to say, I heard enough “no’s” to last me a lifetime from these gals. They didn’t deter me, but rather spurred me on, gathering courage to try. I had plenty of Sharapovas from high school and that first year of college, I didn’t need anymore.

The young lad had pure intentions to meet Miss Sharapova, when security stopped him, he had two pieces of paper and a pen. The paper allegedly had his phone number and a friend's who was with him in the stands and the invitation to a Russian restaurant in the area for their date. Supposedly, the young Russian hadn’t heard about the Monica Seles incident, he was probably 7 or 8 at the time it happened and I’m sure growing up in Russia it wasn’t the main topic in the beet patch or bread line that day.

Now I’m not condoning every man to jump a fence at a major sporting event to meet a superstar and ask for a date, but if there’s a woman in your life or work world that you dream of meeting and asking out, just do it. No doesn’t hurt, much, and certainly won’t kill you. It might get you banned for life from major sporting events and arrested if tried twice. So show enthusiasm and pick your spot. Close the yearbook of dream girls and pick up the phone.

As Bubba said, “talk to me after you ask ‘em out.” I’d like to hear your story.

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