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| Image: The big moment. Captured
in all its illegal glory by my wife. I'm not sure how many of you knew that yesterday was the official Aaron Rodgers day in Chico. I only know that because our illustrious Mayor, Ann Schwab, said so at last night's Outlaws game. Rodgers, for those of you that live under a rock (probably a native, threatened rock), is a Chicoan and NFL quarterback for the Green Bay Packers. He was a starter last year, and I assume he'll start again this coming season. My son, much to my chagrin, is a Green Bay Packers fan. I was concerned when he "selected" the Packers as his team, that he would miss out on much I've learned from football. I'm a 'Niners fan, and their decade of consistent losing seasons has really strengthened my ability to enjoy the unenjoyable. I've learned that football is not about winning or losing. It's about losing. It's about watching some other team you could care less about in the playoffs and Super Bowl. I've come to appreciate mismanagement and poor player selection during drafts. I now take joy in seeing the second half collapse of an entire offensive line. Because watching a quarterback run for his life can be very entertaining. As a Green Bay fan I thought my son might get used to winning. After their last season my concern may have been premature. But last night's game did provide us with an opportunity to collect Aaron's autograph on an old rubber football that we toss around in the pool. We thought about getting him to sign our Nerf, but it happens to be in Chargers colors. I'll get David Little to sign that one. So last night my son and I ran around Nettleton Stadium in flip-flops chasing the mysterious figure of Rodgers. He would appear on the field, and then disappear into some secret Outlaws back room. Those guys must have more underground bunkers than Saddam Hussein. I thought at first he was personally avoiding me, that perhaps like BPPC'er Jane Turney he blamed me for years of soil compaction at highway 32. Then I found myself searching for him next to Ann Schwab. She had been ditched as well. She didn't have a pen or football for him to sign, so I think she may have wanted to talk to him about sustainability. After all he does play in Green Bay. At one point during the night I used my army-learned ambush skills and positioned my son right in front of Rodgers. He signed an autograph for a woman and then side stepped my kid as a second wave of fans flooded the scene. He muttered something about "doing this later" and then deftly avoided the blitz of signature seekers. I was distraught. They should have named him Aaron Dodgers. My son was disappointed. I think he felt like he let me down by not getting the autograph. Here was this hometown hero that couldn't take a few moments to sign some footballs. Lame. Of course, I justified it in my own mind. Rodgers couldn't spend his entire life signing kid's stuff. There were adults trying to get brand new footballs signed, probably to sell on eBay, and they also crowded him. Celebrities can't be all things to all people, and maybe this guy was just having a bad day. Maybe he just wanted to spend some time at home without being chased around by 'graph grubbers. Who knows. Later as the baseball game neared its conclusion, they announced that Rodgers would be signing autographs after the game. No pictures though. So at the start of the 8th inning I got in line while my wife and son watched the remainder of the game. I have never met, or known, any true celebrities (well, I take that back, I know Anthony Watts, celeb blogger extraordinaire). I wasn't going to break my my streak of befriending only the unknown by approaching a celebrity like Rodgers. He might instantly like me and want to hang out after the game. I sent my kid up to him, with football and pen. I sent my wife to the bleachers to take a photo (breaking all laws of decency). My son approached Rodgers and spoke quietly his rehearsed line "thanks for signing my ball, I hope you have a good season next year". Just then a guy in the stadium yelled "you should play for the 'Niners". Rodgers responded "I'm glad I don't". Then the football know-it-all in the stands continued rambling about someone coaching something. The exchange stepped on my son's quiet, gracious comments. It wasn't a Mean Joe Green coke moment. It was reality. Rodgers probably gets hounded by ridiculous sports fans his whole public life. Even though it wasn't a precious moment, we did get our ball signed, unlike a host of other families with kids at the game. I appreciate that he stuck around to make that happen. The dirty, rubber, water stained sporting device is sitting on our kitchen table right now. It'll be on display next to some stuffed animals, a couple of golf discs, and some artwork from 2nd grade. During the baseball game I sat in front of Craig Rigsbee, who coached Rodgers while he was at Butte College. Rigsbee has managed to get a number of his players into the NFL. I should have asked for his autograph. He's as much a hometown hero as any player who rises to the top and signs million dollar contracts. I think there's still some room on that football. |
Aaron Dodgers
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Lon
About Me: Fasten your seatbelts for an exhilarating trip through Chico's public policy; I guarantee it's marginally better than public access TV.
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you want to meet nice celebrities? Go to Disneyland. I tell ya, that Goofy, he's a doll, came right over, put his arm around me, gave me a squeeze. And me and the Mad Hatter almost got ourselves thrown out of the California Cafe, what a riot. When we went to Mickey's house, our kids were not only outrageously gorgeous toddlers, but they were the only children in the group, so Mickey was all over them. In fact, we were the only Americans with a group of Japanese people, so it was like some kind of paparazzi event, flash, flash, flash! Somewhere in Japan, right now, people could be looking at pictures of my kids with Mickey Mouse, get out.
Course none of them can sign autographs, they just don't make pens big enough for those hands.
Good for Aaron Rodgers for at least acknowledging he has a small goofy hometown. I hope he makes a s*itload of money, and will one day sponsor a disc golf hole at the park.