I used to patronize a little greasy spoon of a diner back when I was single. Despite the breakfast-served-all-day stereotype of it all, it was clean and was the kind of place known for its Vegas themed dishes like Three Aces and Deuces Wild, hobos and chicken fried steak, or country fried steak as they call it now.
Like most guys, especially single ones, I always loved breakfast food, but that wasn’t the only reason I went there. The other was Arlene, my favorite waitress. (Editor’s note: Don’t sweat it, my wife knows this story.)
Arlene was blonde and taller than me (but then, who isn’t?). She had a confident movie star look, without being gorgeous. Sort of a Tatum O’Neal look alike, but a pre-drug bust Tatum O’Neal, she was pretty and a bit snarky with occasional diffidence that might lead other patrons to think her “nothing special”. And maybe so, but there was something that made up for any hint of averageness. To me, what made her stand out was that she was chock full of attitude, and that’s probably what I liked best. Sure she’s a waitress at a diner, but she not gonna take crap from anybody, especially not you.
The first time in my life that I knew an Arlene was around age 7 or 8 when I had a babysitter named Arlene. Arlene the babysitter had a pudgy, snooty and spoiled daughter named Arlene (or Arlene Junior as I called her), and Big Arlene was for sure a big Arlene as you’d picture her. She was stocky with cheaply dyed red hair and always wearing long shorts or Capri pants or whatever was available back then to the unfashionable house women of 1979.
When we were bad sometimes she used to talk about the troll in her basement eating us. Other times, during nap time Arlene would play a recording of her fat plumber husband gurgling and growling while claiming to be the troll. The whole family was a bunch of trolls, actually.
So, yeah, I’ve got negative associations with the name Arlene, which on its own is not a pretty girl’s name. It is about equal to Ruth and slightly more alluring than Margaret or Lois. Like many a working class waitress, her name for me was “hun” or “sweetie” and she was always chewing gum while talking.
But besting the stereotype about her kind, and besting my fears about names, Arlene had little stylish ticks that just worked and did make her special. She was always pleasant to me while keeping other bozos at the diner in line if they got fresh. But really, it was the attitude that sold me. Maybe I was intrigued.
Like waitresses, people of other professions get thrown into a common box. Accountants, insurance sales people, realtors, construction workers, beauticians all get typecast in our society. Athletes are no different.
Over the last half century the stereotype, or archetype maybe, of the professional athlete has gradually moved from the true blue talisman of Ronald Reagan’s “Gipper” to dumb jock, and then onto the loud mouth baller in a Ferrari dropping hundred dollar bills like loose change. The pro athlete, in America's mind, has has gone from humble the Jimmy Stewart type to rabble-rouser.
Yet beyond stereotypes the most intriguing professionals are defined not only by their touchdowns, home runs, points scored or other statistics. They tend to be remembered by how they carry themselves. Furthermore, their style and character often redefines the sport.
Years ago, a good friend of mine referred to Lance Armstrong as “cocky”. I can’t say I’ve ever seen this in Armstrong, but if he is cocky (even a little bit), who cares. I think beating terminal cancer and winning the Tour de France seven times in a row probably affords you the right to strut your stuff and tout your cause. If Armstrong didn’t profoundly affect cycling then I don’t know who did.
In Basketball, Allen Iverson blazed trails for nearly a decade for the Philadelphia 76ers, once leading to the NBA Finals. Referred to as “irresistibly cocky” by one sports lover I know, Iverson, at 6 feet tall, is also the shortest ever player to win the NBA’s MVP award. While his star has faded and his off the court life may pose questions, in his prime Iverson always let his skills and attitude do the talking on hardwoods. Some said he was a thug and wasn’t a team player. I believe Iverson was a team player, though not a perfect one. That said, on the nights he was not in the team spirit or wasn’t getting along with coach Larry Brown, it didn’t hurt that he score 35 points and make all of his free throws to make up for it.
Philly fans, known for their own fervor, had a love/hate relationship both Iverson and another key Sixer, one Charles Barkley. Barkley was an all-star from the start, but often criticized Philadelphia for criticizing him. His physical style of play often led him to stir it up single handedly with other teams like the Detroit Pistons and the especially with their huge tough guy center, Bill Laimbeer.
I remember as a high school kid one Sunday picking up my dad’s Philadelphia Inquirer to find the front page blessed with an image that says it all about Barkley’s early days. The front page showed Barkley from behind, with his name and #34 jersey front and center. The rest showed his fist forward impacting into Laimbeer’s collapsing face. And my parents were worried about what I watched on TV.
Sixers clinch the division and Bill Laimbeer's face too.
Some classic footage can be seen here at http://www.hayag.com/w/f9874868694f490f9280488c154d3383
Barkley once said in a Nike commercial “I am not a role model”. Maybe so, but players like The Round Mound of Rebound make fans of the game pick their sides and stand with them resolutely, while tuning in for more and more games.
Even better yet is one such athlete that comes to mind who never even threw a punch: retired NBA star Charles Oakley. Joining the Chicago Bulls in 1985, Oakley was a 6 foot 9 center-forward who talked a lot and had a lot of attitude. After being traded to the Knicks, Oakley became a centerpiece of that squad and was best known not only for his rebounding but for keeping opposing player in line without ever pushing or throwing a punch. At times he seemed an expert at influencing the game through his trash talk which never came out as trash talk, calling opponents on their trash by labelling them wimps or “pseudo tough guys”.
Sure, Oakley was surrounded by hall of famer Patrick Ewing and other ‘tude purveyors like John Starks and Anthony Mason. Yet his confidence and commanding presence, his undertoned sarcasm and the fact that you couldn’t get into his head while he got to in yours, indeed made him one of the toughest players in the NBA’s 1990s era, while making him one of the most fun to watch.
Some the lessons I learned for from my favorite childhood sports heroes may be much the same as what I pick up from a favorite waitress. And it doesn’t matter if you’re an athlete or you hate sports. Take credit for your best attributes. Maintain control, strut your stuff, and if you’ve got a drive, go with it.
Andy Frye, forced into a vacation thanks to lousy information technology, is back…writing about sports and life at MySportscomplex.blogspot.com and via My Sports / Complex on Facebook and Twitter.
Writings © 2010.
