Now, many of you know my complete apathy for sports in general and you might say, "Why a baseball shirt, dude?" Well, others of you probably know my middle name is Sheffield. It's my mom's maiden name and I was the only brother lucky enough to get it. I take pride in it and when I found a shirt with the name on it for eight bucks, I snapped it up.
However, it has become a problem. I'm contemplating not even wearing the stupid thing in public any more. Wearing the shirt causes two things I don't like: #1 - It makes people talk to me - scary people. #2 - It makes me lie.
Incident #1 - A month ago I was standing in line at my local Subway, just wanting to buy my footlong chicken, bacon, ranch on wheat and get back to work. Behind me I hear, "We oughta cut that dude." I turn around and there's a short, stocky guy with bloodshot eyes and a long, bristly goatee standing behind me saying, "We oughta just cut that freakin' guy." I had no idea what he was talking about. He seemed so grim and angry at first, I thought he was threatening me in the third person or something. (Something only an English teacher would consider, I suppose.) But I saw him gesture to my shirt and I realized he was talking about Gary Sheffield. So the number one thing I don't like had already happened: a scary guy was talking to me. Then the number two thing I don't like happened: I started lying (or, more accurately, started pretending I knew my head from a hole in the ground when it comes to sports and that I care.) "Yeah, dude, I know what you mean. The boys sure aren't making anyone happy this year, that's for sure," I say. I knew that the Tigers were off to an awful start and that people were mad about it. I still don't know if Gary Sheffield even still plays for the Tigers. The short guy cursed and fumed for another minute about paying all this money for new players and getting bad results. I nod and cluck my tongue as if to say, "Yeah, dude, yeah. I'm feelin' you, brother." I pay for my food and hightail it before he starts talking stats.
Incident #2 - A couple of weeks ago, I was walking through our neighborhood. Our van had thrown one of its wheel covers and I was looking for it. As I'm walking, a guy speeds by me on a bike and says as he passes, "Hey, Chef!" At first I think he's mistaken me for his favorite short order cook at the local Coney Island. Then I realize he didn't say "chef," he said, "Shef." He looks back and sees the quizzical look on my face and says, "Where's that guy even been lately?" I shrug my shoulders as if to say, "I don't know, dude. Where has ol' Shef been lately anyway?" Fortunately, he didn't turn around and come back to chat so my only lying came in the form of a faux-knowing shrug. "Where is ol' Shef anyway?"
Incident #3 - Today, I was in the nearby gas station buying myself a cool, fizzy diet Coke to slake my thirst. As I stood there, once again from behind me, I hear a voice. "Seven oh five?" I turn and see a shaggy, scruffy, I'm-too-cool-for-haircuts hipster with a Tigers ballcap on. "Sorry?" I say. "Seven oh five? Tonight? Isn't that when the game starts?" He almost imperceptibly nods at my shirt as though it was our not-so-secret sign or something. Once again, the lying begins only this time I actually start outright fabricating stuff: "I don't know. I've been totally out of it because my Internet has been out at home and my cable too. I don't know what time the game starts. Heck, it could be going on right now and I wouldn't even know it." The guy wonders aloud about why so many people are already downtown in their Tigers regalia if the game isn't for six more hours. I lie some more. "I know what you mean. I've seen people all over today (in their Tigers gear) and I don't know what they're doing if it's a night game." I paid for my soda and ran away, shaking my head.
How do you explain to a lifetime fan? How do you say it exactly?
"Sorry, man. I don't know anything about baseball. Don't even like it really. It's just that my mom's maiden name was Sheffield and that's my middle name and I've always been sort of proud of it. You know, it's kind of royal-sounding and stuff and there's that town in England called Sheffield and everything. So I bought the shirt because it was cheap and it had my middle name on it. But yeah, I don't really like baseball all that much. Sorry."
Maybe I just need to stop wearing the thing.
(I get mistaken for this guy all the time!)
7 comments:
Hilarious! I'm sure you would get very few comments on the shirt here in S.E. Idaho so wear it when you come. If you do get comments here, you can at least feel safe in saying -- I don't even like baseball, I wear it because Sheffield is my middle name!!
In thinking what people in this area may say about your shirt when you tell them it is your middle name, they'll ask if you are related and if you traced your genealogy !
So, the name's the game, huh ? Or the name's the poem ... such as Linda Rae Day ! Rae Day, Rae Day ! Sounds like a distress call !
I've found a whole collection of Lost tee shirts. Check them out here: http://www.chasingthefrog.com/lost-t-shirts.php I prefer the "John Locke's Wilderness Survival School," the "Sawyer Flavored Fish Biscuits," or the "Not Penny's Boat" versions. Imagine the conversations you could have in line at Subway! You could regale folks with all the Lost-related trivia you've obtained from Wikipedia. (Naveen Andrews' escapades as a teenaged father were particularly fascinating.) And I betcha the scary guys would never consider even making eye contact with someone wearing a "Sawyer Flavored Fish Biscuits" shirt, for sure.
It's all about fashion and nothing about the sports for Mark. I love it! It cracks me up everytime somebody else asks him about his boy "Sheffield". We saw a guy in our neighborhood wearing a Sheffield shirt mowing his lawn the other day, so I guess Mark's not the only guy who's a fan. Ha ha!
And I'm fascinated by the Lost t-shirts. We could make up Sawyer-generated nicknames for ourselves and iron it on the back of the t-shirt. Mark's would say "Shef".
I actually have a cousin whose given name IS Sheffiled and we called him Shef all his life. His mother was a Sheffield (my Dad's sister Reva) and since he wouldn't have her last name, she gave it to him as his first name!
And don't forget that Sheffield is a royal name. We descended from a Duke of Buckingham.
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