The late rapper Big Pun said it best, “I’m not a player, I just crush a lot.”  Well, he had more colorful words in the version of that song that didn’t get radio airtime, but his sentiments were clear.  Since I’ve been using this line consistently, it has a totally different meaning.  In the past few days I’ve spent here in Tampa for Super Bowl XLIII, I’ve had some access to areas that NFL players, coaches, and celebrities see on an everyday basis.  Since I never like to look like a tourist, (I’d throw on a cowboy hat, some tight ass Wranglers, and serious boots in a town full of cowboys to avoid looking like an out of towner) I strolled around this city as if I’ve been to the last 5 Super Bowls.  Where people were armed with a camera, sharpie, and NFL jerseys, I rolled with sunglasses, a designer looking t-shirt, and a connection to my cell phone.  Just being a typical Californian spending some time in Florida.  Despite my simple desire to just fit in, I was still surprised when I was first asked for an autograph.

            The stares I received within 2 minutes of approaching the media center soon turned into “Are you signing?” a term I wasn’t familiar with, but it kept coming.  My instant response of, “no man, I’m not” made ME think I was telling the poor guy that I’m not going inside the media center for an appearance on one of the 50 sports talk shows being conducted inside.  I told him I don’t play, but he took that to mean I was trying to hide, “because…you LOOK like a player,” were his words.  Once I was grabbed by security and hurried in like a VIP trying to escape 13 year-old screaming fans, I finally realized that my quick denials were probably being challenged as I became a pompous football player not willing to scribble on a fan’s glossy paper. 

            Still in denial about how I was coming off, the real confirmation came when I was sent to the line for my credential.  With 4 actual football players a few spots in front of me, I was peeked at, whispered about, and nearly asked, “Hey dog, who are you?”  They went with the strategy that nearly everyone has experienced in high school of looking at someone out of the corner of their eye until the person finally glances back, so they could look away to avoid being spotted staring.  I guess having dreadlocks and a little bit of time in the gym goes a long way.  They must have given up when they noticed that I wasn’t wearing an earring the size of my ear and lacked the almost standard useless diamond encrusted watch. 

            Despite my shortcomings, I embraced the flattering cases of mistaken identity all weekend.  Pro athletes are generally in great shape, dress in nice clothes, and are the ones everyone in the room wants to know.  Is the room getting smaller, or is that just my head growing?  The problem soon became, who was I to my adoring fans, and what team do I play for?  I couldn’t steal another man’s identity…what if I ran into him after parading around town calling myself this guy and more importantly, I’m Jayar Jackson, I love me!  I needed a 00 Agent name that was hard to disprove, but easy to enact. I didn’t want to call myself Steve Jones and embarrassingly sign an autograph in my own name.  Soon after I embraced the safe identity of Jayar Jackson, backup cornerback for the Houston Texans, I was thrown another curveball I wasn’t ready for. 

            With the stadium within sight, a friend of mine and I stopped at a Burger King to invade the dollar menu.  Imagine my surprise to hear a 15 year old girl scream “JAHEIM, OH MY GOD, YOU’RE JAHEIM!”  As I whipped around to see why Jaheim was dumb enough to come into this Burger King full of crazed fans of anyone and anything, I realized her star gazing was set on me!  My denials meant nothing, my smiling attempts to prove it to her meant even less.  After she pulled up my sunglasses to tell me that I’m hiding from her, she grabbed my arm, let out a squeal from the realization that she’s touching Jaheim’s arm, and asked me to sing a few words for her.  With her girlfriend laughing at her, she gave up and vowed to never buy anything else that I release into stores.  I think I just dumped a loyal fan from his fansite and was left wondering, “Do I actually look like him?”  Anyone see a resemblance in the picture above?

            The way celebrities are treated is a true indication of why so many people want to be one.  My 3 days of no-name fame got me rushed past security that wanted to stop and check my credentials, looks and shy “hellos” from random women, sent adoring kids that didn’t even know who I could be asking for autographs, and had well-known TV personalities that I always wanted to meet wondering if they should talk to me.  Maybe my commitment to always tell the truth to avoid hurting people ended up making me look more like an ass.  No, I’m not a player; I just crushed a lot…of feelings. 

 

--JJJ

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