OUT OF HIS LEAGUE - Night Out For Young Sox

by Tello Reál, mraspatello@rivalfish.com

jer·sey cha·ser, n, A person who only pursues, or is receptive to, the advances of athletes. Most commonly women, and most commonly found on or around college campuses or professional sporting contests.

In my other life, the one that does not include stickhandling a tennis ball through the legs of my half-blind mutt, Kevin, and pretending I was Michel Goulet in NHL '94, I actually go out and try to talk to girls at bars! I usually get there and immediately pick out the girls I would most like to talk to. Like any straight male, I engage in an inner dialogue regarding whether or not the girls that are "Vince hot" would ever be charmed by my personality enough to disregard my lack of fame, fortune, or familial relationship to a celebrity. I want to be jersey-chased, if you will?

This past weekend I saw first-hand what it must be like to be one of our award winners. Every week when we give these awards, I feel like Scorcese presenting at the Oscars, thinking "maybe in high school after a 2-goal performance in my hockey game and a free throw contest victory in adapted gym I could have justified awarding myself the Jersey Chaser Target of the Week Award." But I know I never could nowadays, with no recent athletic accomplishment to refer to. I could never really see what it's like to win the soon-to-be-Sainted honor.

So when I ended up in a large booth with Jon Garland and Brian Anderson of the Chicago White Sox at a club this weekend, I knew observing them getting jersey-chased was the closest I'd ever get. So observe them I did. At times like an adoring and inquisitive tyke, but at others like a falcon in the Stalkerville moonlight.

My first attempt at contact was with Garland, who must have been like Magellanlin 'cause his hair was slicked back a la Donny Brasco. He was canoodling a typical blonde for this type of "club" (that word makes me want to punch my aunt) but after I made eye contact with him, I knew I couldn't hesitate to say my piece.

"Nice game last night, ugh, which night was that? Ugh, two nights ago!" I sputtered as he slowly nodded, as if to affirm how skeevy I must have seemed in approaching someone uninvited while he was clearly about to start bar-style making-out.

He continued the nodding action as I skyrocketed creepinessess and nodded back. Then, I did the lamest thing I've ever done in my entire life, no two ways around it. I lifted up the wrist that hosted my little plastic charity-style bracelet that I bought at Sports Authority, and am near positive goes to absolutely no charity, and shook it Montel-style at Garland. His nod actually became slower and more terror-stricken. I didn't do it as a joke, I did it because I was legitimately nervous to talk to another boy my age who just happened to be pseudo-famous.

At first I was pissed that he didn't play along and come back at me like we were two salts, but then I realized that you can't expect someone to act any more cordially than that when approached by someone acting like such a choad. He was probably once an awkward teen who can now be equallylly awkward, yet automatically fawned over by some of Chicago's finest bachelorettes. Why on earth would he be wasting this opportunity talking to me?

So I cooled off and shifted my attention to a less acclaimed member of the the World Champion Sox: 24-year-old Brian Anderson. After a rookie season that found him backing up Aaron "No Shoulders" Rowand in a very limited role, he is now the starter. The Tucson, AZ native has surely spent his life surrounded by many a' fine trophy blondes, and tonight he was clearly adding to his track record in bulk. Where Garland had one lady treating him like he was a young Brando, Anderson had at least five. As unnatural as Garland looked flanked by one floozy, Anderson looked the exact opposite when surrounded by a gaggle. His ease around these slamhogs, combined with the fact that he's significantly shorter and less muscular than most professional athletes I have stood next to, somehow prompted me to greet him with a Rick Flair-style slap to the chest, coupled with an equally cheesy "What's up Brian, you player?" However, instead of providing me with a near-snub and a discomfited glare like his buddy Garland, Anderson played right along, throwing me a nod and an eye-level handshake/Top Gun high five.

The girls giggled and nodded at me as they tightened their collective grip on Brian's loins. I beamed back and moved on, knowing that that limited interaction could not be successfully added to. But I left with a new perspective on being a Jersey Chaser Target. Where Garland was aloof and removed from the hubbub of the party, Anderson was standing in the mix, engaged with other clubgoers. Where Garland looked like a tall high school kid trying to imitate a Soprano, Anderson looked like an unassuming college kid at University of Arizona, trying to pull a threesome. And because, unlike Garland, he didn't stand around acting overly concerned with the fact he was obviously in the limelight, Anderson seemed twice as deserving of the excess female attention. By playing along with my monkey ass, he clearly prompted the girls to continue moisturization as they mused, "he's so nice and cute around his lowly fans!"

And then last night he hit is first home run as an everyday MLB-er in route to the Sox's eighth win in a row.

As he dove into the dugout and greeted the congratulations of his champion teammates, he looked just like the approachable guy from the club that surely ended his night diving into "Home Base." Over and over and over again. He was a champion amongst men, on and off of the field of play. And to Rivalfish, this week he's a weekly champion amongst men, women, children and animals. He's Rivalfish's Jersey Chaser Target of the Week. No need to follow sports through the skewed once-on-field perspective of Harold Reynolds, Mike Golich, or Barry Melrose this week. This little jersey chaser had his own taste of "the life."

So after that Novella of Groupie Glamour, I'm sure you ignant floozies are spent, and don't even care who you shouldn't do this week. So if you're going to be lazy, tell yourself that this week's least attractive male is John Garland. But I think, personally, you should nut-up immediately, and consider the fact that we at Rivalfish regularly tailor our brief featurettes to the attention spans of our cartoon-and-WonderShowzeen-addicted readership. This time I'm going to actually use the Journalism degree I lie about having and treat this like it's the New York Times Magazine. Can't you tell?

But, before you grab yourselves a water and an aspirin and get ready for the second half of this marathon naming rite, let me assure you Jersey Chasers that it'll go quickly. Keith "My Long Ago Appearance On Seinfeld Makes My Mustache Somehow Still Appropriate" Hernandez decided to open his mouth and sound exactly like a middle-aged ex-ballplayer with a lip scarf should sound.

A female trainer was spotted in the Padres dugout congratulating a player after a home run during their Saturday night loss to the Mets. Hernandez was giving color commentary at the time and exclaimed, "Who's that girl in the dugout, with the long hair? What's going on here? You have got to be kidding me. Only player personnel in the dugout........I'm not saying women belong in the kitchen, but they don't belong in the dugout!"

He said that on TV. And as I implied, that "girl" was not just "some girl" at all, but 33-year-old Kelly Calabrese, the Padres Head Massage Therapist. Who would have thought? Everyone is pissed at Hernandez now! And ladies, granted he later said he was kidding, but what a jerk! OMG! You just don't say things like that in today's hyper-conscious media-based society! Next time he approaches any of you with a bourbon Manhattan in the The Plaza Hotel's lobby lounge, kick him in the junk with your heels and head over to Don Mattingly at the Ritz. Whatever you do, DO NOT LAY FORMER MET'S STAR and CURRENT MET'S BROADCASTER, KEITH HERNANDEZ!

Ladies, may I quickly address Mr. Hernandez? Alright, Keith, Copadre, favorite sitcom guest appearance of all time...... you reallly brought this on yourself. I've been called a chauvinist too, but this nasally writer's voice is paid heed merely by my disgruntled girlfriend and family, at best. You're a celebrity in the nation's biggest spotlight, and you're still relevant to the nation's media considering your Mets gig, so you just can't say things like that! You should have known it would be taken out of context, and should have used that national televised opportunity to enhance your status as a lady-fiddling dynamo by saying something supportive of Ms. Calabrese, regardless of your beliefs.

Fon instance, "Hey, who's that lass on the Padres' bench? That's really good to see, women making their way into the hearts and minds of this meathead-dominated sport! I wonder how much they paid for her? I think it's really great that those players don't have to go out of their way to go beaver shootin'! If she asks for an autograph because I mentioned her on TV, I'll throw her a mustache ride as a bonus." See what I mean? Acting sexually-liberated and non-misogynistict will surely get you a lot farther in the 2000s! It's done wonders for me! Time for some video games.

Click Here To Check Out Past Winners of the Jersey-Chaser Target of the Week and Do Not Lay This Man! Awards From Rivalfish.com's Storied and Sordid Past!