Have you ever accidentally bumped into a famous person for whom you’ve nurtured feelings of contempt? It can become a little awkward. Way back in the last century I crossed paths with Howard Cosell, …. “An audacious commentator on Channel ABC’s ‘Monday Night Football’ “…….”A most loved, most hated sports broadcaster.”……. Those are actual quotes from Britannica. Ask your Dad or Grandpa about Howard and his acidic tongue.
Looking to entertain Don, my visiting buddy, I’d mooched tickets to a Yankee Stadium suite to watch the Yanks play the Oakland Athletics. The game became so Yankee-dominated, it was boring and, as I gazed around, I spotted my surprise prey. “That’s Howard Cosell over there!” I whispered to Don who tried to feign disinterest. “I wouldn’t even turn my head,” he said.
Howard was strutting down the steps, puffing on a cigar so long, the ashes posed a threat to the fans in the lower seats. We returned to the suite later and found him pontificating from an easy chair to the young black man who’d handed us cold beers when we arrived. Now, I suddently recognized him. “Isn’t this a Giants running back you’re talking to, Howard?” I asked.
“This is the great number 30 of the New York Giants, the fleet-footed Ron Johnson,” Howard replied and I thought (“Good heavens, this guy speaks the same on and off camera! I bet when he orders breakfast it sounds like an inaugural address.”)
Guests from nearby suites drifted in and surrounded Cosell. I’m sure that’s just what he wanted, an audience. Ron Johnson posed a question: “Howard, I’ve wondered why you never worked with a black sportscaster. How come?”
“Now, Ron, you’re becoming truculent,” Cosell cautioned and I wished I’d brought my thesaurus. “You must remember I once got you a position on ABC.” Johnson was thrown for a slight loss and the others began lobbing questions at “The Acid Lungs of Channel 7.” I suddenly realized, (“They’re baiting him. What a great idea!”)
“Matt Snell was not a good football player, he was a great football player,” Howard corrected a fan. By then I was standing behind him, primed with two beers, looking down at his famous hairpiece and struggling against a powerful impulse. But I had a bigger plan.
“I remember saying to my friend, the late and great Vince Lombardi….” Howard was dropping so many big names people had to step around them to get to the john. Boxing champ Ali was referred to in lofty sentences of marble and gold, but Joe Namath had to settle for less. There were groans and even fist-shakers in the crowd. A Chicago Bears wide receiver was being dissected when my pal Don looked into my glowing eyes and said, “I think we’d better leave!”….. “Not yet,” I replied. “There’s something I want to do.”
“I can see that,” Don said. “That’s why we’d better leave!”
“You don’t understand, Don. I’m going to put down Howard Cosell when he gets to a subject I’m familiar with. Then I’ll pounce! It’s the chance of a lifetime! Sooner or later, if he’s actually a human being, he’ll have to pause to inhale. Then I’m going to say something really piercing, like, ‘Says you Cosell !’ I’ll be famous!”
“You’re out of your class, kid,” Don said, grabbing me by my collar, as he propelled me to the door, upsetting a pile of exotic adjectives that was growing in front of Howard.
As the door slammed behind us, I twisted out of Don’s grasp and shouted through the keyhole, “You’re all wrong, Cosell!” He got me in the eye with a blast of expensive cigar smoke.
Imagine That 