When A Player Tries To Be A Normal Person, Just Like You

When I walk into a room or situation where human beings are present, I immediately categorize each into one of three categories:

1. People who want to be near me because of who I am
2. People who try desperately to appear normal and treat me normally
3. People who feel the need to one-up me or prove they're better than me

It comes with the territory, the way they feel and the way I react to their feelings. We're a celebrity-obsessed culture; we were before I was born. It seems worse now only because there are more outlets to express that culture - Internet, additional channel spectrum on TV, proliferation of magazines, etc. I'm a fan/geek as much as the next person, the only difference being I don't go ga-ga over baseball players.

The key to dealing with the three kinds of people listed above is to try to appear indifferent to each while in contact with them - while in contact with you. The folks in #1 desperately want to get close to me. They want to be able to tell their friends, but most important tell themselves, that they had an impact on my life. They want to go to parties at my house, have private conversations with me on our cell phones, talk to me one-on-one about...stuff. In effect, they want to feel special.

There's nothing wrong with this, by the way. Who doesn't want to feel special? Keep in mind I fall into the same three categories, only with other kinds people. So my point of view on this subject is the same as yours, but also from my own perspective, which 99.9% of the world will never really understand.

The other folks in #1 want something from me. They think I can help them. If they befriend me, which is virtually impossible to do (think about it, how many new friends have you made and kept since you got out of high school or college?), they think I'll be able to get them a job, or a phone number, or raise money for their charity, or host a dinner party in their honor at their house in front of all of their friends.

It ain't gonna happen.

Look back at previous posts. Find out how I acted when I met Steven Spielberg. I am you, people. We nearly always screw these chance meetings up. If you meet me, just ask for an autograph and move on to your inevitably more important next task in life, like curing cancer.

The people in the second category, the people who desperately try to act like they always do and treat me normally, are the easiest to get along with. Yes, there's always the unspoken "thing" between us. They always know I'm incredibly rich, incredibly famous, and one of the best pitchers to ever pick up a baseball. And I always know they know. Yet we both pretend I'm just a guy who shuns overalls. I'm just a 39 year old guy who has a wife and two kids and crazy work hours. Yeah, we share those traits in common. We can get along just fine.

Only I'm going to probably earn many millions of dollars next year and, 6 years later, be inducted into the Hall of Fame.

You'll be scraping for pennies to send your youngest daughter, Ishtar, to her third year at Vanderbilt. And you'll be doing it under a cloak of regularness.

Let me interject quickly to state none of this means I'm better than you. We're just in different situations.

There. I don't seem like such a conceited jerk now, do I? (Vanessa implored me to put this part in. She says I seem like I'm a conceited jerk.)

The people in category #3, the ones who try to one-up me the second I'm in the room, are the hardest to deal with. There's friction. I mean no harm. None whatsoever. Chances are, I don't even want to be in the same room as you. Chances are good I'd rather be at home sleeping or playing games on my really, really big HDTV. And deep down, these people mean no harm. But they're either so unhappy with their lives, or jealous because a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/son/daughter falls into category #1 around me, that they need to try to rise above my station in life by proving their worth. These people are completely self-conscious and lacking in self-confidence. These are the ones to fear.

Category #3 people generally don't cause physical harm. Those folks, the Mark David Chapmans of the world who kill their idols, are insane. Seriously. Category #3 people are not insane. They're just immature emotionally in this one part of their personalities. Which only makes sense. How many times do most people rub elbows with mega-millionaires who are incredibly famous for achieving something 99.9% of the population doesn't have the God-given skills or passion or luck to achieve? These people overcompensate for their inability to compete at my level - which is, in the scheme of things, a very unimportant level when you think hard about it. These people try to make fun of me. Or they try to fall into category #2 but fail by explaining how I'm not as good a pitcher as someone else. Or if I'm so great, how come the team doesn't win a championship every year. Or if I'm so rich, why don't I give most of my income to charities or poor, dying children in third world nations.

The best way to deal with people from #3 is to ignore them. Find someone in category #2, who might stick up for me in a rational manner. Even someone in category #1 will come to my rescue. Of course, they'll want me to repay them by guilting me into having dinner with them at their house. (The bodies of their families are in the basement, hidden under the concrete floor. Yes, the insane Mark David Chapmans fall into category #1.)

So how do I cope? I just do. Part of the price of being someone in my situation is to shrug my shoulders and just plow ahead. There's a yin/yang principal to life, the yin being the good and the yang being the opposing force. For every good thing that happens, an opposing bad or more difficult force arises. My success, fame and fortune are the yin. Everybody else in the world is the yang.

Looks like I'm outnumbered.

I'm told this particular yang eases after retirement. I'll be no longer active, no longer in the headlines. But there will always be the three categories for the rest of my life. Retirement just gives gloss to #1, a stronger handshake to #2, and power to #3 (they're still working + I'm not = I'm a no good bum).

After I retire, investigators will one day discover my career, hidden under the concrete in the basement. At least I'll be around to positively identify it at the morgue.