Friday, November 25, 2005
Though, at Times, There Is the Rare Towel Whipping
November 25, 2005
"How does this red carpet thing work?" wondered a BEFUDDLED SPORTS REPORTER recently at a benefit for the JOE TORRE Safe at Home Foundation. "We're used to just walking up to them in the locker room and asking them questions."
Not here, naïve grown-up reporter. The carpet may have all of the noise and chaos and sexual harassment of the locker room, but it has none of the candor.
("Speaking of candor," mutters a PERCEPTIVE READER. "When you say 'recently,' what do you mean, exactly? Because I heard about this event a week ago." To which we say: Give us a break; it's the day after Thanksgiving! Think of it as a cold Boldface sandwich.)
Where were we? Yes, there stood the confused sports reporters at the Pierre Hotel, shouting out questions at Mr. Torre, who created the foundation to educate the public about domestic violence. Those who were not Yankees - MICHAEL BOLTON, DARRELL HAMMOND, STANLEY TUCCI, CHAZZ PALMINTERI and ARI FLEISCHER - were generally ignored. But our correspondent was among the few who wanted the glitzy names, so there he was on the carpet, asking GEORGE F. WILL his opinion of the steroid controversy.
"It was once said of a maiden that she was saved from being ravished by a timely compliance," Mr. Will began, and as he talked, discoursing upon the players' union and Congress and whatever, probably weaving in references to KEYNES and HAYEK and THE THIRD EARL OF SHAFTESBURY that went over our dull, Us Weekly-littered heads, we fell into a reverie.
Over the carpet we flew, over the harbor and down the Eastern Seaboard to Miami Beach, to SHAQUILLE O'NEAL's house, for "A Night of Moroccan Heat," which was celebrating the start of the Miami Heat's season and raising money for the Real Model Foundation and the Miami Heat Family Outreach Charitable Fund.
("Wait, the start of the season?" the Perceptive and Increasingly Annoying Reader asks. Uh, Boldface tetrazzini?)
Yes, it was quite a reverie, as reveries go: there were camels and Mercedes-Benzes and the occasional Rolls parked outside Mr. O'Neal's 20,000-square-foot home - which he is selling because he wants "something bigger." Milling around, amid the Moroccan pavilions and belly dancers and fez-wearing staff, we saw most of the Heat players, as well as BARRY BONDS, METHOD MAN, TRICK DADDY and a three-foot-tall bobble-head of Mr. O'Neal, which stood in the middle of his dock.
Finally, Mr. O'Neal himself appeared in a gray three-piece suit. He had been out of play with an ankle injury for a, uh, few days, so we asked what he was up to.
"Nothing, just rehab."
Nothing? Reading any good books?
"Books? No."
Beat.
"I want to get my doctorate."
Your doctorate? In what?
"Psychology, with an emphasis in criminology. But it will take three years."
(And probably reading a book or two, right! Ha, ha! Actually, we did not say that out loud because we are small, and Mr. O'Neal could dribble us.)
Soon he was off and so were we, back up the coast, past the glittering Eastern cities and back to the red carpet at the Pierre.
"Because the crux of the indictment of LIBBY," Mr. Will was saying, "was that he was the first official to disseminate this supposedly secret information. He wasn't, so this will make it - even if it doesn't change the technical law involved - it complicates the matter of selling the jury."
It was at that point that Mr. Will concluded, and so will we, closing, appropriately enough, with MARIANO RIVERA, with whom we had a minute to chat.
Mr. Rivera's trot out to the pitcher's mound is accompanied by a little METALLICA tune called "Enter SANDMAN, " and we have always been curious how he picked his theme song.
"Metallica? No, I never picked that music," he said. "Someone with the Yankees did. The fans liked it, so we stuck with the song. If I had the choice, I would pick Christian music. And no rap music."
Source: http://www.nytimes.com/
"How does this red carpet thing work?" wondered a BEFUDDLED SPORTS REPORTER recently at a benefit for the JOE TORRE Safe at Home Foundation. "We're used to just walking up to them in the locker room and asking them questions."
Not here, naïve grown-up reporter. The carpet may have all of the noise and chaos and sexual harassment of the locker room, but it has none of the candor.
("Speaking of candor," mutters a PERCEPTIVE READER. "When you say 'recently,' what do you mean, exactly? Because I heard about this event a week ago." To which we say: Give us a break; it's the day after Thanksgiving! Think of it as a cold Boldface sandwich.)
Where were we? Yes, there stood the confused sports reporters at the Pierre Hotel, shouting out questions at Mr. Torre, who created the foundation to educate the public about domestic violence. Those who were not Yankees - MICHAEL BOLTON, DARRELL HAMMOND, STANLEY TUCCI, CHAZZ PALMINTERI and ARI FLEISCHER - were generally ignored. But our correspondent was among the few who wanted the glitzy names, so there he was on the carpet, asking GEORGE F. WILL his opinion of the steroid controversy.
"It was once said of a maiden that she was saved from being ravished by a timely compliance," Mr. Will began, and as he talked, discoursing upon the players' union and Congress and whatever, probably weaving in references to KEYNES and HAYEK and THE THIRD EARL OF SHAFTESBURY that went over our dull, Us Weekly-littered heads, we fell into a reverie.
Over the carpet we flew, over the harbor and down the Eastern Seaboard to Miami Beach, to SHAQUILLE O'NEAL's house, for "A Night of Moroccan Heat," which was celebrating the start of the Miami Heat's season and raising money for the Real Model Foundation and the Miami Heat Family Outreach Charitable Fund.
("Wait, the start of the season?" the Perceptive and Increasingly Annoying Reader asks. Uh, Boldface tetrazzini?)
Yes, it was quite a reverie, as reveries go: there were camels and Mercedes-Benzes and the occasional Rolls parked outside Mr. O'Neal's 20,000-square-foot home - which he is selling because he wants "something bigger." Milling around, amid the Moroccan pavilions and belly dancers and fez-wearing staff, we saw most of the Heat players, as well as BARRY BONDS, METHOD MAN, TRICK DADDY and a three-foot-tall bobble-head of Mr. O'Neal, which stood in the middle of his dock.
Finally, Mr. O'Neal himself appeared in a gray three-piece suit. He had been out of play with an ankle injury for a, uh, few days, so we asked what he was up to.
"Nothing, just rehab."
Nothing? Reading any good books?
"Books? No."
Beat.
"I want to get my doctorate."
Your doctorate? In what?
"Psychology, with an emphasis in criminology. But it will take three years."
(And probably reading a book or two, right! Ha, ha! Actually, we did not say that out loud because we are small, and Mr. O'Neal could dribble us.)
Soon he was off and so were we, back up the coast, past the glittering Eastern cities and back to the red carpet at the Pierre.
"Because the crux of the indictment of LIBBY," Mr. Will was saying, "was that he was the first official to disseminate this supposedly secret information. He wasn't, so this will make it - even if it doesn't change the technical law involved - it complicates the matter of selling the jury."
It was at that point that Mr. Will concluded, and so will we, closing, appropriately enough, with MARIANO RIVERA, with whom we had a minute to chat.
Mr. Rivera's trot out to the pitcher's mound is accompanied by a little METALLICA tune called "Enter SANDMAN, " and we have always been curious how he picked his theme song.
"Metallica? No, I never picked that music," he said. "Someone with the Yankees did. The fans liked it, so we stuck with the song. If I had the choice, I would pick Christian music. And no rap music."
Source: http://www.nytimes.com/
