Me and Bobby Hull

So I’m the keynote speaker at an event 3 days ago and this guy with the biggest hands I’ve ever seen in my life tells me he enjoyed my stuff. I shake his improbably sized paw, do the “bask in the glow of my adoring fans” thing and go back to my seat.

I knew Bobby Hull was going to be arriving later that evening to sign autographs and move a little high priced memorabilia but it wasn’t till half an hour later that I find out that Mr. “You Have the Biggest Hands I’ve Ever Seen In My Life” was Mr. Hull himself, Chicago Blackhawks’ Number 9 from back in the day when my brother used to make us watch Hockey Night in Canada.

Me, I was more of a Bewitched/I Dream of Jeannie kind of girl. But none of that mattered on Wednesday night when I found out my new found fan was the living legend himself. I’m muscling my way in to get my picture taken with the guy, getting him to scribble his name on the flyer with both our pictures on it.

Fast forward to Friday (yesterday) and I’m speaking at another event, and since there are no hockey players to speak of within 100 miles of the resort, audience members come up afterwards, copy of my book in hand, to get their picture taken with ME!

I guess celebrity is relative. Truth be told, I kinda enjoyed my 20 seconds of fame.

What is it that makes us go up to total strangers and try to soak up a little bit of what they’ve got by standing in front of a flash bulb with ‘em? I’m worse than anybody. I’ve got 30 year old pictures of me and Rita Moreno, me and Peter, Paul and Mary. (Actually Peter OR Paul and Mary, not really sure which guy was missing…)

Far from the geriatric I expected when I did the math, Bobby, Mr. Hull, looked great and was very engaging. I wonder whose autograph he’d line up for.