"Hey Big Guy...
tell us something about that latest trip to Shanghai."
Jeebus, where to begin.
tell us something about that latest trip to Shanghai."
Jeebus, where to begin.
Well, this year the cameraman that covered the player walkouts for the broadcaster is a slight Spaniard named Juan.
We usually stand together for about five minutes waiting for the players and the ATP Tournament Managers to arrive, then we walk out for introductions before start of play.
I'm usually there because we transition a semi-public area where high-end sponsors can stand and watch the behind-the-curtain pre-match ritual.
Part of the percs of being a title sponsor at a 1000-series ATP event...
It would be bad for some crazed fan to rush a player to get an autograph/selfie when the players have their war faces on...
So... while we wait, I usually shoot the breeze with CameraDude.
Except this year the usual CameraDude (Skippy) isn't there. Juan is the videojockey.
He is on headset with the Director in the TV Truck...
As we chat, he gets the thousand-yard stare then he points the camera at my face.
I can tell he is getting some
instruction from the director and it doesn't look like good news...
He keeps the camera on me as he relays the conversation.
He keeps the camera on me as he relays the conversation.
Juan CameraDude: "uh...From the director I have a message."This exchange escalated daily... Always started by Director via JCD.
Yours Truly: *raised eyebrow stare*
JCD: "He says that you are the big man but he can...-his words- kick your ass."
YT: "(scoff) I'm sure."
JCD: "He is saying this. Not me."
YT: "Players coming. We'll pick this up another time." I give the camera the forked-fingers to the eyes 'I'm watching you' gesture and we walk the players out to the floor.
JCD: "The Director...I'm sorry, he says to tell you he will be...opening the can of Whip Ass? on you.."
Points camera at me to get reaction.
YT: "Really. Well... tell him his won't be the first snot-nosed TV-dweeb ass I have kicked, but he can be the next."
And things escalated...
JCD: "Director- he wants to know if you are ready for your ass kicking."
YT: "This is getting tiresome... Tell him to bring a sandwich, a cold drink and a band-aid 'cause I'm going to be hungry and thirsty after I'm done whipping his ass."
Later...
JCD: "Director would like to know what kind of flowers your widow would like."
YT: "Tell him when we tangle, I'm gonna knock one of his lungs loose... I'll be on him like rust on a pump handle."
Now in the old days TV trucks were man-territory- very few of the fair sex were in the production vehicles or on the PL circuit. Now, there are women everywhere...And as some of my more colorful and creative comebacks are quite, uh... descriptive, I was a bit apprehensive to really rip into him, but after a little reflection, any woman in a TV truck has probably got some pretty thick skin and has probably heard some pretty bad stuff.
So, by the end of the week I had a great script running through my mind for our final confrontation...
JCD: "Uh, Sir. The Director. He says you are obviously the little girl, and he has won the war with you. He has lost all respect as he can insult you and you will not face him."
YT: "Hm." I address the camera directly- "Hey Director Man- I hope you wore your pretty pink panties today... After I do this walk-out, I'm coming out to the truck and I'm going to bitch-slap you silly, then knee-walk you to the middle of the broadcast compound, bend you over and have my way with you, and I'll sell your ass to any takers for 5 kuai a pop. You're going to fly back to Australia with a size 14 poop-chute and knot on your head so big it's gonna need it's own postal code."
JCD: "*speechless*" then "In the truck, they are all laughing."
YT: "Laugh it up, ladies. I'm gonna tear into him like a stray dog into a restaurant dumpster."
We do the final walk-out and I have a cold drink, then head out to TV Land.
TV Trucks aren't made for Ogres to pass through silently and stealthily, so I embrace my entrance.
I fill the doorway on my entrance... The guys on the back bench have a deer-in-the-headlights look.
YT: "Where is that piss-ant motherfucker who needs a mudhole stomped into his ass?"
One of the Back Benchers: "Oh shit... Someone better call 999."
The closest one half-heartedly points toward the front bench.
I stomp past them up to the front.
I stomp past them up to the front.
As I arrive, a long rally is just beginning, so no switching will be needed...
The three guys on the front bench look up and the two on the right point to the guy on the left.
Front Bench Guys: "He's the one who thinks he can kick your ass..."
YT: (*loudly cracks knuckles*) "I've been waiting all week for this... Are you ready, Little Man?"
Director stands up and faces me... I tower over him....
A long moment passes. The truck is deadly silent.
Finally we both break into a laugh and have a firm and hearty handshake and bro hug-
A long moment passes. The truck is deadly silent.
Finally we both break into a laugh and have a firm and hearty handshake and bro hug-
YT: "Dude! Good to see you... Sorry I couldn't make it our earlier."
Director: "Absolutely... Glad you could make it out. Drinks tonight after we get back to the hotel?"
YT: "Absolutely... See you tonight."
The entire truck is agog. Their hearts start beating again and are all grinning and breathing a sigh of relief.
The Director (Guy from Gearhouse) and I ran into each other at the hotel on the day before the tournament started and laid the groundwork for this...
He had been playing it up inside the truck all week.
Most of the guys in the truck were at the bar that night-
Guy had done a masterful job leading everyone on, and when I went out there they were absolutely certain that I was going to rend him into little Director bits...
We all played it perfectly.
We all played it perfectly.
Poor Juan, though...
He had to relay all the messages every day and he was absolutely sure I was going to take my anger out on him...
Not my best prank, as practical jokes go, but probably one of our most successful ones.
No one injured, no property damage, and some good old-fashioned trash talk...
Good times... Good times.
TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE
