A day in the life of superstars and me

There are certain awesome moments in life. Moments that I don't just want blog about, but actually want to remember forever, or a reasonable approximation thereof. Today, I had such a moment. Today's moment, as many moments on this blog, is about a girl, a woman really. The moment is really a movement, or more accurately the economy of movement. The moment, the movement, involved me standing less than 30 feet from a tennis racket wielded by one of the winningest tennis players around, Martina Navratilova. I don't believe I'm one to get particularly star struck, that affliction which renders one a bit of a blubbering fool in front of the famous. I don't have opportunity to test this theory often, but I'd already stepped up to a microphone and asked Martina how she dealt with injury. Nerve-wracking certainly, but more so because I told a thousand people that my stomach hurt rather than the fact that one of them was a 20-time winner at Wimbledon. Martina seemed very affable and down-to-earth when she spoke.

The alluded to moment though struck me and made me into a blubbering fool. As I looked on, Ms. Navratilova volleyed soft faux-tennis balls with an amateur- a competitive amateur and coach, but an amateur none-the-less. Martina hit the ball as she talked about the importance of racket placement. Her racket moved almost impercectibly and at a perfect angle to return the faux-balls. The difference between how she used her racket and how the amatuer used hers was like the difference between a tornado and its eye. On a much smaller scale, but her racket head remained placed perfectly, whether it was behind her back, between her legs or as a simple forehand. There are hundreds and thousands who have observed Martina up close and on the court. They've seen this movement combined with the other skills that made her great, but I consider it an honor to have witnessed this tiny moment and these simple movements which she has undertaken probably millions of times.

I feel I have not done justice to the moment. So with a bit of a stretch let me contrast it to the time I nearly danced with Tina Turner.

It was lunch time and I was eating my smaller portion. I had just shared an hour with a champion and a thousand others, when the emcee had me put my hands together for Tina Turner. Many of us leapt from our seats and headed to the stage as hits like Proud Mary and Rollin' on the River were belted in our general direction. There was some girlish screaming, not from me of course. I am not a big Tina Turner fan, but the day suddenly seemed full of possibility. During an early song of the performance, I started to scrutinize Ms. Turner. She certainly sounded right, but her face didn't look quite right. Not being a big fan, I realized that her age and my poor memory might be causing doubt where it did not belong. As the song ended, the test occurred to me. I glanced down from her face to her legs. I don't know much about Tina Turner, but I know she's got some fantastic gams. This performer did not. Either this was an imposter or the famous legs had taken a turn for the worse. And by turn I mean they exited the highway of "Wow" at the Truckstop called "ughn". I returned to my seat and announced my opinion- not Tina. Those more prone to proclamations declared, "I know Tina and she is no Tina."

Despite these proclamations, the power of a crowd is mighty. Important people, people who should know, declared she was the real deal. The crowd remained around the stage and frankly, the imposter was giving a good performance. She brought a group of guys up on stage, one I was nearly pushed into, who took to shaking various things. This performer made an awkward statement about Ike which seemed like it was in bad taste for an impersonater... this brought back a few bits of doubt on the other side. Maybe it was her? Others were certain she was the real deal. One looked me in the eye and said, "her tone and pitch are right. Her movements are right and her eyes are right. It's her."

"But the legs?" I squealed, and he could not answer.

One perfect moment on a champion's racket, and one pretty good imposter with legs that betrayed her (or I heard rumors of him). Not a bad brush with the famous and nearly famous.