November 26th, 2005

A brush with greatness. Very ill-mannered greatness.

My mother is on the board of a foundation raising money for the public schools in the town where I grew up. I spent Thanksgiving dinner trying to convince her now is the time to hit up Terrell Owens, the town's Famous Person. He's in need of positive PR right now. Surely he'd be willing to donate some cash to his alma mater, or at least some memorabilia to auction on E-Bay.

Last night, my high school football team came to Birmingham for a playoff game against the suburb next door to us. My husband went because he's a huge fan of the team and a former tailback. (Please ask him about his 64-yard touchdown against our town's arch-rival.) And who should show up on the sidelines but Mr. Owens, with entourage, limo waiting in the parking lot. I didn't believe my husband until I saw it on the local news.

There's a romance novel in here somewhere. Bad-boy pro player is kicked off team, comes home, and is hit up for money by local do-gooder, played by Rene Russo (my mother always wants Rene Russo to play her in the movie adaptations of my books). But you can bet the hero's name will not be Owens, Terrell Eldorado.
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