I’ve always wanted to be mildly famous. Not like big-time Tom Cruise famous where the paparazzi follows you everywhere, because that seems like a huge pain in the ass. Just like about as famous as James Rebhorn, the guy who played the secretary of defense in Independence Day, because I feel like being that amount of famous makes everything you do exponentially funnier.
Think about it: If you popped a tire and Tom Cruise helped you jack up your car, you’d be like, “that was weird… what a freak, he obviously wants his ego stroked or something, that’s creepy.” But if James Rebhorn pulled over and bailed you over, you’d be all, “Sweet, Rebhorn! This guy plays a sniveling bureaucrat in like a billion different movies,” and you’ve have a hilarious and random story to tell your friends for the rest of your life.
And it doesn’t even have to be James Rebhorn being a good samaritan. It’d be just as funny if James Rebhorn cut you off on the parkway or if you pulled up next to James Rebhorn at a red light and saw him pick his nose. Pretty much any vehicular interaction you could have with noted character actor James Rebhorn would be a funny one.
I know this for a fact because the younger brother of one of my friends once got into a fender-bender with the actor David Paymer, and I still find that funny.
I listed two character actors but any other means of minor fame is fine by me too. Character actors just the most identifiable random not-quite-famous people, for whatever reason.
Anyway, part of the fallout from this job is that on rare occasion people actually do recognize me from the video stuff I do on SNY.tv, which I enjoy, in part because I’m tremendously vain and in part because it feels like a very small step toward that Rebhorn stature I so desperately desire.
By “on rare occasion,” by the way, I mean “almost never.” Sometimes at Citi Field, but only three times when I’m not walking around the place where the Mets play with a credential around my neck that says my name on it.
One time was some guy in a bar who saw my stuff on MetsBlog. Not a particularly notable interaction.
Another time I was in a parking garage waiting for the attendant to bring my car around. A businessman was sitting in his car, nearly ready to pull out, and rolled down his window.
“Hey, are you Ted Berg?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, excitedly.
“I’ve seen your stuff,” he said, almost in disgust, as he rolled up the window.
The third time was last night outside MCU Park in Brooklyn.
I didn’t stay for the Cyclones’ last night. I wanted to because I love that park and I wanted to see some of the Wallyball everyone has such strong opinions about, but for a variety of reasons I also wanted to get home and I feared the hours worth of traffic I faced.
But before I left Coney Island, obviously, I stopped to get a cheese dog at Nathan’s.
Look: I’ve never been what you’d call a skinny dude. I played offensive line in high school football, and even then I carried a few extra pounds around my midsection. I like food a lot. I’m cool with it. I realize I could be healthier, eat better, work out more, all that, but that would mean not eating cheese dogs when I’m in Coney Island, and that’s inconceivable to me.
And though I’m hardly neurotic, it’s hard not to feel a little bit self-conscious when you’re walking down the street punishing a cheese dog, trying to keep all the excess cheese, ketchup and mustard from spilling all over your clothes, licking one hand clean while carrying a huge soda in the other.
It was the perfect time for some guy to drive by and, from a moving car, yell, “Ted Berg — Sandwich of the week!”
My first thought was, “oh Ted, you disgusting beast, what have you become?”
My second, a few moments later, was that this was a pretty hilarious way for someone to recognize me.
I mean, anyone familiar with the “Sandwich of the Week” series must be a TedQuarters reader, not just someone who sees the Baseball Show videos on MetsBlog or whatever, and so obviously a hero. I very much appreciate that. If you’re reading this, guy, feel free to identify yourself.
Second, it’s funny to think of how it must have been for that guy, who knows me as some sandwich-loving Mets fan, to spot me outside a Mets’ Minor League facility destroying a hot dog, cheese everywhere.
I don’t know if he saw me from far away or what, but I like to think he was all, “hey, that guy kind of looks like that Ted Berg fellow, but I’m not sure… oh, he’s eating a cheese dog, yeah, that means it’s definitely him.”
And I’m fine with that.
Tedquarters 
Wasn’t me.
That’s awesome.
Much less awesome, exactly 24 years ago I was running much too quickly down a NYC sidewalk and to skirt a small crowd of people I dodged left close to a building just as a door swung open and a woman walked out. I plowed into her and knocked her on her back. Stunned, I apologized and reached out to help her up as the crowd of people held out Playbills and said “would you please sign this Ms. Danner?”
I had knocked over Blythe Danner back when she was known as an actress and not Gwyneth Paltrow’s mother.
Hahaha awesome. One time I held the door for Molly Shannon at the Starbucks near my old office, and she looked at me like she thought I was only holding the door for her because she was a famous person, and I wanted to be like, “Honestly, if I’d have realized earlier who you were I’d be significantly less likely to have held the door open for you.”
Along similar lines, just recently I saw Jenny Slate on my block in Brooklyn. She was not, as far as I was aware, unintentionally dropping the F-bomb at the time.
Ted:
I’m the “businessman” (actually a lawyer; the two don’t like to be confused with each other… – but I won’t hold it against you) who recognized you in the parking garage last year. I can promise you that I intended nothing even close to “disgust,” and I apologize for giving you that impression (I was probably just in a rush). I would have engaged you in more conversation if I’d had more time, though I also had trouble coming up with a good conversation-opener other than “So, what’s the deal with the 70s-style looking at the camera for the opening of the [last year] ‘Baseball Show?'” (Plus I’m a Yankee fan, so we need to be sensitive in these difficult times for you guys.)
Anyway, I’ll try to be more friendly if we cross paths in any garages or parking lots in the future.
Hahahahah wow, thanks for reading! Sorry I amped up the awkwardness of our interaction for the sake of comedy.
Shows what you know. They were really screaming, “Danger, Sandra’s on the beach.” Day O’Connor was on a rampage in Brighton last night.
Eh, I gave it a shot. Congrats.
I SAW James Rebhorn on Broadway in Twelve Angry Men, which was a veritable roundup of character actors whose faces were familiar from bureaucrat-in-action-movie roles, and judges, defense attorneys and murderers from Law and Order.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my awesome Denzel Washington encounter.
At the time, I was in my mid teens, and Denzel was on Broadway, playing the role of Brutus in Julius Caesar [a Google search tells me that he played that role in 2005, so I was either 14 or 15], and I was in the city visiting some family. We went to a nice restaurant and who happened to be sitting just a couple tables away but the one and only Denzel Washington.
Of course, in hushed tones we all murmur: “someone should go over” “I’m such a big fan” “leave the guy alone he’s trying to enjoy dinner.”
But I decide to take matters into my own hands. I wait until I see Denzel go to the bathroom, and a few seconds later I follow him. Breaking every rule of the man code, I side up to the urinal right next to the one he was using. And I open my mouth. “Hey aren’t you…”
“Peeing? Yes.”
I was mortified, but then he started laughing. Long story short, he came back to my table to shake hands with my parents, and I was the conquering hero.
Now that’s what I call Courage Under Fire. Amirite?
Congrats sir, you just won this comment section.
You win the Internet
I had a similar experience with Howie Lobg once, only it was 100x more awkward b/c it was at a funeral home. My great aunt had passed away and I guess someone in Howie Longs family had passed and the wake was at the same time in the other room of the funeral parlor. My cousins and I, all in our late teens at the time, along with my cousin in-law, who was about 30, had been stalking him out for a good half hour, and a few of us made the move and followed him to the bathroom. He was completely onto us, of course, and after we left the bathroom was just like “hey guys, nice to meet you, I’m howie long” and talk to us for a few minutes.
I also think that only bring Rebhorn famous makes you much more approachable. I know I for one am pretty much in awe of really famous people when I see or meet them in person.
I wad staying in the same hotel as the mets a few years back and almost couldn’t speak when I finally worked up the courage to intercept Keith Hernandez on his way into the palm steakhouse. (he was my childhood favorite met). All I could really remember was tellingbhim how when I was 6 I was him for Halloween, and how my mom found the sickest fake mustache for it. He seemed genuinely amused and flattered and talked for a couple minutes.
Last weekend I went to watch the barclays golf tourney in ridgewood, and at one point was standing 10 feet from tiger woods while he was on the practice green and I was basically standing there with my mouth open in awe just thinking “that’s fu*ckin tiger woods ten feet away” for a good 5 minutes.
Err I don’t know if this counts, but I ran into Ike, Hessman and Misch eating lunch after a ST game earlier this year.
Forgot to mention, it was at Chipotle.
That last part was vital information. If it was at Chipotle then it definitely counts!!!
When I was about 12 I was headed to San Francisco for summer vacation with my brother and dad. While waiting for the flight in Newark Airport, I happened to be decked out in a Mets jersey and hat for no other reason than the fact that I was being awesome. I saw this dude walking with two kids and a pretty hot wife and I was thinking…no way, that CAN’T be Robin Ventura. So I swagged on up to him and said, verbatim: “Excuse me but I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t ask you this, are you Robin Ventura?” He smiled and said, “Why yes I am, and you are?” I don’t know if I even replied, I just remember realizing how much of a dork I sounded like, and thrust my hat forward for him to sign, which he did. Turns out we had a layover in Phoenix and the Mets were playing the D-Backs. The dude straight up took a coach flight with his family for the series! We end up on the tarmac for SIX hours and his little kid kept running up and down the aisle. I remember that it was my birthday and thinking “If I wasn’t stuck on this plane with Robin Ventura, this would be the worst birthday ever, but I am, so this is sweet.” Ventura will always be my boy for that.
True story…the napkin I had him sign a few seconds later isn’t nearly as awesome…
The whole recognition thing must be sort of fun, I suppose. This is, of course, coming from someone who will never be recognized in a crowd. How did the hot dog rate as a sandwich of the week?
Dude, killing the vibe over here.