I’m not half as celebrity obsessed as it appears most of America is these days. Famous actors or athletes could knock on my door and I probably would just sick my 19 1/2-pound dog on them for interrupting my morning coffee.
I’m not a stargazer, nor am I a tabloid journalist. You couldn’t pay me enough to tail young starlets in their Benz’ or stick a mic in some schmo’s face on a red carpet.
That being said, when you run into a legend…all bets are off.
As myself and two of my fellow scribes (Chuck Banning of The Day and Chip Malafronte of the Register) strolled into a local eatery Saturday evening in Tampa, we stumbled onto a legend of athletics and entertainment.
None other than Terry Bollea was getting into his yellow Mustang with a young blond about half his age.
Don’t know Mr. Bollea?
Perhaps you know him better as Hulk Hogan.
Chuck’s attentive eye was the first to spot the Hulkster. Though in retrospect, how did Chip and I miss him? How many people wear ribbed white shirts and red bandanas to steak houses?
And I should have recalled that Hogan grew up in Tampa and still lives in the area. He actually went to USF for a time, too.
Now, Hogan’s meal at The Palm Restaurant may have cost a little more than our fare at Mitchell’s Fish Market (though the quality I’m sure was comparable: great fresh fish from Mr. or Mrs. Mitchell, whoever they are), but we were practically equals on this night.
I wanted to scream my best “What-cha Gonna Do Brother!?!?!?” or give him a flying leg drop but that probably would have been inappropriate.
I had to settle for a quick “Hey, wasn’t that?” followed by a “No, wait…”
I never watched Hogan’s reality shows and I don’t know anything about his daughter or, apparently, his recent divorce. Nice memories of Rocky III, WrestleMania and the like, though.
And in this day and age, don’t we need more Real Americans?
- Neill
