Posts Tagged James Caan

Just a Normal Guy

I play golf a lot, and many times I play alone. Back in the day, most courses didn’t allow players to play alone. I stumbled upon such a course yesterday, and they put me with another group of three. Two of them I’d never seen before, but the other one was quite recognizable.

 

Matt

He told me I could take pictures, but asked me not to put them on Facebook. But… hey, he’ll never see it, ’cause he doesn’t know who I am!

“Hey, Matt,” I said, shaking hands with him. “What’re you doing in this neck of the woods?”

 

He grinned, then turned to put his clubs on the cart. “Got a couple cousins over here,” he said, nodding at the two loading their clubs on another cart. “Hey, Josh and Dan! Come over here and meet…” he looked at me for a name. “Charlie,” I said. “Come over here and meet, Charlie.” They came over, we all shook hands, then they went back to the cart. “They’re not very sociable,” he said. He grinned then sauntered over to the driver’s side of the cart. As I slid into the other side, I grinned back at him and said, “That’s okay. I ain’t either.” He grinned again and said, “Right, right, right.”

At the first tee, Josh and Dan were not happy about their respective hook and slice. Looking to cheer them up, I said, “Okay boys, I only have one rule; get back to the house without hurting anyone.” Josh and Dan looked at me like they thought I wasn’t funny, but Matt laughed and punched my shoulder. “Gonna be a good day,” he said.

And it was. We had a good time all day, listening to Dan and Josh grumble and cuss as we tried to help them find their golf balls. The trees and brush lining the fairways were thick, and those boys seemed to like to play anywhere but the fairway.

As we were heading from number seventeen green over to the last tee, Matt looked over and said, “Pops (that’s what he’d decided to call me), I enjoyed the heck outta playing golf with you today.” I said, “Well, the feeling is mutual, son. You’re an okay fella.”

As we climbed out of the cart at the eighteenth tee, he met me around back of the cart and said, “You treat me like a normal guy. I like that.”

“Well… Matt…” I said. “You are fairly normal.” I was grinning, but before I continued, I put on a serious face. “And besides, you’re not the most famous actor I’ve ever met.”

He looked at me with a hurt expression and said, “Right, right, right. And who was this famous actor you met before me?”

I pulled my driver from my bag and said, “Jimmy Caan.”

“Who?” He said, with a confused look on his face.

We both got a laugh out of that and were still chuckling as we watched Josh hook his drive into the number ten fairway. He blamed us, saying we’d been messing up his game all day with our constant chatter and giggling. That got us to laughing out loud, which didn’t help Dan’s slice a bit.

The glare he gave us after his ball vanished into the pines led me to believe we might not make it back to the house without somebody getting hurt.

 

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No Sir, I Ain’t No Cowboy

Long before I worked at Roger Robideaux’s Gulf station where I used to shoot the breeze with a couple of real cowboys—Tom Cox, and James Caan—I found out I was not cut out to be one.

Oh, I had heroes like John Wayne, Marshall Matt Dillon, Rowdy Yates, and so on, but I learned the hard way that being a cowboy wasn’t as easy as it looked on TV. I learned this when I was about eleven or twelve years old. We used to go to Flay Randolph’s ranch just outside of Buckeye, and he’d saddle up a horse, and let us take turns riding it in the alfalfa field

On one of those visits I was riding in the pasture, where some steers—not very big ones—were grazing. The saddle Flay had put on the horse for me had a lariat hanging on the side, by the saddle horn, so I figured I might as well try my hand at calf roping. I’d seen Rowdy and the boys do it on Rawhide, and it didn’t look too hard.

calf roperSo, I took the rope off the saddle and got it ready, then rode up alongside one of the steers. The steer didn’t seem to notice I was there, so I just dropped the rope over its head; piece a cake. One problem: The steer didn’t like it at all, and it took off running across the pasture.

No problem, I thought, as I grabbed onto the rope and yanked back like I’d seen them do on TV. Next thing I know, I’m air born, then skidding along the ground learning what alfalfa tastes like. I finally let go of the rope, and after I’d recovered a bit, limped over to the house and told Flay what I’d done.

When he finally quit laughing, Flay saddled up another horse and with me riding behind him, went out to retrieve his rope and my horse. Horse and steer were grazing side-by-side when we arrived. After I jumped down off the horse, Flay dropped his lasso over the steers head and—of course—it ran off again. But, to my amazement, it stopped abruptly when it got to the end of the rope. I followed the taught line of the rope back to Flay’s horse and saw that the other end of the rope was tied to the saddle horn. Flay just grinned and said, “Go git your horse, cowboy.”

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Wondering how I knew James Caan? Click on this link: Working With James Caan

And, if you’re curious who Roger Robideaux is, click on this one: Don’t Do That!

Tom Cox? Shoot… everybody knows who Tom is!

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Blue Chip Stamps

In one of my stories about my younger days, Shootin the Breeze With Jimmy, I talk about meeting a famous actor while working at the Gulf gas station in Buckeye, Arizona. While we were visiting my old hometown last year, I noticed the Gulf station was no longer there—actually, a lot of things had changed. Time marches on, I reckon. Read the rest of this entry »

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Blue Chip Stamps

In one of my stories about my younger days, Shootin the Breeze With Jimmy, I talk about meeting a famous actor while working at the Gulf gas station in Buckeye, Arizona. While we were visiting my old hometown last year, I noticed the Gulf station was no longer there—actually, a lot of things had changed. Time marches on, I reckon. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (3)

Shootin’ the Breeze With Jimmy

I’ve never been one to get star-struck over celebrities; they never struck me as anybody special; just folks like everybody else, only they had a pretty fun-looking job. Now, my brother, Ken, he gets all google-eyed and tongue-tied around famous folks; has a pretty hard time remembering their names, too. Check out my story, Dandy Don, and you’ll see a good example of what I’m talking about. This story, though, is about the time I met a celebrity when I was about nineteen or twenty years old. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (4)

Shootin’ the Breeze With Jimmy

I’ve never been one to get star-struck over celebrities; they never struck me as anybody special; just folks like everybody else, only they had a pretty fun-looking job. Now, my brother, Ken, he gets all google-eyed and tongue-tied around famous folks; has a pretty hard time remembering their names, too. Check out my story, Dandy Don, and you’ll see a good example of what I’m talking about. This story, though, is about the time I met a celebrity when I was about nineteen or twenty years old. Read the rest of this entry »

Comments (2)