Matt auditions for the role of “man.”

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I swear I have nightmares like this. Waking up screaming and drenched in a cold sweat nightmares. Nightmares just like this.

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Why?!?!? Why do these great injustices keep happening in the world?!? I don’t think I can take it anymore!!

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Sometimes I wish life was a movie. Think about it. I could get my copy of the screenplay and play my part accordingly. It would make acting the part of my character so much easier. I wouldn’t have to fear social situations or have any anxieties in life because I’m acting. It’s easy to be the super cool successful guy when someone writes the part for you. Plus I know that everything will work out because I’m the main guy in the story. Things are supposed to work out for me. And everyone knows the main guy always has a happy ending in his movie.

Wait…but what if I’m not the main guy?? What if I’m the plucky sidekick or the comedy relief…or…what if I’m just a bit part on some background shot?!?!?!

I need to have a serious discussion with the writers.

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Makeup! I should write something here about makeup.

…

I got nothing.

Sorry. I’ll do better next week.

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How to become a famous Hollywood celebrity (listed in order of critical importance):

1. Be really, really, really ridiculously good looking.

2. Learn to act. Y’know. If you can. No big thing though. Clearly you can do without that part.

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Someday I will make a movie. It will be glorious. I’ve even finished the first draft of my screenplay. So all I really need is the one-hundred thousand or so dollars to produce it. Sounds totally doable. Let’s just check the old bank account here…

Oh.

Well crap.

Hmm.

Ok so we won’t be starting production in the immediate future.

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Movies today with their big budgets and fancy effects really don’t come close to movies of the past.

The other day as I was eating dinner, I was flipping through channels on the TV and discovered that the 1938 rendition of Robin Hood was airing. I ended up watching almost the whole thing. You see Robin Hood has always held a special place in my heart.

I always liked Robin Hood growing up. My first exposure to the legend was seeing part of the animated Disney version at my cousin’s house one day. All I saw was a glimpse of the opening credits. And yet something inside me told me that I needed to know what this movie was. Somehow I must have prevailed upon my parents because they managed to procure a VHS tape from my aunt. Because that’s how we watched movies back then. Movies recorded onto magnetic tape. Because what could possibly be more long-lasting than magnetic tape? But I digress.

I played the crud out of that tape. Over and over and over. Completely wore it out. This was the greatest movie of all time. I literally memorized the Disney version and could (and still can) recite it word for word with character voices and sound effects. I’m not exaggerating. I can do that. And when I do it it’s cool. I was enamored with his bow and arrow, his life of swashbuckling adventure. I made my own bow and arrows out of pencils and rubber bands, or the cooler looking but less structurally sound Construx.

I reenacted Robin Hood’s adventures. I practiced his mannerisms and his suave charisma. I fantasized about finding my own Maid Marian. (I still do. Shutup.) I repeatedly pretended to scale the castle walls and leap off of tall burning towers at the last minute by climbing a trellis on the front porch- which for the record is why the ivy on that particular trellis could never grow nearly as well as the ivy on the other trellis.

My obsession must have become fairly common knowledge because one day when my aunt was watching me, she decided to take me to the old-timey movie theater to see the 1938 version of Robin Hood. I’m not entirely certain how old I was. I’m guessing I must have been around 7 or 8, because the math adds up and my youngest brother would have  just been born or about to be born, and it makes sense why my aunt would have been watching me for that length of time.

So off we went. She told me about this old version of Robin Hood and that it was a really great movie. She told me about the old theater and how there was a man who played the organ there between shows. I’m guessing my cousin would have been there too, but the truth is all my memory of this day is tied up in the experience of going to the movie. It was a double feature. First we watched The Mark of Zorro, a black and white 1940′s film. 94 minutes later we were treated with the main event: The Adventures of Robin Hood starring Errol Flynn and Olivia de Havilland, and in full technicolor!

For the record, I can’t imagine taking a 7-year old today to a double feature of movies filmed entirely before the 1940′s. I can’t fathom it. I have no idea what my aunt was thinking. I mean, I just don’t think 7-year olds have that kind of attention span period, let alone for 4 hours of old-timey films from 50 years before they were born.

But oh how I loved these movies! Loved them. These guys were amazing. Dashing! Daring! Charismatic! I was absolutely glued to the screen! I remember the swordplay, the heroics, the adventure! These guys were everything I wanted to be! So awesome! So heroic! So cool! And y’know…they did alright with the ladies too.

When the movies were over, I was disappointed that there wasn’t a third movie for us to watch. I wanted to stay, hoping there might be another adventure for us to embark on. I had gained a newfound appreciation for story and cinema- one which has remained with me to this day.

I have returned to the old-timey theater many times since.

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Here at Raccoon Toons, Matt Cain is our favorite baseball player. It’s not just because of his incredible pitching. It’s not just because of his presence on the mound in a baseball game. It’s not just because of his amazing consistency in excellence. And it’s not because he leads my fantasy baseball teams to victory virtually every season. It’s because he’s Matt Cain.

Let me tell you a little story about Matt Cain, from my personal experience.

Once upon a time, I was fortunate enough to take part in a Giants TV commercial. It was a truly amazing experience which included reenacting a World Series victory celebration with some of my favorite Giants players. I had the time of my life. Among the players that were appearing in these commercials, was none other than everyone’s favorite pitcher: Matt Cain.

I say everyone’s favorite pitcher, because Matt Cain really is everyone’s favorite pitcher. This was made clearly evident by the awestruck looks of admiration he received from so many of the people on set that day. Of course, if you asked Matt Cain about it, he’d probably say he didn’t notice, because not only can the man shoot laser beams out of his eyes and save small children from evil with a single bound, but he is also ridiculously humble.

So the shoot seemed to go well enough. A lot of the players had places they needed to be, and as soon as they were no longer needed they changed and left. Matt Cain however, stayed until the very last shot was taken. That shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows how often Cain pitches late into games, but still I found it to be impressive. But that’s still not what impressed me the most.

While on set that day, there was an actor who played a role in one of the commercials. This particular actor was, for lack of a better phrase, “socially awkward.” In fact, that may be putting it a little too mildly. Clearly this guy was completely unaware of how uncomfortable he made others, and how annoying he could be. When his part of the shoot was over, and he was dismissed, he didn’t leave. Instead, he walked around trying to talk to any baseball player who would give him the time of day. He was like a terribly awkward hunter stalking his prey. When several of the players deftly retreated from his advances, he finally left the building, only to return an hour later to continue his exploits. That was when he found Matt Cain.

Cain had just finished shooting a sequence and he was in one of the glass office rooms being used as a makeshift dressing rooms. These rooms were supposed to be off limits to anyone but the player and perhaps the girls working wardrobe for the shoot. I watched nervously as socially awkward actor man walked straight into the dressing room and began conversing with Cain like they were old friends.

The conversation was painful and embarrassing. This guy started talking about anything he could–work, commercials, even his awkward personal life. I was terribly uncomfortable. Most of us who were acting on the set that day had been told to give the players their space. And yet, this guy had bombarded into Matt Cain’s dressing room and was bearing his soul to him, while poor Matt Cain was literally in the middle of changing his clothes!

The minutes past, and he did not leave. 5 minutes turned to 10. And 10 minutes quickly turned to 15. Desperately I felt like I should do something. I was just a lowly extra. Where was the girl who’s JOB it was to act as a buffer and protect the players from scenarios such as this?! Matt Cain must be going out of his mind listening to this crazy guy! Surely he would say or do something to remove himself from this nut-job!

And that is when Matt Cain impressed me most. Because Matt Cain did not get up and leave the terribly one-sided conversation. Matt Cain did not tell the guy he was busy and to leave him alone.

Matt Cain listened.

He listened while he was literally changing his clothes. He conversed. He made eye contact. He seemed perfectly content to listen to this man go on, and on, and ON, about things that were making ME terribly uncomfortable. And not once did Matt Cain seem the least bit annoyed or perturbed.

FINALLY after what seemed like an eternity, someone from the production team came and let the man know that Cain was needed. When socially awkward man finally left, I waited for Cain’s reaction. I waited to see the smirk, or the eye roll, or the exasperated sigh from enduring such a socially painful ordeal.

There was none.

Matt Cain taught me an important lesson that day. Where I had looked down on and judged one of my fellow men to be annoying and pathetic , Matt Cain– celebrity, All-Star pitcher, World Series winner– was polite, courteous, and treated this man with absolute kindness and respect. It would have been so easy for a man of Cain’s success and stature to lift himself up and judge this man to not be worth his time. He could have easily disengaged from the conversation, and shown all the visible signs of discomfort. He could have laughed at the man once he left, or even just commented on the awkwardness of the situation. But he didn’t. And never was there even the slightest hint of pride or annoyance. There a midst the terribly prickly encounters, Matt Cain carried himself exactly has he carries himself on the pitcher’s mound. Calm, unflappable, and humble.

So today, we celebrate Matt Cain’s perfect game–one of the rarest, loftiest, most glorious and prestigious accomplishments that a player can ever obtain. So rare that it has only been accomplished 22 times in the history of the sport of baseball.

Congratulations Matt. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

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Not long ago, I was visiting Los Angeles. While there we went to an art showing at a relative’s. I really wanted to fit into this Hollywood scene as best I could, so I put on my most expensive jeans, one of my classiest wide collared shirts, and tried to furrow my brow a lot. While I was there I tried to sound artsy and Hollywood-ish by saying things like, ”the values are so subtle, yet penetrating,” and “the artist really speaks to my emotions. He’s really making a statement.” In truth, I had no idea what I was supposed to be “feeling” or whatever, but I enjoyed it well enough.

What really amused me however was the water boy outside the gallery. There he stood behind his little table, surveying the scene like some kind of entrenched WWII soldier. Only instead of awesome 40′s battle attire, he was dressed in a tie and a snazzy vest. He seemed intensely eager. All you had to do was look in his general direction and he would instantly offer to get you a drink of your choosing. He was like one of those little yapping dogs that has a toy and is just dying to play with you.

As I stood there drinking my water, I watched as the water boy schmoozed me, and everyone else at the showing within earshot. He laughed, he joked, and he offered you refills. And then on the table, he subtly placed a few of his business cards. Only, the business cards didn’t say “Water Boy/Drink-Refill Guy Extraordinaire.” They simply had his name, and then emblazoned underneath in bold letters; “Actor.”

I smiled to myself. Because after all, no one in LA is really a water boy, or a waitress, or a taxi driver. Oh no. They’re actors. Entertainers. Thespians of the film reel. Future stars and tabloid covers in the making.

I may never know what will become of the Art Gallery water boy. For all I know, he’s already landing the role of a lifetime in some horrid Michael Bay movie. I don’t really care. Just as long as he gets me my water.

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