Chapter 1, Blog 1
By Chuck Wells As Told To Ray Hochgesang
Was my wife right? Bless her heart.
She said I was your average, middle-aged knucklehead who suffered your average midlife crisis that sprinted right off the charts.
Or was Mr. Justin A. Hole the Los Angeles Times sportswriter right? (Name changed to protect one Big A. Hole.)
After screaming to see a copy of my birth document, he snorted on his blog that I, Chuck H. Wells, was just one more baby boomer who didn’t get the “Aging Gracefully” memo.
I don’t know. Maybe they both were right. I’m no Michael Phelps. That’s for sure.
Me? I thought I had a snowball’s chance of representing the USA in the Olympics somewhere on the other side of hitting the Hoosier Lottery.
All right. Maybe I DID think I had a chance. Sure it was conceivable. Why else would a 48-year-old, bald guy like me start such an improbable – and yeah – impossible quest?
Maybe my friends got it right. They said I was just your average idiot.
Idiot, huh? You think I was an idiot, too, don’t you? Well, you know where you can go …
OK. I was stubborn. No doubt. That much I’ll admit. I was born a mule. I’ll die a mule. So what? Who isn’t? My generation has no monopoly on stubbornness. You just think we do.
So what did happen? Wouldn’t you like to know? My lawyer has advised me to keep my damned mouth shut.
But when did I ever listen to him?
I don’t care about any stupid gag order or the disparagement clause or the damned screenplay. They’re already screwing up my story. I don’t even recognize it. And Tom Hanks is way too old to play me. I don’t care if they did shave his big head. It’s not me.
Just let me tell you what really happened, give you all the damned facts. Forget the movie. Hell, you can’t tell my story in 87 minutes. Just hear me out. C’mon. Maybe then – cross my fingers and hope to die – I can get over this and move on.
But just don’t count on it.
Copyright © 2012 by Chuck H. Wells/Ray Hochgesang