night he says, okay, maybe there is somethin' I can do. Somethin' that could lead to a permanent position as an assistant trainer, if I did the job right. So I said, what is it? and he said all I gotta do is hang with Dozer Meadows for half the weekend, Friday and Saturday night. Go where he goes, do what he does, and keep him from gettin' too crazy. You know, don't let him overindulge. Because—"
"Because he'd had a run-in with the police on a DUI earlier in the season," Big Joe said to me, not trusting our son to tell the story himself. "In Beverly Hills. He totaled a parked car making an illegal U-turn and banged himself up pretty good. You couldn't read about anything else in the sports pages for a week."
"So the Raiders wanted somebody to watch him," I said to Bad Dog.
He nodded his unruly head. "Yeah. At least until they left for Pittsburgh, anyway. All they wanted to do was make sure he got through the Cincinnati game without killin' himself, Cubby said."
"And Dozer went along with this?"
"Sure. He and I clicked up, we were homies. That's why Cubby picked me for the job. He'd seen us hangin' together at the club all the time, so he knew the Doze and me were tight."
"The Doze?"
"That's what all his friends call him, yeah. The Doze."
"And you're saying he didn't mind that you were going to be his baby-sitter. He didn't resent the fact in any way."
"Naw. In fact, he actually thought it was a good idea, havin' somebody around him all the time to tell him when he was about to mess up. He appreciated it, even."
"So what went wrong, then?" Big Joe asked him.
Our son was suddenly struck stupid. Or at least, more stupid than usual. "Huh?"
"You heard what I said. What went wrong? How did he end up messing up anyway?"
"Oh." He wriggled around on the couch like he was trying to dislodge a live hamster from his trousers. "Well, I guess because I tried too hard. You know."
"What do you mean, you tried too hard? You tried too hard how? ''
"Well… by sort of outthinkin' myself, I guess."
"Outthinking yourself?"
"Yessir. See, the first night I watched him—Friday—I just followed around behind him. He did all the drivin', and I did all the ridin' , and we ended up goin' to all his regular hangouts, all the places Cubby said he liked to get in trouble in."
"And?"
"And, well, Cubby, was right. The Doze almost messed up two, maybe three times that night. He kept threatenin' to run off with this homie, or that, or the young ladies at one table or another. You know.
"So the next night, Saturday, I figured, maybe I should change his pattern a little bit. Like, change his routine, keep him out of the places he likes to go, and away from all the people he likes to run with. Protect him from any bad influences, like.
"So what I did was, I made him hang with me Saturday night, 'stead of the other way around. You understand? I picked all the places we went that night, not him, and they were all places he'd never been to before, places where he didn't know a soul. I thought that would be the best thing for him."
"But it wasn't," I said.
"No. It was the worst thing for him, the way it worked out. 'Cause around his friends, see, he was just one of the guys, right? But around strangers, he was…well, he was the Doze! The Man! Bigger than life, and all that. The brothers and sisters in all the places I took him to treated him like royalty, like he was a god from Mount Olympics, or somethin'."
"Mount Olympus ," Big Joe said dourly.
"Mount Olympus, right. Like in the Thor comic books."
"Go on, Theodore," I said.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Where was I?"
"They were treating him like royalty."
"Oh, yeah. Like royalty! Like they'd never seen a professional football player before, or somethin'. They were all over the man like white on rice, offerin' him this and that, buyin' him one drink after another. Seemed like every time I turned around, somebody was slippin' a business card into his hand, or askin' him to autograph a napkin. And
"Because he'd had a run-in with the police on a DUI earlier in the season," Big Joe said to me, not trusting our son to tell the story himself. "In Beverly Hills. He totaled a parked car making an illegal U-turn and banged himself up pretty good. You couldn't read about anything else in the sports pages for a week."
"So the Raiders wanted somebody to watch him," I said to Bad Dog.
He nodded his unruly head. "Yeah. At least until they left for Pittsburgh, anyway. All they wanted to do was make sure he got through the Cincinnati game without killin' himself, Cubby said."
"And Dozer went along with this?"
"Sure. He and I clicked up, we were homies. That's why Cubby picked me for the job. He'd seen us hangin' together at the club all the time, so he knew the Doze and me were tight."
"The Doze?"
"That's what all his friends call him, yeah. The Doze."
"And you're saying he didn't mind that you were going to be his baby-sitter. He didn't resent the fact in any way."
"Naw. In fact, he actually thought it was a good idea, havin' somebody around him all the time to tell him when he was about to mess up. He appreciated it, even."
"So what went wrong, then?" Big Joe asked him.
Our son was suddenly struck stupid. Or at least, more stupid than usual. "Huh?"
"You heard what I said. What went wrong? How did he end up messing up anyway?"
"Oh." He wriggled around on the couch like he was trying to dislodge a live hamster from his trousers. "Well, I guess because I tried too hard. You know."
"What do you mean, you tried too hard? You tried too hard how? ''
"Well… by sort of outthinkin' myself, I guess."
"Outthinking yourself?"
"Yessir. See, the first night I watched him—Friday—I just followed around behind him. He did all the drivin', and I did all the ridin' , and we ended up goin' to all his regular hangouts, all the places Cubby said he liked to get in trouble in."
"And?"
"And, well, Cubby, was right. The Doze almost messed up two, maybe three times that night. He kept threatenin' to run off with this homie, or that, or the young ladies at one table or another. You know.
"So the next night, Saturday, I figured, maybe I should change his pattern a little bit. Like, change his routine, keep him out of the places he likes to go, and away from all the people he likes to run with. Protect him from any bad influences, like.
"So what I did was, I made him hang with me Saturday night, 'stead of the other way around. You understand? I picked all the places we went that night, not him, and they were all places he'd never been to before, places where he didn't know a soul. I thought that would be the best thing for him."
"But it wasn't," I said.
"No. It was the worst thing for him, the way it worked out. 'Cause around his friends, see, he was just one of the guys, right? But around strangers, he was…well, he was the Doze! The Man! Bigger than life, and all that. The brothers and sisters in all the places I took him to treated him like royalty, like he was a god from Mount Olympics, or somethin'."
"Mount Olympus ," Big Joe said dourly.
"Mount Olympus, right. Like in the Thor comic books."
"Go on, Theodore," I said.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Where was I?"
"They were treating him like royalty."
"Oh, yeah. Like royalty! Like they'd never seen a professional football player before, or somethin'. They were all over the man like white on rice, offerin' him this and that, buyin' him one drink after another. Seemed like every time I turned around, somebody was slippin' a business card into his hand, or askin' him to autograph a napkin. And
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