That is a text message I sent my girlfriend yesterday at 1:57 PM, while I was sitting at the bar at Houlihan’s in South Park mall in Strongsville.
I look over to my left, and I could’ve swore Manny Acta was sitting there drinking a Bud Light.
In hindsight, there a couple things that probably led my brain to believe Mr. Acta was sitting next to me:
- He was wearing an Indians windbreaker
- I was in Strongsville, a suburb where Cleveland athletes/coaches may live
- He was bald, like Manny Acta
creepy stealthy as I can, I try to pull up a picture of Acta on my phone, and seeing as though the resolution on my screen isn’t exactly high-def, anything resembling Manny Acta would suffice.
So I have a bald guy in an Indians coat in a city where he may live. Has to be him right?
How could I figure this out without asking him?
Then it dawned on me. I had to hear him talk. I remember in his press conference he had a Hispanic accent. Perfect.
He gets a menu from the bartender, but I can’t hear his voice, and at this point it is starting to get to me. JUST ORDER LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING I NEED TO KNOW IF I AM GOING TO ASK YOU FOR AN AUTOGRAPH OR NOT.
I then think if I should take a stalker-ish picture with my phone, then ask others if they thought it was him, when the following two things came to mind.
- What if he hears the stupid fake camera noise my phone makes (why they do this, I’ll never know), and
- What if it isn’t him, a situation in which would be even more embarrassing than if it were, and I’d have to explain to just a normal bald guy in an Indians coat why some creepazoid is taking a picture of him on a Sunday afternoon.
Thank all that is good I heard the man talk, and unless he can completely change his voice, it was not him.
Yes, that is how big of a loser I am, and all of this took place over the course of about a half hour.
I texted my girlfriend back:
“I don’t think it’s him. I heard him talk and he doesn’t have an accent. Plus he’s wearing an Indians coat, I think that skewed my judgement”
“So the 95% is out the window”.
To which I respond:
“Yes, at this point I’m 99% sure it’s NOT Manny Acta.”
And that’s my story about how I thought I was sitting next to Manny Acta on NFL Championship Sunday.
Mr. Acta, if that in fact was you, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org. I promise I’m not a psychopath.