Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary
The following is an open letter of love to my Olympic dream girl, Mary Carillo.
How can I put into words the feelings that run through me when you're on my TV screen. Whether its a cover story on a female curler, or a cover story on a female ski jumper, or even a cover story on a female snowboarder, it's your face that I see.
How I want to be swept up in your arms, my face brushing up against your expensive italian pantsuit. I could stay in your grasp for hours listening to you describe Mary Pierce's backhand or how important Title IX has been for college sports. We could laugh for hours about Jennifer Capriati or how Frank Deford smells like chicken salad.
I could rest in your lap as your read to me from the book you wrote with Martina Navratilova, Tennis My Way. Mary how safe I feel in your arms. We could play women's rugby or buy some Birkenstocks.
Imagine the reaction from the Paparazzi when you and I show up arm and arm to a WNBA game? The Miami Sol's fan base will be buzzing when we walk into the arena. We will be on the cover of US, In Touch, and the Village Voice. Think of us, Ben and Mary, we could even have a cool Celeb-nickname like "BM".
All I am asking for is one shot, one chance, to prove to you Mary, that I am the missing piece you have been searching for all your life. Invite Martina over, let's get wasted and watch the Virgina Slims.
I love to watch.