The Other Man Speaks...to the Other Men

How quickly a year goes by. It seems like yesterday that we had our first Michael Crawford birthday party and now yet another would be held. To my relief, Rochelle announced a certain party would not be in attendance, thus assuring the mailbox another year of life. There was, however, the matter of a "porno" tape of M.C. exposed to his underwear. I would not be surprised again by these genteel ladies of the theatre, for the "slow" and "stop action" on my VCR were to be well used that afternoon.

Thankfully, the Michael Jackson rumor had passed. Perhaps his plastic surgeon had finally found a sense of ethics and reneged at creating a Phantom face for him. Who knows? Anything is possible if Michael Jackson could usurp Michael Crawford.

I reflected a moment on the year past and how M.C. had affected me. Initially, there was a sense of dismay, rejection, and even resentment. Who was this guy and why did my wife idolize him? It wasn't fair, was it? I recall the first time like yesterday. It was half-time during the Dallas/Redskins game. I was busy watching the Cowboy Cheerleaders (I have their calendar on my desk). Nevertheless, being a die-hard Redskins fan, I was dressed in all burgundy and gold, complete with Coors in my Redskin mug.

"Lloyd, oh, Lloyd."

"Yes, Dear."

"Do you suppose we could make a little room on the wall for a picture of Michael Crawford?"

"Yes, Dear. Just put it between my autographed pictures of Sonny Jurgensen and Art Monk, and don't touch my autographed football under any circumstances! Understand?"

"Okay. Why don't you stop watching those Cowboy Cheerleaders? You know the T.V. is as close as you'll ever get to one." I became angry. She assaulted my manhood!

"Well, Dear, you never know. Suppose one got a toothache and they called me to fill her cavity."

"I bet you would!" she muttered under her breath.

Little by little, more pictures, tapes, and posters appeared as if by magic. Eventually, I had to move all my stuff to another room. But I did care. The Skins were winning and I listened to nothing but "Hail to the Redskins." Finally, there was a showdown. It was Sunday and I was wearing my lucky hogette nose when she sprang it on me.

"Oh, Lloyd."

"Yes, Dear."

"I've decided to have a Michael Crawford birthday party for the girls."

"Now, Dear. You know I'm having a Super Bowl party for the guys. How can we have two so close together. This is getting to be ridiculous! Pictures of M.C. That Phantom mask on the wall." As I turned to point at the mask, my hogette nose slipped off, adding to my consternation. Finally, the last straw:

"But, Dear," she said. "You have all this Redskin junk . . ."

"What?" I screamed. "This is blasphemy! Anything against my Skins who are Super Bowl bound is! If it weren't for the fact that we're killing Dallas I'd really be mad!"

"Okay, okay. Have your party then," she replied.

As time went on, I began to realize that perhaps I had not been fair. After all, what harm could it do? It wasn't like Michael Crawford would suddenly appear and sweep her off her feet any more than a Dallas Cheerleader would walk into my office. Let her have her fantasy. After all, she let me have mine and even if she didn't, I would still "lust in my mind" as Jimmy Carter once said. She would if the shoe were on the other foot. Also, rationally, I came to realize that just as I was infatuated with a TV persona whom I might not like personally, so were they. What they really loved was the Phantom. They pursue and embrace his art, his voice, his stage persona, but not really him, even though they, as I, delude ourselves that the person is as we imagine them. So, I let her have her dream. And the rest is history.

During the past year, she has been happier than I am when the Skins win it all. Also, she has been grateful and appreciative that I did not interfere with her harmless dreams and new-found friend (very appreciative, if you know what I mean, guys?). So consider yourselves fortunate you did not have meetings in your home. You did not endure the mask. You did not have to be constantly answering the "phrone."

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