Remembering a few brushes with greatness

A sportswriter walks into a bar and ...

I'm not reciting the first line of a joke. I'm actually going somewhere with this.

The sportswriter was me and it happened many years ago - so long that I can't remember the exact location. I'm fairly certain that it was Sullivan's Steakhouse, a few blocks from Camden Yards. But this isn't the important part of the story.

I ducked inside the men's room before last call - the bar's, not the bathroom's - and saw Yankee shortstop Derek Jeter at one of the urinals. I ignored him and moved to the other end of the row. An unwritten rule.

By the time I was done and flushed, Jeter already had bolted out the door as if trying to avoid interacting with a fan. My "brush was greatness" was fleeting.

I'll assume that he washed his hands. I just know that he didn't dawdle.

Why am I sharing this anecdote? Because I'm setting up today's topic.

I want your most memorable brushes with greatness.

(I know what you're thinking and yes, you're allowed to include me.)

I've already recounted the night that I worked up the nerve to introduce myself to actress Judy Landers, the wife of former Orioles reliever Tom Niedenfuer, after a game at Memorial Stadium. She was sitting a few rows in front of me. And "greatness" might be getting a little loose with the language.

Shortly after graduating from high school, I flew to Los Angeles with a friend who invited me to join him on vacation. My first flight since I was an infant. I drank a Bloody Mary and puked for most of the trip, somehow managing to stop during landing. An elderly woman leaned over to me from across the aisle and whispered, "Good job."

She wasn't the celebrity, but I chuckled because I actually thought that I had been discreet.

Anyway, my friend stopped at a gas station and we saw professional wrestler Superstar Billy Graham standing in the parking lot. Muscles bursting out of his tank top. He agreed to take a photo with me and I still have the Polaroid - my tank top placing a distant second.

I love random sightings.

Is it a "brush" when you stake out a celebrity?

Asking for myself.

Former heavyweight champion George Foreman, one of my favorite boxers as a kid, made an appearance at Minute Maid Park on May 30, 2014 before the Civil Rights Game between the Orioles and Astros. He sat in a room reserved for corporate types, not the media, and I stood in the hallway staring through the glass.

Brittany Ghiroli, formerly of MLB.com and always much bolder than me, asked a member of Houston's public relations staff if we could get a photo. He relented and kept motioning for us to wait. Then he signaled us inside one at a time, stressing that we had to hurry.

(Ghiroli went first. I feared for my life.)

Meanwhile, commissioner Bud Selig was holding a press conference down the hall and we blew it off. I didn't need to hear him say again that Baltimore was a viable candidate for the All-Star Game. Same with Rob Manfred. But someone always asks.

Rinse, repeat.

This final story comes from one of my best friends and it always makes me laugh. I'm reminded of it now after the passing of Hall of Famer Wes Unseld, the former Bullets center who later coached the team and served as its general manager.

My friend walked into the restroom of a Columbia bar many years ago and noticed an NBA player standing at one of the urinals. He didn't stare, of course, but he recognized Bullets forward Terry Catledge, who was having a rough night. We'll leave it at that.

As my friend went about his business, he heard Catledge say, to no one in particular, "Wes won't let me shoot!"

A catchphrase was born.

OK, now it's your turn.