Quasi-Celebrity Sightings - David Wesley

Have you ever run into a B-list celebrity? You know, someone whose autograph you would've sought 10 years ago, but who now is just another citizen, living like (gulp) you? I have bumped into or met celebrities before, whether by accident or at a planned event. These names include Adam Sandler, Woody Harrelson, The Smothers Brothers, Artie Lange, Phil Helmuth, Tommy Davison, Shannon Elizabeth, and some reality t.v. stars whose names I forget. But as a sport's enthusiast, I feel different when it's an athlete. I have seen David Ortiz eating lunch in South Beach, seen Derek Jeter walking down Newbury St., met Walter McCarty twice, saw Eric Snow and some Sixers teammates in Vegas, and have been stuck behind Jason Varitek in post-game traffic. This rarity occurred again last week, when I met the unhearalded former Boston Celtic, David Wesley.

I was sitting with my buddy in a cheap corner breakfast spot on Commonwealth Ave. in Brighton. As we sat there enjoying our $5 feasts and coffee, we engaged in stimulating Tuesday morning conversation. We contemplated why this seemingly All-American diner was fully operated by short, Asian women. Isn't it weird how in a chinese restaurant, you can't go more than 10 seconds without having a waiter re-fill your water to the very top, almost to the point of spilling, whereas here we practically had to throw silverware at them to get a coffee re-fill? Next, we discussed how such a popular venue for hung-over college kids on the weekends could exist without a bathroom. Seriously, I'm sure at least twice a Sunday someone unexpectedly needs to puke or develops violent diarrea after a full plate of chocolate-chip pancakes.

Suddenly, my friend sees a tall, black man standing outside. "Is that David Wesley?" he asks excitedly. I turn, and immediately notice his bald head and trademark oversized ears. "That is David Wesley!" I excitedly respond. An event this large doesn't happen to normal guys like us. When I've seen public figures in the past, I usually avoided conversation, but I felt different. Maybe this was due to the fact that only a dozen or so people were within shouting distance of the restaurant. I turned and jogged outside before he could get away. "David Wesley?" I inquire. He nodded, while the younger girl he was with, a blonde with gigantic boobs, sort of rolled her eyes, as if this happened all the time. Did she think she was dating Mick Jagger? "Sorry to bother you," I continued, "big fan." "Nice to meet you" he responded, as he politely smiled and shook my hand.

As if he smelled the fine aroma from my feta, spinach, and bacon omelette, he lead his girlfriend inside, and promptly asked the hostess where the bathroom was. My friend and I started convulsing with laughter, having just finished discussing how stupid it was that they didn't have one. Wesley inquired aloud, "No bathroom?", before choosing an open table by the window where he could stretch out his abnormally long legs. My friend asked, "When you coming back to the Celtics?", while Wesley chuckled and announced, "I'm retired." "They could use you," I noted, though half-heartedly since it was sad to admit that my beloved Celtics would actually benefit from having a solid, though unspectacular 36 year-old point guard running their offense. "Nah, they don't need me," he said with a smile.

With his relatively short responses, we figured it was probably time to end the conversation. You generally get about a 20 second window to make small-talk with someone famous before you become an intrusion in their lives. So we finished our meal, asked for the check, and left. In the car on the way back home, we laughed until it hurt, in large part because this entire event was so random. What was David Wesley doing not only at that restaurant, but in Brighton no-less? Though officially part of Boston, the Allston/Brighton area is basically populated by students who can find some decent bars and cheap apartments. Was a $5 breakfast all a professional athlete could afford? Was his girlfriend a student who lived in the area? I know he wasn't going there for the service. I wonder if he lived in our building?

For two guys in their mid-twenties, this was a wake-up call. Often, the things that matter most to you when you are a teenager aren't really important in the grand scheme of things. If this event happened when I was 10, I probably would've excitedly asked my dad to go get Wesley's autograph, while I ducked my head and avoided eye-contact at all costs. Now an older and wiser being, it's easier to understand that people are ultimately, just that, people. Maybe not exactly like me, being they were for a time, rich and famous (at least locally). But once your career is over, once your name is no longer in the newspaper, once people are no longer cheering your name in the closing seconds of a ball-game, all that matters really is how you conduct yourself and what kind of person you are.

To this end, Wesley passed the test. In the brief seconds we spoke with him, he was engaging and respectful, and even smiled a couple of times. I'm sure there are plenty of former athletes who wouldn't have. And while Wesley has undoutedly already forgotten our encounter, my friend and I are left with a good story to tell our friends. Even at the ripe-old age of 26, a chance meeting such as this can prove to be a significant experience.