True Conversations. By Paul Goldfinger, Editor @Blogfinger (Former sports editor of the R-Hi newspaper)
Scene: Fairlawn High School soccer field—- too many years ago to count. It’s half time, and the Rutherford High School varsity is playing Fairlawn. I’m wearing my sweaty navy blue and white RHS uniform, hanging around waiting for the game to resume.
Somebody: There’s a Fairlawn cheerleader who’s name is Goldfinger.
Me: You’re kidding, right?
Somebody: No. She’s a good looker, too.
I grab a buddy, and we walk around the field to the opposite side. A group of FHS cheerleaders wearing red and white are standing in a clump talking and giggling. I’ve always had a curiosity about cheerleaders, especially how they do those splits, but I cautiously approached the group and asked, “Do you have a cheerleader named Goldfinger?”
Mildly hostile FHS cheerleader: “Yes, she is the dark haired one over there.” She looks promising.
Me to my friend, “I’ll be right back.”
So I walk up to her. She is in fact quite appealing in her uniform.
Me: Hello, my name is Goldfinger. Is your name really Goldfinger?
She: Yes. She doesn’t seem to be in the mood to exchange pleasantries with moi. (I was taking French that year.)
Me: You know, if we got married, you wouldn’t have to change your name. (This was an all-time great opening line–or, at least I thought so.)
She: Rolling her eyes, turns and walks away. Maybe she has no sense of humor, in which case I would not ask her to marry me anyhow.
Me: I shrug and walk back to our side as the whistle blows.
To be honest, I can’t recall who won the game, but it’s a good thing it wasn’t baseball, because I did strike out that day.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
