NOW THAT’S A “STAR” WORTH GETTING “STRUCK” ABOUT

by Adam PacMan Taylor

Picture this…

EXT. URBANIA OHIO – DAY.

Rick Moranis tightly crammed into a souped-up child-sized go cart, wildly locked in a French Connection-style street race with a cherry red 94 Corvette Convertible piloted by Al Bundy. Race culminates in obligatory near-miss steaming train dodge get-away. End Scene.

You want to see this, right? In 1994, you were not alone.

For those of you who clearly lived a sheltered youth, the scene I have just described is from the classic Warner Brothers film, “Little Giants.” A 107-minute, child-targeted NFL commercial featuring, now washed up, football greats John Madden, Emmitt Smith, Steve Emtman, Bruce Smith and Tim Brown. (Though if my memory serves me correctly, Steve Emtman was well on his way to being washed up even then. In fact, Steve Emtman was never good.)

The film tells the recycled tale of a rag-tag bunch of rejected pee wee football players (in the interest of time, please refrain from questioning the fact that a pee wee football team was rejecting children) who band together to form their own Moranis-coached squad: The Little Giants.

Can someone say “makeshift pot and pan-based football equipment?” Yes, the screenwriter can. (A cute touch, but come on. Even the nomads from Mad Max were able to score themselves some real shoulder pads.)

Needless to say, the usual, unrealistic trumping of size, speed and skill, by heart, smarts, and knee-slappingly funny illegal-formations ensues. Once and for all putting those evil “athletic” 9 year old boys to shame.

If I just ruined the ending for you, you are actually retarded. Please notify your caretaker that you have accidentally found yourself on the computer.

Flash forward 15 years to present day. Again, allow me to set the stage.

A mildly drunk Adam “PacMan” Taylor nonchalantly snatches his, fair-share exceeding, 10th gourmet cookie from an “off the chain” dessert table perched high above the Kyoto Grand Hotel in downtown Los Angeles.

The table is the highlight of a posh film festival afterparty for a fest in which I had a short in competition. To spare them the shame inherent to inviting me, as well as to avoid any retribution for my 7 friends that snuck in through the service entrance, the festival shall remain nameless.

Flanked by his freeloading entourage of unemployed/uninvited school chums, Adam carefully scans the swanky sea of prim and proper Hollywood socialites for his next act of clandestine gluttony.

Now being that I live in New York City, the random celebrity sighting is not an uncommon occurrence. (My infamous “me passing ketchup bottle to Paul Giamatti in grimy SoHo deli story” turns three this August.) Though I am slowly discovering a previously unknown, and somewhat odd, affinity for sighting the Hollywood C-lister.

Granted, as Dabney Coleman’s mother most likely once said, list-level is in the eye of the beholder. Though unfortunately for most, list-level is also not set in stone. Years can take their toll on a celebrity’s A-List status like waves crashing up against a worn and battered shore. This festival was a veritable “who’s who” of nameless examples of that very analogy.

To my left: Bobcat Goldthwait. Luke Skywalker to my right. I’m not talking about the 2 Live Crew Luke Skywalker either. This was Anakin’s boy. (Though the 2 Live Crew one would have been pretty cool too.)

If only I could have rolled up to that party a few decades earlier. I mean, can you imagine what the street value of these bookend sightings would have been worth in 1980?

In 2009 however, these men were nothing more than saggy, sad-faced obstacles in my quest to elbow my way towards the open bar. Then it all changed. Like a page out of Exodus, the crowd parted “Red Sea style” to reveal…

Him.

His name is Todd Bosley, though at the time he was exclusively known to me as the sickly, 4-eyed, bowl cutted, nerdy 9 year old, immortally frozen in time by Little Giants…age 24. A triple-take was in order before rapidly grilling my friends for some (albeit, pointless) confirmation. There was no mistaking that face.

Our eyes met and we reached an unspoken understanding from across that room that “yes, I recognize you. I’m sorry, but you know I’m coming over.”

Through what appeared to be the same damn oversized glasses he wore in 1994, his eyes responded with a gracious: “Alright asshole, let’s get this over with.”

I smiled and gazed back a quick: “I’m obviously gonna need a picture too.”

His eyes complied and I was on my way.

He was approximately 30 yards away but I swear it took me two steps. We spared ourselves the standard introductory clarification, as it was clear this would not be necessary in this instance. He knew damn well this was a Little Giants thing.

He politely humored my surely unoriginal, yet necessary, Little Giants FAQs with the same answers I’m sure he’s been spitting for the better part of his adulthood.

He obliged me a depressing where-are-they-now type update session that might as well have been, “he died, she died, they died.” I was surprised, and somewhat saddened, to learn that Todd Bosley may actually be the only moderately successful LG alum out of the whole bunch.

He proudly told me of his recent reoccurring character role of “Howie” on ABC’s hit show Scrubs. However the film’s young and promising leading lady, Becky “The Icebox” O’Shea (Shawna Waldron for those of us with the Little Giants IMDB page bookmarked) went on to make a Poison Ivy film. Need I say more?

After a brief 20-minute chat we shared a sincere handshake and the photo you see posted below.

With the nearest iPhone inauspiciously out of juice, I was sadly at the technological mercy of the Motorola Razr, 0-megapixel cell phone camera.

My apologies to Todd (that’s right, first name basis) for the quality, as well as for forgetting to remove the miniature “fuck off” lapel pin I had moments earlier finagled from the cute Asian girl working for the festival’s sponsor, The Onion.

The rest of my night was filled with a series of failed attempts to find someone else that could recognize something special had occurred and share in my jubilation.

I was astonished at how few people knew who Todd was. Apparently, for my circle of friends, the real buzz of the night was provided by Kramer from Seinfeld.

No, not that Kramer from Seinfeld. I’m referring to the guy who played “Kramer” on the episode where Seinfeld was shooting a sitcom within his sitcom. Just as recognizable, yet at a fraction of the racially charged public outbursts.

Though one thing we were all in agreement on was that the C-list celebrity sighting is always more fulfilling than the A. The A-list celebrity is forever in the spotlight. If I want to know what an A-lister looks like I simply open a magazine or flip on the TV.

Why would I want to run in to Tom Hanks at a party? I see him every day. I know exactly what he looks like.

Contrarily, did you know Luke Skywalker was fat? I sure as hell didn’t. Last time I saw him he was a ripped 25 year old dressed in a camouflaged Endor Battle Poncho.

2009 Luke is a bit closer to 55 and dons the more contemporary, high-end, leather Looney Toons jacket and denim nut-huggers. (true) Now that’s a sighting worth writing home about. Tom Hanks? No. I already knew he was fat.

So in conclusion, and for those of you keeping score at home: Luke’s fat, Fake Kramer is more popular than Little Giants kid, and on Wednesday night at 8PM Eastern, I’ll be watching Scrubs. My newest “must see.”