A new magazine story from Jeanne Marie Laskas is good reason to be excited. Her latest for GQ, "There's No Crying at the Pee Wee Super Bowl" looks like another sure shot:
A cool December Friday night at Disney's Caribbean Beach Resort, the coach is hiding beneath some palm fronds with his laptop, jotting numbers on a legal pad, crossing off numbers, adding more numbers. Everyone has learned to ignore him when he gets like this. Dads in Bermuda shorts shout beer stories, moms in bright flip-flops snap photos of the boys, 12 and 13, who have found the hot tub. The pool, swarming with toddlers bopping Styrofoam noodles, glows supernaturally.
"You know what? I'm heading back to the room," he tells Kerry, his wife.
"Jim—" she says.
"I'm sorry," he says.
It's getting loud. The Wi-Fi is crappy. He needs to focus. He packs up his stuff, DVDs, notebooks, cables, both PC laptop and MacBook so as to avoid any formatting issues when he's studying film. At this level, film is key. Pre-game prep can go on for days. Two o'clock in the morning he'll be up, walking the treadmill, watching film. He's 47, thick jet-black hair, fit, high-energy, fast-moving, fast-talking, deep-set eyes dark and serious. By day he's an airline-software salesman, a full-on tech geek, but everything else about him is Pee Wee.
[Photo Credit: Finlay Mackay]