November 27, 2010 by David Gillaspie
Momma Grizz as Mixed Martial Author
Sarah Palin seemed to speak without breathing.
The voice on the phone slid from one syllable to the next like an unforgettable Kenny G solo. His endless note comes from a technique called circular breathing.
She had a lot to say, breathing would have got in the way.
“This is DG’s B&B? I sure hope it is. The number I dialed came from the inter-web. I’m calling about Mixed Martial Authors. I am one of those. I’m a fighter and I deserve a shot.”
She seemed short of breath.
“Boy, they’ve got me on the run today. I’m doing my television show, and let me tell you, it’s not like the movies. You don’t just sit in a chair until someone calls your name for a close-up. It’s nothing like that.”
The shadow of Sunset Boulevard fell across my window.
When I started DG’s B&B a few people called and asked about rates. I explained it wasn’t a real B&B.
“Mom, you can stay anytime for free.”
No one ever called asking for a fight.
“You still there?” Sarah Palin said. “I heard a click and thought the phone died. That’s what happens when I hear a click on my gun; something falls down dead. What about that octagon? When can you book me? I don’t have as much time as I used to, so the sooner the better.”
I had two choices: tell her the Mixed Martial Author series was something I had to invent, or tell her what she wanted to hear.
“Ever fought? Call me Sarah. Are you kidding? I’m a basketballer. I scrapped every night. It was always fair, not like things now. It wasn’t about name calling and college degrees, it was about something bigger. It was about America, and you don’t get more all-American than playing basketball in Alaska. Just ask Trajan and Carlos.”
“Sarah, have you ever been punched in the face?”
“You’re asking me if I’ve ever been punched in the face?” She laughed with a small snort. “If you ever ran for elected office in this great nation we call America, you wouldn’t ask. Running for office means getting punched in the face every day for at least two years. You get slapped and spit on walking through airports. And threats, let me tell you about the threats.”
I wanted to hear about the threats, but said, “Has anyone ever doubled up their fist and slammed it into your head so hard it made your ears ring?”
“Sir, my ears still ring from the comments directed toward me in the last Presidential race. Yours would too. My glasses, my hair, my clothes. If you don’t think the Governor from the great State of Alaska dresses fancy enough for national television, I’m listening. The great Senator John McCain said I took more abuse in three horrific months than he did in five years as a Viet Cong prisoner of war. I’m not sure where you’re headed here, but what part of ‘I want a fight’ don’t you understand.”
This happens a lot in Mixed Martial Author talks. You’d think writers would understand the concept better.
“Sarah, have you ever had a breath-holding contest underwater? Ever swam underwater?” I asked.
“This is about fighting?” she asked. “You sure don’t know much about Alaska, do you? Our ocean freezes up here. Every year. If you don’t believe me, watch Ice Road Trucker. That’s an Alaska you don’t see enough of, even in re-runs. To answer your question, I can hold my breath for over a minute.”
“That’s pretty good. I’m asking because the goals of Mixed Martial Authors, like Mixed Martial Arts, is to either knock you out, or choke you out. It’s either knocked silly or choked unconscious. Have either of those ever happened to you?”
“Let me explain it this way,” she said. “The lesson of the last year is this: foreign policy can’t be managed through the politics of personality, and our President would do well to take note of an observation John F. Kennedy made once he was in office – that all of the world’s problems aren’t his predecessor’s fault.”
I’d seen those words somewhere.
“The MMA octagon isn’t about building a platform, or debating, or the Axis of Evil,” I said. “It’s like a tough high school wrestling match. Even the winner takes a beating. Sarah, once you get into that cage with your gloves on, you’ll either walk out or be carried out. Is that something you want to risk?”
“This is Momma Grizzly on the line. Do I sound like your frightened little authors? They don’t scare me. But I did read that President Clinton is looking for a fight. What are the chances?”
“Pretty good, from what I’ve read.”
“Well Oprah fought a man, and Michelle fought a man. I’ll fight a man, too.”
“Those weren’t the sort of fights mixed martial authors is known for.”
“You’ll be known for better than that if you hook me up.”
“I’ll check and call you back.”
What else could I say?
“I’d like someone with a little more backbone than you’re showing,” Sarah Palin said.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get right on it.”
Backbone? I needed Hillary’s phone number.
(to be continued)