MALCOLM McDowell stood stoically on the side of Kamehameha Highway lost in thought. Things would be different
if I were in chargeThe British actor, currently starring in the new version of "Fantasy Island," was preparing for a scene at Surfer's Point near Kualoa Ranch, so I assumed his longing gaze across the blue Pacific was part of his act.
Unfortunately, I was bound for work and had no time to pull over to do my impression of him from "A Clockwork Orange." The urge was strong to stop the car, but after thinking about it for a second or two, I felt it best not to sidle up and say, "Welly-well-well-well-well," or "Eggy-wegs. I would like to smash them."
Likely, he would have toppled into the ocean and my impressionist period would be over. Instead, I continued my 25-mile journey to work, lost, as usual, in my own fantasy world.
In my imagined episode with McDowell, I want to be the head coach and the athletic director at a Division I program staring at financial ruin. Of course, to be the hero, the previous regime must pull off a "Three Stooges" act.
We're not sure how these folks got in charge, but after the first 15 minutes, we have a pretty good idea that the custodian not only needs to sweep the halls, but the offices, too. Everybody must go.
NATURALLY, I make all the right moves. I ooze with so much charm, bankers agree to build me an on-campus football stadium, interest free. The Board of Regents set aside the rule that reads I have to be dead for five years before the new 40,000-seat stadium can be named after me.
Once I've hired an administrative office that can run itself, I will turn my attention to the football team. In my fantasy, there are no props, and all high school and junior college credits transfer in. I also have an enclosed practice field, complete with luxury boxes for boosters flying in for that weekend's game.
Of course, when I build it, I will make sure you can see the field from the stands. I will also craft a creative ticket package for the students, since they are the future season-ticket holders. And I will help the families of season-ticket holders, since they are the backbone of any program.
As head football coach of a dilapidated team, I will need to hire the best assistants at a competitive pay rate that factors in the cost of living. They would recruit the best athletes, who couldn't resist coming to a program committed to excellence.
We will go unbeaten year after year, breaking every record along the way, and I will be carried off the field, shoulder-high, more times than Vince Lombardi. Every college administrator in the country will come from miles around just to touch the brim of my cap.
THE second half of the show will force me to live with the downside of my fantasy. It's in the script. My wife and kids will threaten to leave me because I'm never home. The NCAA will pay me more visits than Jerry Tarkanian, wanting to know how a team 0-12 one year, can be 12-0 the next.
My banker buddies won't want me to limit myself to athletic director and football coach. If I have this much magic at my fingertips, imagine what I could do for a political system that's in equally poor shape.
City councilman, state senator, governor, president. There will be no stopping me because I won't be able to. My life will become an endless parade of meetings, luncheons and state dinners that will require me to get dressed up.
Dressed up?
"Nope, that I won't do," I thought to myself as I pulled my car into the Star-Bulletin parking lot, fantasy over. This is where I belong, in a job that can make more of a difference than all those others put together.
Thank you, Mr. Malcolm. For a moment there, I lost my head. But to quote the master, "I was cured, all right."
Paul Arnett has been covering sports
for the Star-Bulletin since 1990.