Gerald C. Matics -- Author

Yesterday I took my mother to see a doctor in West Chester.  Mom lives way the hell out in Chester County, nestled close to the Lancaster County border, so it's a bit of a drive.  On the way back I knew she was hungry, so I took her to a little market called Triple-Fresh a couple miles from her house (she doesn't drive and can't walk far, so to her it might as well be on the dark side of the moon).

Standing in line at the deli counter, I met the eye of a gentleman in his late-50s (I thought), casually dressed in jeans and a light jacket, his short gray hair tucked under a Kansas City Chiefs cap -- and the sunniest smile on his face.  Something about him looked incredibly familiar -- not in the "don't I know you" way, more in the manner of someone you see on TV often enough to think you know.

A few more stolen glances, and suddenly it clicked.  I leaned over to him and asked, "Anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like Dick Vermeil?"

"All the time," he answered, sticking out his hand.  "I am Dick Vermeil."

Pretty cool, huh?  For you young-uns, Dick coached the Philadelphia Eagles from the mid-70s to the early 80s, which includes their first-ever Super Bowl appearance in 1981 (they lost to the Raiders, I'm sorry to say).  He retired, suffering from burnout, and did some commentary for the major networks for a few years before taking over the St. Louis Rams and actually winning a Super Bowl with them.  Another retirement, and then he came back again (the guy's Rocky Balboa) to coach -- you guessed it -- the Chiefs.  Had some success there before retiring again, and still does network commentary plus the occassional Blue Cross/Blue Shield ad on TV.  (More about Dick from Wikipedia.)  And by the way, Dick's a bit older than he looks; he's 71.

Turns out Dick and his wife have a spacious ranch a couple of miles down the road and he's in Triple-Fresh a lot.  "They make great sandwiches here," he told me.  I introduced him to Mom, although I'm not quite sure she got who he was until after we left and she started asking questions about him.  Maybe it would have helped if he were wearing his Super Bowl ring; maybe not.

I guess the moral of the story is: you're not famous until my mother knows who you are.