What About Smartass? One Word or Two?

[DOUGHBOYS]

When I was in College, I knew a guy that was a smartass. Now it's true, all of us knew smartasses in College.
This one was a little different. He was athletic but did not participate in any of the organized sports teams at the school. Instead, he took karate, judo, and other martial arts classes.
He played pranks on people at parties and was quick witted and self-assured.
He wasn't a friend of mine, more like an acquaintance. Somebody that would be given a nod in the hallways.
He didn't seem to have many real friends.
I had the same 'baseball player group' that I hung with, he didn't have a 'group'.
We attended most of the same parties, which mostly included jocks, pretty girls, ugly girls, and a lot of beer.

One night, he started getting a little too friendly with our fullbacks girl. The fullback outweighed him by a good 75 pounds and had words with him. The smartass backed himself into a corner by wisecracking about the fullback's performance on the field and wondered if it translated into sexual horizons as well.
He knew full well that the fullback, backed into a corner with football bretren surrounding him would have to fight.
He knew that he had the training to take care of the situation.
He did.
The fullback never landed a punch and could never get close enough to the smartass to use his weight advantage.
Onlookers were stunned at what martial arts could do. The smartass left the room. Before leaving, he asked the fullback's girl who was crying over her fallen boyfriend if she would like a real man. One more smartass jibe before leaving the room. The girl didn't reply, she sobbed while her fallen hero tried to clear some cobwebs from his head.

The smartass was the talk of campus. He had beat the crap out of one of the toughest guys at school. And, he wasn't even a jock.
The smartass seemed to have a little more pickup in his step as he walked the halls. More students were saying hi to him. Girls that didn't give him the time of day a week ago were now flirting with him.
I shared one class with him.
A typical jock class.
Spelling.
For the College, a class designed for English majors or others who had a problem with that part of their studies.
For jocks, an easy grade.
In this class, the footballers, baseballers, and basketballers all sat in clumps.
Others would sit where they could find a seat.
The smartass took his seat near the back of the room.
Each day coming in to the room would be surreal for him. Some girls would say hi. I gave him the usual nod.
The footballers would stare him down.
The fullback did not attend this class and as far as I know, they shared no classes.
Near the end of class on Friday, the smartass either full of himself or wanting to send a little message to the football team raised his hand.
After being acknowledged by the professor, he asked if 'kickass' was one word or two.
Just hearing the word 'kickass' said to a professor was enough to make the room burst out in laughter.
The footballers didn't laugh.
The professor stuttered through his explanation about kickass being slang and that there was no correct way of spelling the word unless it were two separate entities.
It didn't matter. The point had been made.

I wasn't there when it happened.
The smartass had gone into a bar and he left in an ambulance. All the karate or judo does little good when five or six beefy guys are pissed off.
Well, unless you're in a martial arts movie, but this was no movie.
The smartass suffered 12 broken bones and one of his eyes was touch and go whether he could see out of it again.
The smartass didn't return to school until the next semester.
Things weren't the same for him. He lost his wisecracking ways. He lost that step he had picked up. He lost the respect he had garnered after that party.
Now, instead of a hero, he was somebody we pitied.

I saw him sitting on the grass reading a book and sat by him.
He asked if I felt safe sitting next to him. I said I did, because most folks found me harmless.
He laughed and said he felt the same way, now.
After a few friendly give and takes, I asked him why he couldn't just let things be after the party.
He answered that it wasn't in him. He had always been a jokester. Somebody that one-ups everybody else.
It wasn't in him to just let it go, that antagonizing others was just part of his nature.
We became pretty good friends after that. I used all the clout I had to let things be as far as the footballers go. Telling them that they more than got even and to let things lie.
They did.
After College, I lost track of the smartass. I googled him and now know that he's gone on to live a full productive life and decided that he didn't need to hear from me.

I tell this story because there is a baseball player who reminds me of the smartass.
Bryce Harper.
He does little things to piss off players and baseball people.
Little things that are building. He's left a little of his smartass self in Philly and in Miami and probably in other places we don't know about.
Like the girls at school after the beatdown, Harper is revered now by the Washington fans and the press.
He knows it and his head is in the clouds.
Harper has had little reminders from Cole Hamels and Ozzie Guillen that one player, any player is not all that.
Those messages are going over Harper's head.
He's 19.
He's bulletproof.
Just like the smartass.