DAVID DIEHL: A claim to fame: Droppin' high school names

In high school we all secretly thought Lance McNaught was a moron.

Nobody said so out loud, though, because to do so would guarantee certain death by swirly. Lance was so strong he could shatter a walnut betwixt his butt cheeks, so there was no thinking what his bare hands could do to your cranium.

Now there's no need to settle for just imagining such a scene. You can see it for yourself most Monday nights on SpikeTV. When I sit down to watch Lance on World Wrestling Entertainment's "Monday Night Raw," I usually do so with a cold beer and a nice warm helping of crow.

While everybody else went off to college, or a lucrative ditch-digging career, Lance went off to wrestling school, to toil in the underground circuits of dark gyms and long nights. We all knew he was crazy.

Now, as people from the Class of 1999 are slowly easing into their professional careers, Lance is too. He's better known in trailer parks everywhere as Garrison Cade, the young wrestler who looks like Zack Morris on the juice. He's a minor celebrity, hanging out on television every week and mingling with some hardbody divas.

Looking at that, anybody who says teaching is a rewarding profession is full of crap. If I mingle with divas at work, I go to jail (or get a promotion, who knows?)

Everybody at Millard North High School knew Lance wanted to be a professional wrestler. He talked about it, he practiced it, he quoted The Rock, calling everybody "a Jabroni" and threatening to "put the smack down" on all of our "candy asses."

Lance's obsession with becoming a professional wrestler led us all to believe he was on crack. Actually, we all thought he was on steroids, too. He was, after all, the only person in school who could make his pectoral muscles dance by flexing them independently. I liked calling it the "boobie bounce."

Lance is the only person I know who gets paid to bounce his boobs, not counting my friend named Destiny. And guess what? Most of their body parts have been enhanced by medical science, legal or not, who cares?

When Garrison Cade and "Monday Night Raw" came to Omaha on Monday night, Lance McNaught had come full circle. His professional career had ventured back to his hometown, where he cultivated his dreams of becoming the next best thing on cable television. Hey, some want to be heart surgeons, others want to perfect the belly-to-belly suplex. To each his own.

I think it's nothing short of amazing that the same kid I played high school basketball with is now working in one of this country's premier entertainment industries. It's an unlikely story -- chasing down your dreams, no matter how ridiculous they seem. It's as clichéd as the boy-meets-girl chick flick, but it's still a good story.

Please, though, don't confuse this for a rah-rah, you-can-do-anything column of inspiration.

Consider it 25 inches of name-dropping. Yeah, you see that Garrison Cade on "Monday Night Raw?" I went to high school with him.

Besides, it'd be hypocritical for me to write an inspirational column about dedication. Me, dedicated? Yeah, right.

I'm the type of person who beelines straight for a greasy Sbarro's heart attack to-go whenever the line at Subway is more than five deep. Healthy food? Screw that, I'll take a triple bypass operation if it'll save me five minutes in line and somebody barking, "Chips and drink today?"

It's the highlight of my day if the chocolate chip cookies at Subway aren't crustier than a 15-year-old's bath towel, and now I get to sit back and watch this guy I graduated with go all Richie Incognito on people and collect mad cash for it? Yeah, life is great. At least I know somebody living it up.

This is all about who I know, baby. Some people say the most important thing in life is who knows you. They're bass-ackwards. It just vindicates my existence to tell you who I've rubbed shoulders with.

Eric Crouch once talked to me at a party in high school.

Remember Pat Ricketts? One time, him and me made a kick ass balsa-wood house in shop class sophomore year.

One time, I hit Judd Davies in the face with a curveball.

One time, Michael Jackson came to my house to use the bathroom. Wait. That was "The Goonies." But his sister did.

C'mon, everybody name drops.

How many of you have ever told somebody, "Hey, I met this one doofus, he writes this column ..."

OK. Bad example.

EDITORIAL POLICY:
Unsigned editorials are the opinions of the Spring 2004 Daily Nebraskan. They do not necessarily reflect the views of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, its employees, its student body or the University of Nebraska Board of Regents. A column is solely the opinion of its author; a cartoon is solely the opinion of its artist. The Board of Regents acts as publisher of the Daily Nebraskan; policy is set by the Daily Nebraskan Editorial Board. The UNL Publications Board, established by the regents, supervises the publication of the paper. According to policy set by the regents, responsibility for the editorial content of the newspaper lies solely in the hands of its employees.