Donny Osmond -- I Want You

There comes a time in every boy's life where he must prove that he is a man. I had that chance in 1982 and failed. Now it's the year 2000 and I want a rematch.Pay Attention. The year was 1982 (see, the dates match, that's consistency brother, and that's how you'll know this is a true story). I was in the 8th grade. The purple sock "I'm a little bit country, I'm a little bit rock and roll" craze had swept the country into an Osmond frenzy. Although the Osmond's variety show was no longer on the air, like the budding of a paper rose, the Osmonds still blossomed in my heart.I was living in San Antonio, Texas in 1982. I was the new kid on the block. Fresh from Utah. Even at NKOTB I still wasn't cool. When them Texans found out I was from Utah, three things happened. 1) They asked if I was Mormon. 2) They asked if I knew Donny and Marie. 3) I would get punched.It got to the point that I would tell people I was from Virginia. 1) Then they'd ask if I was a Yankee. 2) Then they'd ask if I knew the Statler Brothers. 3) Then I'd get punched, but not nearly as hard.The Statler Brothers, now they didn't bother me at all, they smoked cigarettes and watched Captain Kangaroo. But Donny, damn it, I had a feeling his favorite color was purple, because he also got beat up all the time. If there was anyone I wanted to meet, and to beat, it was Donny.I was geek before geek was cool, but if I can toot my 8th grade horn, I did have one thing going for me. I made $5 an hour working backstage at the San Antonio Majestic Theater. I met Molly Hatchet. Chop. Chop. I saw Englebert Humperdink with his shirt off (note to 8th grade Phil: Sit ups). Bow Wow Wow and the Clash signed my sleeveless concert T-shirts. Adam Ant yelled at me and Michael Hutchence, from INXS, choked up a guitar pick for me.As Texans were busy remembering the Alamo. I was busy readying myself for Donny Osmond. The Osmonds were coming to town. I would be working their concert. And, like all big time show people, the Osmonds had a specific request for what they wanted backstage. Some bands want drugs, others wanted chicks, the Osmonds wanted a Ms. Pac Man and Donkey Kong arcade game.It was 1982, arcade games cost a quarter. The video games weren't violent. We didn't need guns and blood. Monkeys, aliens, ghosts, dancing fruit, or a chance to rescue a princess were reason enough to drop quarter after quarter.Galaga was my game of choice. I was so addicted to this game, that I wondered if the handle was made of compressed cocaine. The addiction was unlike anything I had ever felt. As is a life of debt, I made $5.00 an hour catering and I spent $5.25 an hour on video games.Three days before the Osmonds came to town, I saw their Ms. Pac Man and Donkey Kong wish list. And somehow I just knew Donny Osmond would look at me and say, "Hey kid, let's play a video game." And when that chance came, I wanted to win, beat Donny and become a man.I went to the local arcade, pockets weighed down with rolls of quarters, and I tried to become the Ms. Pac Man King. But, when them Texans saw me playing Ms. Pac Man 1) Hey Donny Osmond loving Mormon. 2) Faggot. 3) Punch, as in Hawaiian.I switched to Donkey Kong. But the eye/hand, monkey/barrel jumping coordination just wasn't there. Try as I might, I couldn't save the Princess. But I got better.When I showed up to work the big Osmond show, I was as ready as I could expect. I thought Donny would be impressed that I could go up two levels with one Mario. The best laid plans of Mice and Donkeys ... When the Osmonds were up on stage practicing their shtick, I stepped into their green room, and, for the first time in my life I had found UTOPIA. Ms. Pac Man and Donkey Kong machines that didn't require quarters. I practiced and practiced. Level upon level I climbed up that Donkey Kong tower. And just when I thought I was going to rescue the Princess, I got the tap.TAP. TAP. TAP. On my shoulder. I thought it was my boss trying to get me to work, until I heard "Hey, Do you want to play doubles?" It was 1982, and that voice could have only come from that rock and roll rebel DONNY OSMOND."You bet your purple socks," I thought. "Yes," I said, with the Who's "Pinball Wizard" echoing in my brain. Donny said, "You first."My Mario jumped, and he grabbed the hammer, bashed barrels and climbed the ladders and when Mario got to the top of level one, well, he got killed."Not bad," said the Prince of Provo, Utah.When Donny took control, I knew I had been beat. He turned his baseball cap around backwards (true rebel status in 1982) and he became one with Donkey Kong. That deaf, dumb rock star sure played a mean Donkey. He progressed four levels before dying.After killing my second Mario man (euthanasia), I let Donny have the machine. I was just glad I didn't bet Donny Osmond a Donkey Kong made of gold against my soul. Because you can bet, I would have regret, because he was the best I'd ever seen.I entered the Majestic Theatre that night a boy. And that night I left a boy. That was not the way it was supposed to happen. I wanted to leave a man.It's 2000 and I want a rematch. Texans can punch me if they choose, but WATCH OUT. I know I can kick Donny's ass in Donkey Kong. And I want to do it live on his TV show. I've never seen this Donny & Marie Show, but I bet they do silly things. Wackiness, I imagine. Like Me & Donny playing Donkey Kong. Insanity.Donny Osmond, wherever you are, I challenge you to a rematch.This is a cry from the media. Certainly someone that reads this must know Donny Osmond. And if you do know him, and if you do see him. You tell Donny Osmond that Phil Jacobsen is biting at the bit. He's got Donny Osmond in his sights. And he wants a rematch.In 1982 I was a boy. Now I'm a man. A man that wants to play Donkey Kong. A man that has a score to settle with his inner child.

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