Every Minute One is Born, a Liar Gets His Wings

Wow!  Isn’t this the week for revelations?

We’ve been had!

Jodie Foster is single, Lance Armstrong is not committing to anything, and Manti Te’o’s dead girlfriend didn’t die of leukemia!

It’s a Miracle!

No, not really.  She’s not dead, because she never existed in the first place.  Cheer up Manti, I’ve been there, done that.  Well not exactly. My non-existent girlfriends were kept in my head.  Not broadcast on national television.

But I know my readers. You don’t want to know about Manti Te’o’s girlfriend.  You want to know who the heck is Manti Te’o and why should you care?

You shouldn’t, but here is the rest of the story.

Manti Te’o is a linebacker for Notre Dame. With a name like Te’o, you’re right. He’s from Wales. No, he’s Hawaiian, and he was also on the Heisman Trophy short list. That’s how good a linebacker he is. Being a good linebacker for Notre Dame requires a lot of skills. Fortunately for Manti, maintaining a big lie isn’t one of them.

“Why are you shooting us? We're just friends of Bernie's.”

And this is where our story takes on “Weekend at Bernie’s” proportions.

Did Manti lie? He claims the whole thing was a horrible hoax played on him. He thought his girlfriend was real, and then found out she didn’t exist.  Yup, been there too. Still, let me assure you. One liar to another: yes, Manti lied.  It doesn’t matter whether he was hoaxed or we were punk’d, somewhere in this story, Manti lied.

Maybe it was how he met his girlfriend, Kekua, at a Stanford game, and they gazed into each other eyes. Maybe it was the hours they spent on the telephone giggling in love. Maybe it was the mere mention of her name. As storyteller and a blogger, I can smell a fable before the “once upon a time.” The lie in this story is stinkier than the state of Denmark.

As an old chubby apathist living in Detroit, I clearly am the man to comment on the state of college football and the pressures put on a young Hawaiian athlete. Then again, as the blogger moving to Mars, I think I can say a thing or two about what went on behind the scenes.

Here’s how I see it happening.  Manti’s hanging out with his teammates.  Maybe they’re celebrating his Heisman nod.  Somebody tosses Manti a bee—root beer and says, “You know what you need?”

“What?” Asks Manti, blowing out a match for his smoking friend.

“You need an edge. You need a hard luck story.  You know, a fake leg or something.”

“Yeah dude!  Let’s cut off your leg!” Says one of the guys who’s got too many mushrooms on his pizza.

Manti bounces up, cuz he knows shroom guy likes his pizza and Manti really needs to keep his leg.  Thinking fast, Manti says something like, “Maybe a one legged girlfriend.  She lost it in a car wreck.”

“Or she got leukemia from the car wreck…” 

And a story is born.  Nobody thought that the story would get as big as it did, but pretty soon ESPN is asking questions, and Manti says something about the love of his life, Kekua. Now Manti needs a whole committee of root beer drinkin’ pizza lovers and a marketing drop out spinning background stories like they’re golden thread.

“Rumplestiltskin!”

I’m not Aesop, but this isn’t my first fable. This sounds like the fox and the monkey or maybe it’s the thief and the innkeeper. I forget. That’s the problem with stories.  You tell too many, and they get too difficult to keep straight. 

Ask Manti. Even if he’s the victim here, I’m sure there came a point where even a football player goes, “huh…” and he failed to share that moment with us.

Hoax or not, I think we should let Manti slide.  He’s already caught enough crap. He’s young, and a fake dead girlfriend is relatively harmless. The Tonya Hardling level of humiliation is going to stick with him like the taste of…well…Tonya Harding.  I’m betting he’s learned his lesson.

Like Jodie Foster, I say we give him his privacy.  Why are we mad? Because he fooled us? Because news fact checkers aren’t what they used to be? We should be mad at ourselves. We hold these people in esteem and then are shocked when the fail.

This story is older than time.

Manti lied about his girl.

Lance lied about his drugs.

Magic had to explain HIV to his wife.

Pete bet on Baseball.

“Say it ain’t so, Joe!” Him too, and lets not forget, “Uhm, this lion has all his teeth…Ahhh! my leg!”

Save the leg. There’s a mushroom lover who may need it for another story.  The point is, as long as there’s an uncertainty of an outcome, there’s going to be a liar playing the game. That’s one of life’s sureties.  But now the game is done, let’s put down our second-guessing pitchforks and bats and go home. Or maybe go on to the next game. Maybe this time a little wiser.