Kevin Smith, please help me.

THREE TRUTHS OF JOHN DRUSKA

I’m a bit of a complicated jerk. I say one thing and do the other. I’m extremely selfish. I want kids someday, but not mine, I want yours. To touch. Inappropriately. ????

But there are three things you must know about me. Three truths that hopefully will be accompanied someday by better, more meaningful facts. But for now, if you’re my friend or relative, or bumped into me at a bar and had me talk your ear off about nothing (I’m looking at you, random Saints fan that I met during week 8), you’ve probably gathered this much about me. And if not, well, that’s why you’re still reading, no?

#1: I love acting.

L-R: Plunger, actor, plastic top hat.

To spare you the obnoxious details, I’ll keep this brief. In 8th grade I did teacher impressions for the school talent show. I did Mr. Kwit, an old school softball teammate of my dad (the “Amazing Ants” was the team name, back in the 70’s (what losers, right?!?!)) and gym teacher, Mr. Morella (R.I.P.), my 7th grade homeroom and math teacher, Mr. Mikulecky (sp?), a social studies teacher and Vietnam Vet, and my 8th grade homeroom and Science teacher Scott Demos (he had big forearms.) The laughs I got (if I can give a little credit) and the thrill of entertaining electrified me, and coupled with a trip to Southern Californian that summer, I was convinced that acting and entertainment were my destiny, my goal, the one thing I was better than most at doing.

I did plays in high school and got involved in the best (it was voted and verified) sketch comedy group in college. I fulfilled my boast of moving to Hollywood after college graduation, and since the fall of aught seven, I’ve been paid here and there to act in commercials and internet segments. I guess you could say, I’m an actor. I love it. It’s the one thing in my life I am unabashedly proud of and cocky about.

#2: HOCKEY

I LOVE baseball. I wear with outlandish pride the stadiums I’ve been in. I’ve caught a foul ball at a minor and major league game. When I see the Almighty Chicago White Sox play in an away venue, I am the most vocal and annoying fan imaginable. This often earns me more baseballs, tossed from the hands of All Star pitchers (usually John Danks). I love the smell of grass and hotdogs and cigarettes and capitalism as I stroll into a ballpark. My entire mood and life outlook change when I go to see a baseball game live. However, this freakish obsession with America’s pastime is eclipsed when the glorious game of hockey crosses my consciousness. One of my fondest memories ever was my first and only hockey game in the Old Chicago Stadium; Blackhawks/Bruins in the spring of ’93. 18 seconds in, there was a fight. The Hawks won 4-0. My dad, sister and I had standing room. Good Christ, there are few experiences that can match that.

They played an NFL game in there, too.

You’ve noticed lately EVERYONE talking about Olympic hockey. Perhaps you’ve even seen some of the games. It was a pretty big deal when the U.S. trumped Canada last weekend. People in Canada freaked the fuck out because, justifiably, most folks in the U.S. don’t give a shit about hockey, so why would the team representing these shitfucks beat the greatest collaboration of on-ice talent ever? Well, to those of us who do follow hockey, this was a big deal. For the fewer of us who rock fantasy hockey, it was even better (I, for one, had my two goalies, Martin Brodeur and Ryan Miller, starting opposite each other, with seven Canadian and two American players in action).

Those are Berwyn Besties uniforms.

Even if it’s twice a decade, it’s nice to have the world watching the game that I have been watching for so long. It lends me street cred. Nevermind that it takes international competition to attract the casual observer, whereas I for some reason give a shit about Columbus vs. Calgary; the point is, people are realizing, as they do from time to time, that hockey is motherfucking awesome.

Nothing beats live hockey. Hockey on TV is exciting as hell, which is more than I can say for my other love, baseball. That international Olympic game had about ten Super Bowls’ worth of excitement (back to back to back shooter-on-goalie breakaways? That’s like three interceptions on the same snap; that level of excitement simply does not happen in any other team sport, not even Girl Roller Derby).

I regret to inform you that up until recently, I had never seen Slapshot; I still haven’t seen Mystery, Alaska, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t need hockey romanticized for me. I’ve seen more live hockey in my days than most. I’ve immortalized and idolized players since I was a kid; in our hood, it was roller hockey after school (that’s how I broke my hand), not pick up football or hoops. I even wrote this diatribe when my particular team began to gain popularity again. I could go on and on, and if you get a few drinks in me, I will do exactly that, but you get the point. I FUCKING LOVE HOCKEY.

#3: Mr. Kevin Smith (the filmmaker)

All right, I admit. This whole thing is self promotion. Kevin Smith is in the process of helming a movie about Hockey. Hey, I like hockey. I also dig on acting. You see where this is going?

I haven’t seen Clerks. Or Chasing Amy. If you had a gun to my head and demanded my favorite directors (why the fuck would you do that?), I’d drop Oliver Stone or Richard Linklater. And Kevin Smith, but my passion for acting and hockey does not translate to Mr. Smith. I am however, a fan. Not a fanatic, but a fan, appreciative of his contribution to film and always willing to see his stuff (oh, P.S., I didn’t see Jersey Girl either, but if you haven’t scoped the Cop Out redband trailer, do so. NOW.).  I respect the hell out of him after hearing the story about how he sold off his comic book collection to make Clerks, only to buy it all back eventually because he knew he would be able to someday. In the unmatched summer of 2005, I read four books, one of them being My Boring Ass Life, and I laughed my ass off in the Riverside Golf Club Caddyshack for a few days in June. I have a soft spot for Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, because I saw it with my beautiful high school girlfriend Mary; I cracked up in the middle of making out with her because I was still thinking about the Jon Stewart C.L.I.T. part. When I visited Los Angeles in 2006, I stumbled into the Kevin Smith comic book store (don’t remember the real name) in Westwood and felt really fucking cool while in there. I quoted Dogma (inaccurately I would later gather) for my senior quote in my yearbook (St. Ignatius College Prep; Chicago, IL; 2003). When I worked at the Arclight, I saw him once with his daughter and totally geeked the fuck out.

Fifteen fucking dollars for a movie ticket. Best sound in L.A., though.

So I admit I’m not a HUGE Kevin Smith fan, but I like his stuff and I admire his sense of humor, his accessibility to fans and his general overall self. He’s a cool celebrity, evidenced most recently by what I mentioned earlier: He’s making a movie about hockey.

Mr. Smith: I love hockey, and I am an actor. A good one, at that. I also feel like I can portray anyone from any era of the game (as I know you are writing this thing over several epochs of hockey).

1985?

I’m sure you want/need marquee actors for the significant roles in this thing; I know you are writing the lead for Seann William Scott, but I would like to humbly lobby myself for a role, however you deem appropriate, in this movie (it is tentatively titled Hit Somebody, FYI). I’m half decent at ice skating to begin with, and as you can imagine, it would be the highlight of my existence to be an actor in a movie about hockey helmed by you. It is lame to beg over the internet, but at the same time, I couldn’t in good conscience not at least try to get your attention. I appreciate any consideration and the effort it took to read through this thing to get to this point, and I certainly hope we can collaborate. If not, best of luck to your Devils and the near-impenetrable Brodeur. The Blackhawks will crush you in the Finals.

It’s been a while.

Druska