The Alton Lister Award: 4,907 Miles and Counting Toward Pooh Richardson, Josh McBob

I think it was last year (or the year before?) I watched George Clooney in his quirk-comedic “Up in the Air.” A film about a man who flies so much for work he has joined every elite flying club known to man. Literally he walks into an airport and the baggage clerk knows more about his personal life than his own sister.

The last two months and change have been similar for me. In training for a new career, I’ve trekked 4,907 miles via rubber to the road, to attend weekly trainings away from home. Five days a week in hotels, meals out, cheap wine, late night thinking and hopefully, a bit of fansmanship while I’m at it.

But there is no Goodyear club, which makes me a bit sad. While it is true that paying for a plane ticket is technically a lot more expensive than buying a set of wheels, I recommend the major tire companies take note of the airlines’ prestigious award of ultimate flier, and create there own ultimate roadster.

Instead of being awarded a plaque on the back of your own personal lounge chair in first class, the tire companies could celebrate your commitment to rubber with a year’s worth of condoms? Encourages safe sex while making a committed customer feel special, which not only builds a positive relationship, but also passes on a legacy of business loyalty.

In lieu of my 4,907 mile award club, I’ve been acknowledged by the below: A man with a niche die hard cult following.

Alton Lister — 59 years old, former NBA pine rider for the Milwaukee Bucks, Golden state Warriors, Seattle Sonics, Boston Celtics and Portland Trailblazers.

His award includes each and everyone of his hoops in exchange for each of my miles driven. 4,907 times, Alton Lister put a basket in an NBA hoop. His final season in 1997 with the Blazers, subsisted of a point per game average of 4.9.  But I’m sure his average was something like 4.9[pie]7. Which looks much like 4,907.

This goes to show just how economically blue collar it is to drive your car. Countless hours spent numbingly humming depressing wrist slicing Cold Play songs, and I’m still only equivalent to Alton Lister, a good for nothing forgettable athlete with a name confused for Liston. For most of my life I have used Alton Liston  as a name when playing “text your friend the most random athlete game,” and each and every time I’ve won with that name.

As I ascend the miles list for the next six weeks, I hope to evolve into at least a semi-star pine rider. Pooh Richardson would be nice. My friends could call me Pooh Dick.

But hopefully at some point I can become the ultimate champion of mileage/”text your friend the most random athlete game”: Josh McBob. A name like Josh McBob is indestructible. Josh is a classic American name, Mc implies a name of European heir, and Bob is a universal name: meaning: mustache, go-to, clutch and athletically challenged.

But a Bob overcomes challenges. Bob the Builder for instance. A construction worker made out of plastic and outlines in coloring books who not only can build anything and everything with only three pieces, making him the most efficient engineer in the world, but one who inspires children while doing so.

Name one man in your life who was a real get – down- and -dirty construction worker you would trust with your children. My dad was one of these, which is why my mom started calling him the gardener when I was five.

If Bob was my dad, if only, I would of been a better man.  I could of passed on the three-piece legacy, building entire overpasses in a matter of seconds. If only I were Josh McBob my life would mean something.

*McBob is a more efficient and condensed version of McRoberts. Josh McRoberts currently plays for the Orlando Magic.*