me out one day when I was playing against the Giants during spring training in 1991. She couldn't wait to call Madonna after that.
"There's this guy you gotta meet," her publicist told her. By then Madonna had decided that she wanted to have a baby; specifically, she wanted to have a baby with a Latino man.
She had developed a real infatuation for Cubans-all Cubans-and she put out the word that she was on the lookout for interesting Cuban men to meet. Somehow our representatives contacted each other, and right away all these rumors started flying that Madonna wanted to meet me, even though at the time I was still married to my first wife, Esther. To me, it was all hard to believe.
"Who am I?" I kept asking myself. "This athlete is going to meet Madonna?"
But I did want to meet her. I was sure it would be interesting. So when the A's headed off to Anaheim on a road trip, I decided to go see Madonna. I brought along my agent at the time, Jeff Borris, and we drove up into the Hollywood Hills the day of a game to meet her and get acquainted. I remember parking in front of her house and honking the horn, then watching as the door opened up for a minute. This head popped out to take a look at us, and then disappeared again. "Was that Madonna?" I asked my agent. "It didn't even look like her."
We both kind of stared at each other, not sure what to think.
Madonna at that time had black hair in an unusual style, parted down the middle; she didn't look anything like what we were expecting. We sat there in the car, waiting for something to happen, until finally she came out and brought us back into her house.
She looked at me, then over at Jeff, and then back at me.
"Does your agent follow you around everywhere?"
"No," I said.
So Jeff just sat there on the couch, and Madonna gave me a tour of her house. We walked around for a few minutes and wound up in her bedroom. Right away, she walked over and closed the drapes. I knew she had something in mind, but I didn't know what. "Sit down," she told me.
So I sat down. Who wouldn't? She hit the remote control on her VCR and started showing me parts of Truth or Dare, her documentary, which hadn't yet hit the theaters. I think you can guess which scene she showed me. It was the famous masturbation scene on that big bed.
"This is crazy!" I was thinking to myself.
There I was, sitting about a foot away from Madonna as she played that part of the movie for me. A million guys would give anything to be in a situation like that, but the truth is actually kind of funny: Mostly I was just scared. I had a kind of blank feeling; as sexy as it all was, it was hard to be turned on when I was busy wondering what Madonna was going to say or do next.
She can be a very intimidating presence-and we were in her territory, so she was very much in control. I wasn't used to that. My eyes were glued to the TV, but eventually I realized that she was watching me even more closely. There was a long, awkward silence, but I could tell she was getting ready to say something.
"So what do you think?" she asked after the scene ended. I looked back at her for a minute.
"It's very interesting," I told her.
She smiled, but didn't say anything. It was like I could hear the gears working, she was thinking so hard. She seemed to be checking me out, studying my body like I was a champion racehorse, inspecting me to see what sort of potential I had for stud service, and what sort of genes I'd be passing on.
We walked around the house some more after that, then went back to see how Jeff was doing. Madonna kept asking me questions, one very specific question after another, as if she had drawn up a list beforehand. She wanted to know about my background, and my family, my personal philosophy, what I thought about every subject you could think of.
"Why do you wear that big diamond ring?" she asked, looking down at this six-carat diamond ring I had then. "Do you feel like you need more attention?"
"No," I told her. "I
"There's this guy you gotta meet," her publicist told her. By then Madonna had decided that she wanted to have a baby; specifically, she wanted to have a baby with a Latino man.
She had developed a real infatuation for Cubans-all Cubans-and she put out the word that she was on the lookout for interesting Cuban men to meet. Somehow our representatives contacted each other, and right away all these rumors started flying that Madonna wanted to meet me, even though at the time I was still married to my first wife, Esther. To me, it was all hard to believe.
"Who am I?" I kept asking myself. "This athlete is going to meet Madonna?"
But I did want to meet her. I was sure it would be interesting. So when the A's headed off to Anaheim on a road trip, I decided to go see Madonna. I brought along my agent at the time, Jeff Borris, and we drove up into the Hollywood Hills the day of a game to meet her and get acquainted. I remember parking in front of her house and honking the horn, then watching as the door opened up for a minute. This head popped out to take a look at us, and then disappeared again. "Was that Madonna?" I asked my agent. "It didn't even look like her."
We both kind of stared at each other, not sure what to think.
Madonna at that time had black hair in an unusual style, parted down the middle; she didn't look anything like what we were expecting. We sat there in the car, waiting for something to happen, until finally she came out and brought us back into her house.
She looked at me, then over at Jeff, and then back at me.
"Does your agent follow you around everywhere?"
"No," I said.
So Jeff just sat there on the couch, and Madonna gave me a tour of her house. We walked around for a few minutes and wound up in her bedroom. Right away, she walked over and closed the drapes. I knew she had something in mind, but I didn't know what. "Sit down," she told me.
So I sat down. Who wouldn't? She hit the remote control on her VCR and started showing me parts of Truth or Dare, her documentary, which hadn't yet hit the theaters. I think you can guess which scene she showed me. It was the famous masturbation scene on that big bed.
"This is crazy!" I was thinking to myself.
There I was, sitting about a foot away from Madonna as she played that part of the movie for me. A million guys would give anything to be in a situation like that, but the truth is actually kind of funny: Mostly I was just scared. I had a kind of blank feeling; as sexy as it all was, it was hard to be turned on when I was busy wondering what Madonna was going to say or do next.
She can be a very intimidating presence-and we were in her territory, so she was very much in control. I wasn't used to that. My eyes were glued to the TV, but eventually I realized that she was watching me even more closely. There was a long, awkward silence, but I could tell she was getting ready to say something.
"So what do you think?" she asked after the scene ended. I looked back at her for a minute.
"It's very interesting," I told her.
She smiled, but didn't say anything. It was like I could hear the gears working, she was thinking so hard. She seemed to be checking me out, studying my body like I was a champion racehorse, inspecting me to see what sort of potential I had for stud service, and what sort of genes I'd be passing on.
We walked around the house some more after that, then went back to see how Jeff was doing. Madonna kept asking me questions, one very specific question after another, as if she had drawn up a list beforehand. She wanted to know about my background, and my family, my personal philosophy, what I thought about every subject you could think of.
"Why do you wear that big diamond ring?" she asked, looking down at this six-carat diamond ring I had then. "Do you feel like you need more attention?"
"No," I told her. "I
Similar Books
