The Day I Met Jim Kelly

I started doing comedy in 1988. By the Summer of 1995, I had hung around the comedy business for seven years, and like sand in a beach bag, it was clear they were never going to get rid of me, so I was embraced.

In a spectacular case of “right time, right place,” a casting agent called the comedy club I was working at, looking for large guys to play Buffalo Bills players in the background of a Sprint Long Distance commercial. It paid $200 for a day’s worth of shooting, and I jumped at the chance. No one was paying me $200 a day for anything at that time, much less to be on camera in a TV commercial. And I lived and died by the Buffalo Bills; this poster hung on my bedroom wall forever:

I carpooled to Buffalo with Patrick Michelson from the club, and we arrived at stupid o’clock in the morning. I don’t believe the sun had even come up when we got to Rich Stadium (as it was called back then). We sat around for what seemed like forever, and then we met a lady who was responsible for corralling all of us extras. We started out with getting uniforms. It was the middle of Summer, and they had access to a bunch of uniforms and jerseys which hadn’t been issued. “We’re going to start out with the largest guys first” she announced, and miraculously, I wasn’t one of them. Some of the guys looked like they could actually be football players, and some of them looked like chicken wing eating contest champions. Regardless, I was one of the last actors to be outfitted. I was given a pair of size 29 football pants (“They stretch” I was assured, but not that much), jersey #19, and a pair of size 12 cleats (I wear a 13). I asked the lady if there wasn’t some way to put me in better fitting attire, and she assured me that I was only going to be in the background and no one would likely notice. She handed me the red Buffalo Bills helmet, swatted me on the ass and herded me out of the locker room with the rest of the guys.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been on the field at Rich Stadium, but it is an awesome sight if you’ve never seen it from that angle. I looked up and saw the cheap seats, which previous to today was the closest I had ever been to the field. And I was wearing a Buffalo Bills uniform! It was like a fantasy to me. I had been a Bills fan since 1980, and here I was, 15 years later, on that field wearing that uniform. It was amazing and humbling at the same time, I don’t know how else to describe it.

There were cameramen and assistants running all sorts of cables, setting up white reflectors to get the proper lighting, and framing shots. A large number of Bills fans were brought in to fill a section of the stadium, and they were asked to wear their winter clothing and Bills gear. It was the middle of July, and I was feeling it as the sun continued to rise. Production assistants were working hard setting up cotton blankets to look like snow pushed up against the walls of the stands, and I watched curiously as they set up huge fans that would be used during the commercial to get bits of “snow” (really little foam bits that looked like Rice Krispies) flying through the air, to mimic a winter game day in the stadium. Our handler had her own assistants, and their sole job was to keep us extras from dying in the heat by swabbing our necks with Sea Breeze astringent, which they seemed to apply ever four minutes or so.

While the directors were setting up the shots, they realized that the dozen or so of us extras were really getting in the way, so they threw us a football and sent us to the other end of the field. We headed for the end zone and started screwing around, kicking field goals, throwing and catching passes, demonstrating line blocking and just generally horsing around. Suddenly, I heard some cheering coming from the upper deck of the stands. There was a small tour group made up of mostly children being shown the field, and there we were, a bunch of extras waiting to be in a commercial, dressed up as the Buffalo Bills. The kids were cheering for us, they had no idea we weren’t the actual team, they thought we were out practicing. They probably had been told that they wouldn’t see any players that day, and yet there we were.

I huddled the guys up and told them, “Let’s make these kids’ day” and we decided to start running some plays. We worked out some pass patterns and handoffs and every time one of us would run the ball into the end zone, or catch a pass in the paint, the kids would go berserk. I threw five touchdown passes that day, and those kids were grinning ear-to-ear. To this day, I will tell you that was the highlight of the day.

We eventually got called over to the other end of the field, and were given instructions on things to do; some of us sat on the bench and looked like another actor dressed as a coach was showing us plays on a clipboard, some of us were warming up, stretching, running back and forth, and just general football player activities. We were the background, and the director tried a bunch of different things to see how they looked. Somewhere along the line, the lead actor in the commercial showed up, a balding guy who looked a little like the guy in the New York Lottery commercials, but wasn’t him. He was very talented, and between takes I would see him moving around, swinging his arms, doing different things with his body to get limber and enhance his performance.

The commercial was cute; it was called “It’s Official” and it was hawking Sprint pre-paid long distance cards, which were the most advanced telecommunications product of the day, previously peddled by actress Candice Bergen from the TV show “Murphy Brown.” The commercial went something like this; the first shot was the lead actor gesturing to the section of fans in the stands, with snow flakes blowing through the air, and his line was “This is Rich Stadium, the official ice-box of the NFL.” Next shot, the actor twirled a football on his finger. “This is an official game ball.” Next shot, he swats a referee on the butt as he makes the gesture for an incomplete pass. “This is an official official.” “But there’s only one official pre-paid long distance card for the NFL, and that’s the Sprint Long Distance card. It’s pre-paid, so in the spring, there’s no bills, and I like that.” At this point, coach Marv Levy and quarterback Jim Kelly lean into the shot, along with some of us extras and exclaim “No Bills?” and we trample the guy, the joke being phone bills/Buffalo Bills. He delivers the rest of the commercial from the ground, looking trampled, and explains where to buy the cards, restrictions, and etc.

Earlier in the shot, there was an actress in a long fur coat playing a sideline reporter, and a camera man holding a video camera, which was real but wasn’t on. In the background before the “No Bills?” line, she was to be interviewing Marv and Jim, who then overhear the line and lean in. We shot a lot of background stuff and the lead actor did most of his lines well before Marv and Jim showed up.

We broke for lunch, which was catered in. Our handler announced that crew got in line first, then talent, then extras. I figured that talent meant the lead actor and the girl in the fur coat and her camera man, but come to find out, wearing a Buffalo Bills uniform in the hot sun qualifies you as talent. I don’t remember what the food was, but it was great and there was a lot of it, and I sat with Patrick and ate and I remember him saying “I could get used to this!” and he wasn’t kidding. I was talent! In a commercial that would air nationwide! I was wearing a Bills uniform and they were paying me! It didn’t get any better than that.

After lunch, Coach Levy showed up. I swear to God with my hand held high that he talked to everyone and shook everyone’s hand, and he came up to me and said “Hello youngster!” and I was as star-struck as I’d ever been. This was the man who led my favorite team to four consecutive Super Bowl appearances and I loved him. I stammered out something about being a big fan and thanking him for everything he had done with the team and he smiled and patted my arm and moved on to the next guy to shake his hand. It was surreal. While we were waiting for Jim Kelly to arrive, one of the extra’s wives asked me if I wanted my picture taken, and I said yes, and posed next to the AFC logo, helmet off and on my right hip. I had all but forgotten about it when the envelope arrived in the mail a week later, with that picture and a background candid shot that I didn’t even know had been taken (which appears at the top of this blog).

Jim Kelly arrived a little while later, to great fanfare. It seemed as though every TV station and network affiliate was there to cover the story that he was filming a commercial in the off-season. He had just come off shoulder surgery to repair the rotator cuff in his right shoulder that had tendinitis and had been bothering him. He was standing near the faux sideline reporter and her cameraman, and one of the real-life news people tossed him a football and said “How’s the shoulder?” He held the football and looked around, and even without my glasses (I’m near-sighted), I saw his eyes fix on me and my #19 jersey. He cocked his arm back like I had seen him do in games a hundred times, and he let the ball fly. I was approximately 20 yards away.

Up close, it didn’t look like much of a throw, it looked like the kind of throw you would use to throw a tissue into a wastepaper basket after you blow your nose. But that ball came at me in a tight spiral and whistled through the air and hit me right between the numbers with a force like I’d been punched. The ball hopped a little bit, but I managed to haul it in. I held it for what felt like forever, and then Jim or someone gestured for me to throw it back. I’m still not wearing my glasses. I don’t have the strongest arm and I can’t really see my target, but I was most conscious about not hitting the actress in the fur coat or damaging any of the various expensive broadcast-quality video cameras that were all in close proximity to Jim. I tossed him a wounded duck, just enough on it to get it to him, but when that creampuff landed in his hands, he snorted and said “You oughta stay on the offensive line!” I was a little hurt, but I guess he’s used to athletes throwing him the football, and not a 29-year-old standup comic from Rochester, New York.

After the commercial was over, I drove home, $200 check in my hand and a story I’ve told for 20 years. Kelly retired after the 1996 season and went into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility. I went on to appear in commercials for a glass company and a pet supply store, and toured the country performing at comedy clubs wherever I could get booked. And that was the end of the story until last Thursday.

I’ve been working for Rob Lederman at Rob’s Comedy Playhouse in Buffalo for about eight months. He announced to me a few weeks ago that he had booked me to perform at Jim Kelly’s Christmas party at the club. I waffled about whether to tell the story on stage, but I just didn’t have a good enough punch line at the end about me being mad at him for 20 years and the comeback lines I had in my head that day that were more angry than funny. The day of the show, I grabbed my copy of his book “Jim Kelly’s Playbook for Dads,” written after the passing of his son, Hunter, threw it in my bag and headed to Buffalo.

I help Rob manage the club, and got there 30 minutes before Jim or any of his guests arrived. I decided that as a manager, I should park myself near the door and welcome everyone as they arrived. I shook hands, wished everyone a Merry Christmas, and pointed them out to the drinks and snacks. And then Jim walked into the bar. He made a little small talk with some of his guests at the bar, and then turned and headed towards the showroom. I welcomed him and he shook my hand, and almost crushed it. When they talk about “Kelly Strong,” they aren’t kidding. This is a man who just went through an ordeal with cancer, and he was a powerhouse. I was also impressed at his height, I’m a pretty tall guy and usually the biggest guy on the playground where I’m from, and Kelly looked to be about three inches taller than me.

The show went great, and afterwards, I found myself in a conversation with Jim where I got to tell him a very abbreviated story of that commercial shoot, which he barely remembered. He laughed when I told him that he threw me the ball and he asked “Did you catch it?” and I told him that I did, and he patted me on the upper arm hard enough to give me a bruise and hugged me. Then he signed my book and started herding people to the limousine for the after-party at a friend’s house. 20 years of being a little upset at an off-handed remark were washed away. I hung around the club, looking for things to do, because I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to live in the moment for as long as I could.

I’m 28+ years into this business, and I’ve met most of my heroes. My original meeting with Jim wasn’t what I wanted it to be, maybe he wasn't interested in all the attention that day about his shoulder surgery, maybe he just wanted to get the commercial done and get out of there. Everyone has their bad days. Maybe he was an impatient person at the time, and the trials of his life have changed him into the person he is now. It doesn't matter. The man I met a few days ago didn't have an ounce of ego in him, he was so into the show and the laughter and told a little story at the end about visiting Bruce DeHaven in the hospital with a couple of other players from the Super Bowl years and how important laughter was, and that he intended to do a show every year at Rob's and invited enough people to pack the room every time. I was a little upset at Jim for years, but that loose end is tied up. Jim Kelly is my hero, and if anyone says a bad word about him, they better prepare to get swung on.