Star struck - Robbie Williams said 'hi' to me!!!!!!

The biggest regret I ever had when meeting a real ‘star’ was my near-stalker history with British
megastar singer Robbie Williams. I had been a fan of his since his Take That days. I was into bad boys during my teenage years. Looking back, it was an overrated species. I had heard that Robbie bought a house somewhere on Mulholland Drive – a long and winding road in the Santa Monica Mountains. I didn’t feel like spending my weekends driving up and down Mulholland Drive on the off-chance of seeing Robbie behind a fence. However, when I learned that he and his amateur soccer club, L.A. Vale, were going to play every Thursday at a Santa Monica High School just a few streets from my apartment, I knew what I had to do: charge my video and photo cameras! I was excited beyond belief! I asked a coworker, who had never heard of him before, to come with me to the soccer game to perform CPR in case I pass out. Robbie Williams was, unlike anywhere else in the world, not a household name in the U.S. That’s why he was able to play soccer without being recognized and bothered – except by me.

The day came when he was going to play with his team and I drove into the Santa Monica High School parking lot. My coworker and I walked up to the gate and fenced-in soccer field. And there he was! Running around in near slow motion. It was like being in a dream. A security guy guarded the gate and told me that no cameras were allowed. Damn. Ok, well, it was a chain-link fence, so I could film through the fence at least. I turned the video camera on and waited for the ‘beep’ signaling that it was turned on. “What the hell? Why is my screen all black? I can’t believe that it stopped working right now!” I was pissed! My coworker came over to take a look and followed it up with the recommendation to remove the cap from the lens. I felt like an idiot. But there was no time to feel stupid. It was time to film now. After about five minutes, I decided it was time to put the video camera back in the car and to finally go inside to be in Robbie’s proximity. We were told that we could sit on the bench located on the far end of the soccer field. My coworker and I were the only spectators. It was exhilarating. Oh my god! What’s going on? He is coming closer. Holy Shit! My heart was racing. He walked up the sidelines inside the soccer field towards the bench we were sitting on. He was suddenly less than two meters away from me. He looked over. “Hi.” I responded with a frozen tortured smile. To my agony, my co-worker kept saying really loud and over and over again: “He said hi! He said hi to you! Aren’t you excited?” I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t speak. He walked off. A few minutes later my heart rate reached a normal level again.

Once the game was over, he sat down by the exit. I had to pass him. I was so nervous. He nodded goodbye and I nodded my head goodbye back and gave him another one of those tortured smiles. And here is where the regret part comes in: I should have asked him for a photo right then and there. This was my chance! And I missed it. Damn shyness. I was so over it! I drove home without a photo. I returned to watch him play several more times but more people found out about him making an appearance at the games. The security guard was not there anymore after the first game and I got the chance to take photos of him playing soccer. But I didn’t get a chance again to take a photo with him. By the time summer came around, troves of German tourists had discovered Robbie’s soccer secret in Santa Monica. The high school field became crowded and Robbie got noticeably agitated. He even yelled at people who pointed a camera at him.

When the tourist season was over, Robbie returned with a better mood – and a fan club. A group of housewives in clearly homemade fan-gear filled the small bleachers. They wore denim from head to toe and were not exactly the type of L.A. wives we got to see on TV. No high heels or make-up. Instead, rather untoned bodies with no concern for fashion. It looked as if they all met on the weekends to take a Bejeweler gun to their denim to craft the fan outfits. An odd crowd. But Robbie enjoyed their company. He sat down with them in the front row. I was in the fourth, and last, row and watched in envy. The following year, Robbie did not return to play soccer at the high school. The only other time I came close to him was at a Mark Ronson concert at the El Rey theater in Hollywood. He performed one song and walked right by me at the entrance. Not even a close chance to ask him for a picture and it was still a ways before cell phone cameras were invented.

Lesson learned: take chances as they come. They may never return again.