Last Night I Drove Ben Roethlisberger's Porsche

My friend "John" is in the Army Reserves. He was scheduled to be operating a crane in Iraq right about now, but his stint was pushed back until an undisclosed time. So, he has been able to start his biology teaching master's program in person instead of distance learning, and that means staying in the area, at least for the summer.

We went to dinner with Heather last night after John showed me his new apartment and had a shave at the barber. We talked about being raised Catholic, having a hard time with the "don't ask questions, God works in mysterious ways" part of the whole thing. John was kicked out of CCD for asking if Jesus ate toast, among other things. So much for the whole "no atheists in foxholes" claptrap.

Just as we were finishing up, a tall, slim man in his sixties strolled over to our table, sized up all three of us, and said, "Are you in the service, son?"

John flushed and looked over at me. He said, "Yeah..."

The man smiled imperceptibly, placing one hand on John's shoulder and extending his other. John took it.

"I just want to thank you, son, for doing what you're doing," said the man. "Do you like the Steelers?"

John turned even redder. "Actually, no."

"Well," said the man. "Take this." He extended one square key with a fat, black plastic top. "My car is sitting across the street from the restaurant. Take her about five miles up the highway and you'll find a nice long straightaway. See what she can do."

All three of us looked back and forth. I think if I were in John's position, I would have tried to decline the offer in some sort of contrived politeness. My friend John has no such hangups.

"Okay," he said, and rose out of the booth.

"Have fun," said the man. " And keep her between 3000 and 6000 rpms. You won't need sixth."

We chattered excitedly as we left the restaurant, scanning the opposite curb for the man's car.

"That's gotta be it," said John.

We walked over to a silver Porsche Carrera (pretty sure it was a 996) parked across the street. John slid the key and unlocked it, pulling the handle. This guy gave us his Porsche for a little joy ride.

We climbed in and after a bit of searching (and KITT jokes), John fired it up. He sat for a second, took it all in, and said:

"Do you know how to drive a stick? Can you teach me real quick?"

I laughed. Then I realized that he was serious.

"Oh God, John. Are you serious? Don't they teach you that shit in the service?"

"Most of the vehicles we use are automatic," he said.

"Well, this isn't exactly a good training car. Let's go find that guy and tell him."

"That guy" had emerged from the restaurant to see us off. I laughed and yelled across the street that John didn't know how to drive a stick. He smiled and yelled, "So you drive."

John handed me the key. I was whisked back to my brief stint as a detailer for a dealership in Annapolis. I hated cleaning other people's nasty cars, but I loved driving them.

We pulled off and took it easy - very easy - through town while Heather followed in our Subaru, until we found the straightaway. The Carreras are supposed to be able to hit 60 mph from zero in 3.7 - 3.9 seconds. We hit at least 75 in five.

We were out about 10 minutes, got back safe and sound, still in disbelief. John is one of those people that is afflicted (or blessed) with a higher probability that strange, random things will happen to them. Last night it was definitely a blessing.

Turns out that the man spent his youth in Vietnam, and much of his adult life unemployed and struggling. He's now a wheel at a large tech corp and friends with several big names in the NFL. He apparently bought the Porsche from Ben Roethlisberger when the Steelers told the quarterback to sell his toys or beat it.

I suppose some would dismiss the man's gesture as hollow, idealistic or perhaps, unwise. I think it underlines the compassion we all have for those in our military overseas and how life in war is uncertain, uncharted, immediate - every moment counts, and if those moments are pleasurable more than not, all the better for the individual.