No ballcap, no toothpick, no wristbands, no wedding ring and no Darren. My bad for not immediately recognizing the cat in the Kangol (from the Samuel L. Jackson collection) as the man many of you consider your fearless, bespectacled leader.

The thing is I wasn’t in Chicago. In fact, I was at a United gate in Denver International Airport waiting for a departure to Kansas City. So while the man wearing a new Super Bowl XXXVIII grey sweatshirt under a trendy black leather vest with a grey fur collar looked somewhat familiar, I was trying to place him as a middle-aged former Chief or Royal, and not the current Cubs’ skipper.

Once in the air, the man quickly popped open his portable Panasonic DVD player and The Bourne Identity starring Matt Damon appeared on the mini-screen. Wearing headphones so as not to disturb the other passengers with his questionable selection, the man who I’m 94% certain was Dusty Baker enjoyed a peaceful flight with only two interruptions.

The first was the overfriendly blond waitress, err, flight attendant who asked Dusty if he attended the Super Bowl. Dusty couldn’t hear her with his headphones on so he took them off and she repeated the question. He said yes. She asked if it was “awesome.” He said yes. She asked if his team won. He said no. She claimed that “hers” did, though she didn’t explain her specific affiliation. She also didn’t follow up to ask him if he was in fact a Carolina Panthers fan, or by “his team” he thought she meant the Cubbies, who obviously weren’t playing and therefore couldn’t have won.

He didn’t even have to hit pause, or acknowledge her presence a second time as he was apparently not thirsty, nor did he have a taste for the complimentary mini sack of mini pretzels. Though I later learned he had his own snack in the form of a full size bag of Frito Scoops.

The second interruption came courtesy of yours truly. Once it finally clicked that this was either Dusty, or at the very least his evil doppleganger, I knew if I didn’t say anything that I’d be doing the loyal readers of Desipio a major league disservice. So I began thinking of appropriate questions I could subtilely ask to let him know that I knew, without drawing a lot of attention and maintaining the coach’s privacy in coach.

Will Farnsworth ever be the automatic gas-throwing go-to in the 9th? Is Corey gonna be ready to roll? Why aren’t you sitting in first-class? Are you gonna throw at Clemens? Do you watch your cornhole in St. Louis? That Matt Damon’s something else, huh? Did you cover Darren’s eyes when Justin exposed Janet? Will you be able to sleep at night and live with yourself knowing that you nearly cost me a Rotisserie Championship with your misusage of Hee Seop Choi last year?

Then I put on my Desipio thinking cap to come up with the question on most of your minds and tips of your tongues… and quietly leaned forward as we began our descent, “So are you guys gonna sign Maddux, or what?”

He smiled gingerly and replied, “I didn’t know we were tryin’.”

End of conversation. I smiled, fake laughed, leaned back in my seat and thought, what an f-ing jerk. Or maybe he’s telling the truth and he has no hand in the off-season acquisition of past their prime Cy Young candidates, or is simply too busy jumping between Houston, Denver and K.C. within one week’s time, to have his finger on the pulse of anything. Or maybe yet, it wasn’t Dusty after all. But just a well-dressed African American male with quite possibly the largest hands I’ve ever seen in person.

Had he answered differently (i.e. honestly/friendlier), I would have continued the dialogue and relayed every single word of our extended exchange, likely including the informative or amusing answers to most of the questions above and as many others as he’d entertain. In hindsight, my mistake was probably not preceding my question with, “Hey Dusty, Jake Potter of Desipio Media Ventures…” Then he’d have been game. In fact, there’s a good chance he’s reading this right now. (It’s all good, Mr. Baker!).

But in the end there was no aggravating, self-indulging autograph or picture request, and more importantly, still no word on Maddux.

Not that you need him anyway, and you’re welcome for trying and keeping your best interests in mine. Always… Even at the end of an exhausting 7-day vacation while sharing the same roof as a 5-month old, 1 year old and 4 year old. One that precedes every one of his questions with, “Can I ask you sumpin'”…

Damn, maybe that’s the opening I should’ve gone with. My bad.