Untold Tales of Majik: Double Trouble

In Green Bay, 1989 will always be known as the Year Don Majkowski Played Out of His Head. He passed for more than 4300 yards. He beat the Bears. He found a way to make a mullet sexually attractive. In short, he was a miracle worker. Surprising to many, including The Fontenot, is that the Majik Man's heroism wasn't limited to the football field. In recent months, dozens of people, ordinary and famous, rich and middle class, have shared with us their amazing stories about how Number 7 performed his special brand of Majik in their own lives.

The following story, the second in our on-going series, was told to The Fontenot by Sherry Pamperin, a hairstylist living in Sheboygan. (The first story  was posted on June 8.)

Sherry Pamperin

Age: 42

Me, Sheri, and Sherrie were downtown at the Stick getting tanked on White Russians. It was a Thursday night, November of 1990. The only other people in there were the bartender and these two shifty-looking punks reading the Sun-Times at the bar. Richard Marx was on the jukebox. Cans of Pabst were half off. It was an ordinary night out in Green Bay.

Until Don Majkowski and Jeff Query walked in the door, that is.

Of course I recognized them right away. They looked like they could be brothers, what with their bleach- blonde hair and their matching white leather jackets. Don had his arm in a sling, which I knew was from getting hurt the week before, and each of them was carrying a little green duffel bag, which they set on the bar when they sat down.

Don ordered two shots of Rumpelmintz and asked the bartender to bring them a whole, uncut lime,"to keep them company.”  It looked like they were there to take a load off. It looked like they'd had a long day. But when the drinks came, they each reached into their duffel bags, pulled out a binder, and got to work.

They were going over their playbooks—that much we could figure out. Mostly it was Jeff asking Don questions. Don either drew things up on the bar with his finger or he'd aggressively highlight things in Jeff’s playbook with his big yellow highlighter. When Jeff understood something, Don would pat him on the back. When Jeff seemed confused, Don would point two fingers at his own eyes and stare at him. "Look at me," he would say. "Me , Jeff."

This went on for approximately an hour.

Around eleven, Sheri and Sherrie decided they wanted to go outside and get some air, maybe have a smoke. I said sure. And so we’re out there just talking and smoking, whatever, whatever, when guess who came outside  and joined us???

I wish I could describe the way the moon lit up Don's hair. 

Both of them bummed a menthol off of Sherri and for maybe ten minutes we stood there shooting the breeze.  Don told us about Chuck Cecil's libertarian politics and told Sherri she had beautiful eyes. Jeff told long, rambling stories about the three most awesome Garth Brooks concerts he'd ever been to and his pre-game routine.

It was when Jeff was showing us his groin stretch that the punks from inside walked out and stole Sheri and Sherrie’s purses. They just walked out, yanked them off their shoulders and started running for the mall. It happened in like two seconds. There we were talking and then--boom--two guys are running off with our stuff.

I looked at Don. Don looked at Jeff. They narrowed their eyes.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Jeff said. Don nodded. And without a moment's hesitation, they each reached into their duffel bag and pulled out a little bottle of Aqua Net hairspray.

"Let's do this," Don said.

Jeff caught up with the taller punk in like five seconds, that's how fast he was. When he had the guy on the ground he sprayed him in the eyes with the hairspray and the guy let out this shriek, like an American eagle.

“You do not MESS with the Q!” Jeff roared. "You do NOT!"

Meanwhile Don was chasing the other guy, his one good arm pumping as fast as it could. To be honest, the other punk had him beat. I thought he'd get away. But Don had a plan. When he got to the end of the Port Plaza Mall parking lot he stopped, readjusted his grip on the bottle, and threw it sidearm like it was a boomerang. It twirled out in this big arc, swooped in, and hit the guy in the back of the head. Down he went, right in front of the Younkers sign. He gasped, "Chicago..." and then passed out.

We cheered, and Don bowed deeply, twirling his fingers dramatically. He spritzed some Aqua Net in his hair and patted it into place. And after he went and got the purse, he slung it over his shoulder and did this little girlish sashay, just to make us laugh.

“I think this belongs to you, good lookin'” he said when he handed the purse back to Sherri. He winked. She almost fainted, it was so romantic.

Unfortunately, the mood didn't last long. Moments later, Query walked over holding a ragged, bloody human scalp above his head. His eyes were shiny. He looked wild and triumphant.

Don pinced the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"What did we just talk about, Jeff? Huh? What did Coach Infante just tell you?"

Jeff hung his head and lowered his arm.

"Too macho?" he said.

“Too macho," Don said. "Much too macho. Go give that man his scalp back. Go on. Git."

So Jeff did. As it turned out, he had a high-quality surgical adhesive and a bottle of Codeine in his duffel bag.  After the scalp was back on, Jeff shook the punk's hand and called him a cab. They decided to call it even.

Later that night, I called our other friend, Cheri, to tell her everything that happened. She had stayed home to watch a very special episode of “A Different World."

“Whatever drunkypants,” she said. “That’s the White Russians talking.”

I swore it wasn’t. Sheri and Sherrie vouched for me too. But Cheri wouldn’t believe us.

Which, to be honest, is just fine with me. Believe what you want. Me, Sheri and Sherrie? We know the truth.

Comments

[Jeff Martens]

This is exactly why I carry surgical adhesive in my briefcase and in my glove box.