Home / Updates / April 11 2003 / Large Professor - Sucker Shoes

The Large Professor
Guest Column - Sucker Shoes

By Brent A. Nelson
First published at www.johnberardi.com, Apr 11 2003.

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Ever heard the statement, “There’s a sucker born every minute”? Sure you have. Everyone enjoys a good chuckle at the expense of the slow and dim-witted. But have you ever wondered whether you’re in fact the sucker?

A bold claim, or perhaps a rationalization: we’re all suckers in some way, at some time. Each and every one of us. I myself have recently been initiated into the secret society of Grade-A, toasted-in-the-barn, and roasted-on-the-stake suckers, and I’ve written this article, sacrificing my very dignity, so that others might be saved. My name is Brent A. Nelson, and I am a bonafide Blow-Pop suckin’ sucker-boy. This is my story.

Last September, I moved to Los Angeles with stars in my eyes. Having just graduated from university, I needed a break from academia, so I postponed grad school to pursue a career in modeling and acting. While waiting for my big break in the big city, I was putting my education to good use while waiting tables at a restaurant called the Hamburger Hamlet. I was gleefully unaware that I had become a Silver City cliché, because unlike all the others I knew I had what it took to be a model and an actor.

In retrospect, I wonder what actually bred such confidence.

Had I ever modeled professionally?

Well, no.

Had anyone ever recommended that I become a model?

Uh, unfortunately no.

Had I ever starred in a play…anywhere?

That’s a negative.

Had I had any real acting training (besides my ‘Introduction to Acting’ class in college, which even that imbecile Culkin kid could have passed)?

That’s a negatory, good buddy.

But no matter – when you’re this good, you don’t need training or tangible skill. I felt it in my bones, I knew I could do it. And so it began, pounding the pavement, projecting my voice patterns over telephone lines, and attending countless auditions. I got some headshots taken, got into some acting classes, and started to send out my pictures in an attempt to land an agent. I was on my way to stardom.

However, things were moving too slowly -- except at the Hamburger Hamlet, which was generally at capacity. So I decided to set up a photo shoot with a noted physique photographer, who has photographed some of the biggest names in fitness. Much to my delight, she thought I had a good chance to be in some fitness magazines, so she agreed to do a shoot with me. When the pictures came back, I realized that I now had some objective evidence that I was a lean, mean, refeedin’ machine.

With some good head and body shots now complete, I started sending out my pictures to modeling agencies. I could vividly picture my success. The agencies would fight over my portfolio. I would incite riots in the industry. Two female casting agents would come to blows with one another, clawing and yelping, scratching, scratching . . . touching. Slowly kissing, massaging, and then the whipped cream . . . wait, what was I talking about again?

A few days later, the phone rang.

“Hi, Brent. This is Marina from XYZ Management, and we would like to have you come in for a further interview.”

It was time. My big break had arrived. “Marina, eh? Wonder if she’s hot. Hmmm. Touching . . .”

This small-town Minnesota boy was ready to show everyone from back home that he’d made it. My cup of enthusiasm had runneth over. I walked into the agency, watched Marina bat her eyes and tell me what I wanted to hear, and signed on the dotted line of fame and fortune.

Later in my car I decided to read the fine print. I may not be Matlock here, but something seemed amiss. Rather than paving the way to stardom, my agreement entitled me to a photo shoot with a staff photographer at the price of $595.00 for 4 rolls of film. In addition, after paying another $400 for a portfolio, I could be one of their models.

I had just fallen victim to the oldest scam in the modeling book.

In the quiet of my apartment, I realized that my cup of hot enthusiasm had spilled all over my lap - burning me where it counted – my wallet. I realized that models actually got paid for their pictures and not the other way around. And it was at this point that I realized I was a sucker. Worse yet, I was a sucker who prided himself at laughing at other suckers. Being involved in bodybuilding and educating myself through websites like johnberardi.com and t-mag.com, I had been laughing at the supplement suckers for years. In my faux superiority, I wondered how all those “stupid people” could get suckered by ridiculous supplement ads claiming to be 1000% better that the other “leading brand.” It turned out that I wasn’t immune myself.

Desperation breeds suckers, my friends. When desperate to be a model, I became a sucker. When desperate to lose 30lbs of fat, a dieter becomes a sucker. When desperate to gain 20lbs of muscle, a weight lifter becomes a sucker.

Now that I’ve walked in sucker shoes and I know better, I’d like to tell you this. I now know that if there is a will, there is a way. But rather than believing false, exaggerated promises, or buying into promises that involve forkin’ out your hard earned dough, the way involves patience, education, and hard work – no matter what goal you choose. If you want to lose 30 lbs of fat, patience means losing the fat slowly, education means reading everything Berardi has ever written about nutrition [Editor's note: a textbook or two wouldn't hurt either], and hard work means sticking to your eating plan no matter what. If you take this approach, desperation is kept at bay. And when desperation is kept at bay, you won’t be playing the sucker.

Brent A. Nelson is a fitness enthusiast currently residing in Los Angeles, CA. He can be reached at nelsonba25@yahoo.com