The Tao (and dough) of Steve

There are egos in this world, and then there’s Steve Fossett’s ego. And man, that is one heftatious piece of work. By now, you know the name of the first man to pilot a balloon around the planet solo. It took him six tries and millions of dollars to do it.

As if anybody gave a high-fiber crap that somebody could finally solo-balloon around the world. Who, outside of the Fossett family and the support team that’s getting paid to support Steve, gives a fig about the fact that Steve Fossett flew a balloon around the world? I’d guess that 99 percent of the readers of this newspaper had the same reaction to Fossett’s achievement as they had when they read about somebody setting a new record for the world’s biggest pumpkin.

Steve Fossett is often referred to as an adventurer. That’s a fair title. I can’t begrudge him that. He has swum the English Channel, set 10 sailing records, including one for the fastest crossing of the Atlantic, drove the 24-hour race at LeMans, completed an Ironman Triathlon, set two American trans-continental aviation speed records, raced in the Iditarod Dog Race and climbed the highest mountains on six of the seven continents.

So, yes, he’s obviously a very neat guy. He may even be a superhero. Hell, the Men In Black might just want to check him out. He’s certainly a world-class show-off.

Which is why I’m sure you share my desire to see a tabloid publish a photo of a completely bombed Steve on all fours on Bourbon Street, power-barfing in the gutter while two of New Orleans’ finest patiently stand behind, waiting for him to finish up with his regurgitations so they can haul him off to the klink with a minimum of mess in their squad car.

Our man Steve will not rest for long on his latest laurel, for he will soon plunge into his next mission. He wants to fly a glider higher than anyone has ever flown, reaching the lower levels of the stratosphere.

Whatever. There’s obviously no stopping this guy. I’m a bit disappointed, though. I was kinda hoping that he’d opt for a human cannonball-type gig. Or pilot a pogo stick across the Sahara, which would be very Steve-like. Or perhaps take a stab at the one-hour record for self-ignited methaneous emissions (a mark that has been unchallenged for quite some time).

One wonders about Mrs. Fossett. Is she really that horrid of a shrew that Steve is compelled to schedule endless adventures requiring him to be gone for three or four months at a time, just so he can get out of the house? One can’t help but notice, for example, that the missus was not invited to balloon around the world. Then again, she might be a curvy bombshell of a tomato who loves parties and absolutely adores the fact that Lovey takes very long and very dangerous trips to the other side of the planet very frequently.