Pat Moffett: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

There are some things in the universe that are just too hot to touch. The sun is an example of one of these things that you don’t want to come close to. The same goes for the earth’s core. Pat Moffett is approaching that “too hot” threshold at an alarming speed. As I sit next to him in class, I begin to feel a little nervous, for there is a good chance that I will burst into flames and melt like a stick of butter on a frying pan.

Luckily, I survive and am able to observe Moffett as he studies for a test. Not only is Moffett one of the most exciting playmakers in the NESCAC on the football field, he is also the school record holder in the 55 meter hurdles, and is regarded by many to be the fastest man this side of the Mississippi. In addition to this, he is one of the hardest workers off of the playing field. Many a night, I have asked him to play his game of NCAA 2004 and he has responded with “I can’t, I need to study.” His diligence to his studies is remarkable considering the throngs of women that throw themselves at him, unable to resist his backwards hat and his cell phone that takes pictures. I was fortunate enough to hang around with Moffett for a day and see what goes on in the life of Wesleyan’s number one superstar.

Moffett, not one to waste any part of the day, does today what he routinely does every day: wakes at the crack of dawn. Before class, he goes out behind his house and milks the cows, so that his roommates may have fresh milk with their cereal. Then he lights the stove and prepares breakfast for Jim Rooney and John “Cobra” Charters. Why, you ask? Because Pat Moffett has dedicated his life to the selfless task of making the world a better place.

It is off to class for Moffett. Unfortunately, his professor has fallen ill and has not come to class. Seeing the obvious disappointment in his fellow students, Moffett steps to the front of the room and begins to lecture. Never have I been so moved by someone discussing how climate changes can dictate the productivity of the collective Pacific Rim economies. After an hour and a half that seemed to go by in five minutes, Moffett finishes and is showered with applause as he leaves the room, off to his next task.

Instead of taking a lunch break Moffett walks down to the local homeless shelter and helps feed and entertain those less fortunate than him. Near the end of his time at the shelter, an old blind man walks up to him and mutters something incomprehensible. Moffett calms the haggard old man, places his hands over the man’s eyes and beings to chant in a strange tongue. After fifteen seconds of this, Moffett removes his hands and smiles down at the old man. The old man smiles back and yells, “I can see! I can see! Thank you, kind sir!” Moffett assures the man that he need not thank him and once again, he exits the room to thunderous applause.

After the homeless shelter, Moffett prepares for football practice. As he walks down the halls of Freeman Athletic Center, the jaws of freshmen drop to the floor and people whisper, “There he is…that’s Pat Moffett.” On the practice field, he never stops running. During a drill, All-NESCAC Rookie of the Year circa 2000 Brennan Carney throws a ball that is going to clear Moffett’s head by at least ten feet. Moffett does not give up on it, though. As the ball travels over his head, Moffett stretches out his right arm, and with a display that would make Master Yoda blush with envy, summons to ball back into his hands. A defender ready to make the tackle is blasted away by an unseen force as Moffett runs for a touchdown.

Immediately after practice Moffett looks flustered. He explains to me that he only has an hour to get to his musical performance. We hop into his car, a red Chevy Blazer, and seemingly within minutes are on Broadway, right in front of a theatre. Moffett jumps into a nearby phone booth and emerges in full costume. I shake my head in disbelief as he runs into the theatre, ready to perform as the Phantom of the Opera to a sold out show. On his way in he throws me a ticket to a front row seat and is gone.

After the show, Moffett is tired and for good reason. He has had a long and eventful day and tomorrow there will be more of the same. He drops me off at my front door, but not before rescuing a kitten from a nearby tree, and then vanishes into the night.