It always amazes me when I look back on specific occurrences in and around my life and absorb how they've affected my journey thus far. Not the obvious ones, but the simple unassuming ones, which, at the time they occurred, might not have seemed very relevant. As time rapidly passes, I've come to realize and appreciate that it's the simple honesty of those unassuming moments that invigorates life and gives it relevance. As with all of us, if certain tiny moments had never occurred along the way, then my story would have gone in a completely different direction. I began to become more keenly aware of this once I started college, possibly because I believed I was starting to make sense out of life. Even if it was very little sense, it was some sense, nonetheless.

What If

As I mentioned at the close of the last chapter, I was fortunate enough to attend college at the University of North Carolina, in lovely Chapel Hill. It was always my favorite college growing up, not because of the stellar academics it's known for, but more so thanks to Michael Jordan and the Tar Heels basketball team. As a high school student I dreamed of going there, but I never believed it could even be an option for me. The reality of it just seemed so unattainable and, as silly as it sounds, so far away. So, the question is, how did some random kid from western Pennsylvania end up in Chapel Hill?

One random Saturday night in the fall of 1985, my oldest brother Jim, aka JC, decided to go out for a few beers with friends. Now you've got to understand, he has just as much fun as anybody when he goes out, but more often than not, JC prefers to stay in. That night he headed to Mike's Place, an Italian restaurant/bar, “locals only” kind of joint in my hometown. It was right near the Ohio River Boulevard and owned by my buddy's dad, whose English was so broken even putting a cast on his tongue wouldn't have helped him. It was the first time JC had ever been there, but once inside he ran into quite a few people he knew, one of them being Phil Zacharias, a friend from high school he hadn't seen in at least 10 years.

Phil was a great guy, a family friend who was laid back and cool as could be. Among other things, Phil asked how our family was and what I was up to. Jim told him I was a senior quarterback for the high school and was pretty sought after by a number of colleges. In my mind, Phil said, “No freaking way?!” but in reality I'm sure his response was much closer to something like, “Cool. Good for Danny.” Phil then proceeded to tell Jim that he was working as a graduate assistant football coach at the University of North Carolina and that I should send game film to the UNC coaching staff. Then as simple as that, the conversation changed. If I know JC, it was probably because a good-looking girl walked in, and that was that.

When JC told me the next day about the potential opportunity, I was excited but wasn't sure if anything would ever come of it. But even as a teenager, I believed in the power of positivity, so I sent the coaches a few tapes of my best games and kept my fingers crossed. I'd been busting my ass training so hard for the last three years, maybe this was why. Truthfully, I would have been happy with just a written response on Carolina letterhead. But as luck would have it, badda-bing-badda-boom, one response letter and one visitation trip to Chapel Hill later, I agreed to become a member of the Tar Heels football team.

But once I began my freshman year, the reality and responsibility associated with my college life was a blindside hit I wasn't prepared for. Turns out when you're busy trying to manage a full course load, playing football, being away from home and—thanks to all of it—doing it on very little sleep, chances are you're probably not going to do well in any facet of college life. Hence, the fall semester 1.8 GPA. Truth is, I loved playing football and the comradery that accompanied it, but by the end of my second year of playing for the Tar Heels, I knew something needed to change. Plus, I'd had a few signs—a back injury, a coaching change—that it was time to hang up my cleats. I decided to pay more attention to my grades. It was a decision that wasn't easy to make given the many years of hard work I'd put into the sport, but it was necessary as I headed into a new chapter of my life.

Looking back, I've come to realize that the random meeting between my brother and Phil wasn't about football at all. It was about the universe working it's magic and presenting an opportunity that positively affected the course of my life. I truly believe the reason for all of my training and hard work wasn't to play football but to be capable enough to physically get me where I needed to be at a specific point in time in order to take the next step in my life. My preparation, in essence, was for what was to come afterward.

This proved to be the perfect example for me to always be open, awake, and aware that everything that's happening is happening for a reason. Had I not gotten into Carolina, my backup plan would have taken me on a different path. I more than likely would have ended up becoming a cadet at the Naval Academy that fall. Something tells me that the road from the military to MTV may have been a bit bumpier than the one I took. “What's up, it's Lieutenant Dan Cortese, and this is MTV Sports!”…now THAT would have been extreme.

Bar(pre)tender

By my junior year, I had college down to a science. Grades were up, football was in the rearview mirror, and now all I needed was some money to subsidize my Domino's doubles addiction. On a Friday afternoon I walked into Four Corner's. It was one of the hottest bars on campus and I was hoping to land a job, any kind of job. I wasn't going to be picky. I was pointed in the direction of an extremely pissed off woman who, I was told, was the manager. She was standing at the end of the bar writing something in a notebook so ferociously that I was pre-planning my counter move in case she came at me. I recall the conversation going as follows:

She slammed her pen down and yelled, “HA!” I was starting to think one counter move wouldn't be sufficient. She glared at me for a long beat, almost as if she knew I was thinking about counter moves.

With that, she walked off and I walked out of the bar wondering what the hell just happened. The good news was, I was going to bartend at the best bar in town. The bad news, I didn't have a damn clue how to bartend. On the bright side, I'd seen Tom Cruise in Cocktail a few times, so I was feeling pretty good about my chances. That's not a joke, that was my actual thought process at 21.

That weekend I crammed harder on Sardi's Bar Guide than any final I'd ever taken up to that point. Not sure what that says about my priorities or academic prowess, but I didn't care. I was going to make this work no matter what. When Monday rolled around, I showed up on time, teeth brushed with my cheesy Tom Cruise smile ready to smirk on cue. Once I finished strategically placing my drink recipe cheat sheets around the bar, I was ready to work. My bartending business guide consisted of these three things:

1. Making frozen drinks takes too much time, therefore you lose out on other tips. So when anyone would order a frozen drink, I'd tell them the blender was broken and offer them a free shot and a beer instead.
2. If I made a drink wrong or if I was told it “didn't taste right” (usually by some condescending jackhole businessman), I would tell them, “Sorry, that's how we make it here. But if you'd like, I can give you a free shot and a beer instead.”
3. Always make the first drink strong AF! Nothing better than seeing someone take a sip of their Long Island iced tea, grimace in pain, then say, “Ohhhhh, that's good.”

If there was one thing I knew and remembered from my valet parking days, the bigger the buzz, the bigger the tip. Also, I'm sure there are some of you reading this who are questioning my character for giving out free shots and beers. After all, I told the manager that I wouldn't “steal” from the bar. The truth is, I took one business class in college and I remember two things from it. One, always keep the customer happy; therefore, I didn't consider this “stealing,” I looked at it more as good “customer service” because they always seemed to be really happy. Two, I got a C– in that class. So, there's your answer…would you like a free shot and a beer to go with that?

General College

One rainy Saturday afternoon, my roommate and I decided to step out of the comfort and unidentifiable odor of our 12×13 dorm room and try something that I was very intrigued by. The university funded a student-run “television show” that not only starred students from the school but was written, directed, and produced by them as well. It was a soap opera called General College, which aired weekly on the public access station in Chapel Hill, and I was headed to audition for a new role.

It was my first-ever audition, and I was fortunate enough to land the part. I'm not positive why I got the part, but it may have been because I don't recall seeing anyone else there auditioning for it. Either way, I was happily cast as Kyle Donovan, the all-star freshman soccer goalie whose mullet was big and his ego was bigger. That season's story arc saw Kyle allow zero scoring on the field, but do plenty of it off. Unfortunately, one night in an alcohol-induced rant about “chicks and scoring,” Kyle plummeted off a sixth-floor dorm balcony, only to wake up and find himself parapalegic.

Thanks to the drunken tumble, Kyle lost his scholarship and was on suicide watch 24/7. His popularity had plummeted and he wanted to end it. But with the help of his nurse, he was able to overcome all of that, by once again scoring…with his nurse…in his wheelchair. What did you expect? It was a soap opera written by 20-year-olds. Work with me, people.

Surprisingly, the show became successful enough to be picked up by NCTV (National College Television), a small cable network out of New York that aired in over 300 college towns. The truth of the matter is, while I enjoyed every moment of working on General College, I always thought the show was really campy. That was, until I worked on Melrose Place for nine episodes; then I realized it WAS really campy, but in such a glorious way that it could hold its soap opera–own with the likes of Melrose any day. Now that I think about it, how has Netflix not rebooted this yet?

Looking back on it all, I realize this was one of those moments in time where I was being prepared for what my future had in store for me. It was a fantastic boot camp for working on a real production, no matter how small. It helped me to gain more confidence in front of the camera without a lot of pressure, due to the fact that it was produced by my peers. (At this time, I'd like to thank the good folks at YouTube for not making my over-the-top, down-the-back-mullet acting readily available via a quick search.)