I Biff, therefor I am!

Washington, Patton, Kennedy, Genghis (Shaka-or Wrath of-)Khan, Sting, Cher. What exactly is in a name? Some names inspire you to greatness, while others just piss you off. Some names invoke fear mentioning them in shallow, hushed tones while others are a reason for celebration & reflection. This is the story of my moniker. This is how 'Biff' came to be.

At least once a week I get asked how in the hell the name Biff became surgically attached to my psyche? Once I explain, said inquisitor usually exclaims, 'Well you DO look like a Biff.' All I can say to that is, 'I Biff therefor I am!'

This story begins back in ancient times when JAMZ shorts & acid washed jeans were clothing of choice & Duran Duran ruled the land(God I'm really showing my fucking age here!). I'm talking about 8th Grade in Derry Pennsylvania! That summer the movie 'Back To The Future' was all the rage. It seemed like everyone on the planet had seen this movie that birthed the beloved Butt-head of a bully, Biff. I didn't really pay any mind to this Biff character initially until I strolled into 2nd period English rocking a fresh crew-cut. I had spent the majority of the summer lifting weights like it was my damn job(See the 'Weighting' post previously on this blog. Natch!) so I had bulked up a tad. My best friend Ron instinctively pointed at me & bellowed, 'HA HA HA, You look just like Biff from 'Back To The Future!' Without missing a beat I said, 'Aw fuck you I do not!' This was a grave error on my part. You see I had violated Schoolyard Rule Numero Uno, 'Never, ever let your buddies know that something bothers you because they willl not stop doing it to you!' They will persist! My lovely crew incessantly picked & picked & picked with this 'Biff' until I caved & just started answering to it.

Flashforward to football camp that summer. At the beginning of camp, the coaches put tape on the front of your helmet & write your last name so they know who they're yelling at. Some lovely yahoo thought that it would be funny to write 'Biff' on the front of my helmet. I had been answering to Biff for a good 10 months at this point, so I just left the strip of tape that said Biff on my helmet & jumped into practice. Later on that day the coaches set up an 'Alabama Drill.' An 'Alabama Drill' is when you line up a defender, an offensive lineman & a running back. Your goal as the defender is to get past the blocker & smash the ever-loving-shit out of the running back. It's contolled violence at it's best. Being an angry young man chock full of unrequited, pent up frustration & rage, I obviously excelled at this drill! I lined up. The whistle blew & I let out a growl & ran over the offensive lineman & power-slammed the running back. The coach blew the whiste & screamed, 'Holy shit you fucking killed him! What's your name son?' With fire burning in my eyes & adrenaline firing like a cannon, I scowled & looked up at the coach & exclaimed, 'They call me Biff. That's why it's on my helmet!' 'You're God-Damned right you're Biff' hollered the coach, matching my enthusiasm. Things pretty much snow-balled fom there. By the time that I graduated high school, Tim Maloy was no more. Everyone & I do mean everyone called me Biff. My teachers, my grand-parents, hell, there were even newspaper articles about my wrestling matches & football games that called me Biff.


Flashforward to college. My best friend Ron was my roommate our freshman year & we pledged a fraternity together. Our fraternity brothers loved the fact that this stupid freshman came with a built in nickname. Biff spread like wildfire once again. I'll never forget what my Abstract Post-Modern Communication Theory Professor(This was actually a class. I passed it, but I still don't have any fucking idea what it was about!!!) asked me, 'Why do they call you Biff?' Without hesitating or blinking, I said, "They call be Biff because that's the sound that it makes when I hit someone(Which actually was kind of true!).' He gave a nervous laugh & never called me Tim again. I actually handed in term papers that just said Biff!

Flashforward to San Diego. I moved out the the 'Land of Milk & Honey' with my very good friend Greg. We were lifeguards together on Ocean City Beach Patrol(We'll touch on the 'Ocean City Experience' in future posts. Don't worry, certain names will be changed to protect the guilty! Maybe.) before making our pilgrimage to the Promised Land. One night we're hanging out at 'Longboard's in Pacific Beach & we bump into a girl that used to party with back us in Ocean City. I'm exchanging pleasantries & shots with said vixen, when we passeach other business cards to keep in touch. She looks at my card & her face goes white. She looks up at me very matter-of-factly & mutters, 'Who the FUCK is Tim Maloy?' 'That's me. That's my real name.' ShE throws my card down & yells, 'No, no no! You're Biff! You're our Biff! That other name is not your name & I will never fucking call you that do you hear me!!!!' 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.' 'You fucking ruined my night asshole!' Up until this point I hadn't realized how deep the 'Biff' mythology had taken root in the circles that I had traveled(Yes I know that statement makes me sound pompous, but it's my blog so Fuck you!). With a simple business card I had inadverdently killed an urban legend for this girl, much like Sasquatch or the Easter Bunny.

It's funny, here I am 36 years on this planet & more people call me Biff than Tim. It's not bad. If you think about it, this could have been much worse. What if Ron started called me 'Boner' or 'Booger' or something even more politically incorrect? I've been Biff since the 8th grade & I plan on being Biff for many more years to come. So when I tell people this story(Literally at least once a week!) & they say, 'You know, you DO look like a Biff.' I always say, 'Thank you.' I am Biff.