My favorite part of the day is first thing in the morning when I open my various inboxes and social media accounts to see what landed there during the night. Typically the contents determine how I will approach the days and weeks ahead.
Which is why you will soon see me competing in the Masters Tournament.
Pollack's request was eerily similar to another viral clip in which London mom Paula Hollyman interrupted Canadian crooner Michael Buble -- this time in front of an audience of thousands -- and requested he sing a duet with her 15-year-old son Sam.
What made these clips so special is that both guys knocked I t out of the park; Hollyman's voice was sweeter than anything you will hear on "American Idol" and the crusty Joel gave high marks to Pollack's piano playing.
"The guy's got chops," Joel told the cheering crowd.
I can't sing or dance, so breathe easy Jon Bon Jovi, Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber and other currently touring megastars -- I won't demand your microphones. Joffrey Ballet dancers, you are safe, too.
However, I am a pretty decent golfer and with the Masters, the granddaddy of all tournaments on the horizon, now seems like the perfect time to claim YouTube infamy. I've already got it all figured out:
First I need entrance to Augusta National. Oh, sure, I know Masters passes are said to be the toughest ticket in sports, but I'll score a pair (I'll explain why I need two shortly) off Craigslist or StubHub. I'll pay thousands, but it will be worth it. Once my video goes viral, who knows what low- to middling-rated talk show host will request an interview? Are you listening, Rachael Ray?
I'll wait until Sunday's final round, when TV ratings are at their highest. I will position myself at the 12th tee, a devilishly tricky par 3. It's only 155 yards, but gives the pros fits each year. I hit an 8-iron about 150 and it's my most dependable club so I'll be brimming with confidence when the leaders approach the tee box.
I'm hoping Tiger Woods is contending, for I can't wait to see his reaction when I duck under the gallery ropes and say, "Mr. Woods (or Tiger; I haven't decided yet), I'm a big fan and I have a great short game. Would you mind if I hit your shot for you?"
If Woods hesitates, I will pull my mom from the gallery and have her vouch for my abilities. "He once missed a hole in one by this much," she will proudly say, spreading her hands a foot apart.
Like Pollack, I will make sure the surrounding crowd cheers me on as I continue negotiating. And like Sam's mum, I will refuse to take "no" for an answer. Eventually Woods will relent.
Then it will be time for my YouTube moment. I won't grandstand by checking wind conditions or taking an inordinate number of practice swings; I'll just address the ball and do what I know I'm capable of, which is to launch a crisp shot directly at the flag. I'm sure I can get it within 10 feet.
Like Joel and Buble, Woods will be amazed. He will hand me his putter and request that I sink his birdie putt, increasing his lead. I will politely refuse.
My lousy putting stroke will NEVER go viral.
(Greg Schwem is a corporate stand-up comedian and author of "Text Me If You're Breathing: Observations, Frustrations and Life Lessons From a Low-Tech Dad," available at http://amzn.to/schwem. Visit Greg on the web at http://www.gregschwem.com.)