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The saying is plastered on T-shirts and coffee mugs, the royalties for which Weber doesn’t see a dime. “Who do you think you are? I am!” He would later clarify that he meant to say, “Who do you think you are rooting against me? I am the man of this tournament.” Every year on the anniversary of that victory, the clip gets tens of millions of streams and retweets.

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Mike Fagan, his opponent in the finals, says that if you had to hook him up to a lie detector test today, he would guess there was not (Weber later signed a pin for the hiding boy, after the commissioner of professional bowling stopped by his seat to make sure he would accept it and that he wasn’t afraid).Īfter winning that tournament, Weber, in a moment of pure adrenaline, pointed to the crowd and bellowed the words that would make him famous beyond the insular world of bowling.

Weber and some of his close friends say there was. Accounts of whether there actually was a heckler differ. Open victory in 2012 in South Brunswick, N.J., the day he broke his father, bowling legend Dick Weber’s most prestigious record of Open championships won with arguably the greatest shot in the sport’s history (needing, and getting, a strike to win on the final shot, with the most challenging lane conditions of the year), he spent the entirety of the finals eyeing up a person he accused of moving during his approach and rooting against him.Ī 12-year-old boy in the general vicinity of Weber’s glare was so scared he was the one doing something by accident that he ended up hiding behind the advertising signage on the side of the lane. NFL Hall of Famer Terrell Owens, a huge fan of Weber’s, once donned the same pair as a tribute during a celebrity Pro-Am match the pair played together (they won).ĭuring his final U.S. Since the turn of the millenium, he’s worn sunglasses or one-piece viper baseball shades that would often get ripped off his head after a bum spare and shelved on his chair next to his post-match cigarettes.

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A mouth full of dental work always gleamed underneath the light from the studio television setup. His trademark look once included a bonnet of salt and pepper hair gelled and yanked back like an old crooner, though his dome is now buzzed.

Standing five feet, seven inches tall, Weber has always been light enough to be toppled over by the artificial gusts coming from the ball return. He is evidence as to what happens when a 14-year-old makes up his mind about what he wants to do in life and how he wants to live it, cementing the whole thing in place, never once veering off course. He would, at times, engage in turbulent trash talk with his own wife sitting in the stands behind him. He celebrated their ultimate, tumbling demise by chopping his hands on either side of his crotch like the professional wrestlers he so admires.