Oddball Sports
Every single piñata on the ceiling had dead eyes. Not like the dead eyes strippers give you as you’re tucking a $20 in their ass for a lap dance—they had cartoonish exes across each eye ball. As the door opens and closes, they slowly waltz about themselves amongst the drafts. The Power Ranger looked as though he was about to grab a handful of Dora The Explorers ass.
I hastily responded to a text message from my Mom, “Fruit.”
She had asked what I had eaten for dinner. I was skirting the fact that I found it at the bottom of a carafe full of Sangria across the street.
There were three of us at the table, celebrating my friend Greg being in town for a few days. We hadn’t seen him a couple of months. Greg is, and many would agree with me, quintessentially good at life. Tonight was no exception. Besides post-mortem-piñatas, this particular establishment was acclaimed for their margaritas.
“The ‘problem’ with these particular drinks isn’t that they aren’t good. It’s that they are mainly just a pint glass full of tequila with some limes squeezed in.” Greg says, inspecting the glass.
When you’re around people who are better at life than you, it never hurts to take a cue from them. After their Margaritas were finished, they switch back to beer. I wouldn’t hear of it. I don’t like to change horses during the race. My friend Scott started telling us a story about his wife and her days playing hockey in a men’s league.
“She didn’t give a fuck about the men’s league. They didn’t even give a fuck. When she was trying out, she was schooling some of the men pretty badly. One guy in the stands shouted the Sportscenter sound after a particularly good play, ‘Dun nah nah, Dun nah nah’.”
I’ve never seen one second of Sportscenter, but I know that sound, and thought this was one of the funniest things I’d ever heard.
It was approaching the midnight hour , and my better-at-life friends decided to call it a night.
“I’m going to stick around here and see how this plays out.” I told them. I’ve said it before. I hate trading potential novelty for certainty. What I usually end up trading is the novelty of feeling good the next day for the certainty of vomiting in public.
At the bar was a guy sitting next to a yo-yo. He had long curly hair that framed his face, and reminded me of a big kid. He was good. Good enough to have a custom metal machined yo-yo and do tricks named after various household chores. His “laundry spincycle” was something to behold. He was also a fellow Josh.
We talked about yo-yo’s for more than an hour. Different tricks, where to buy them, various noteable personalities making the pro circuit. It was refreshing to talk to someone that’s taken something obscure they like to a ridiculous level of accomplishment. He was really good, but I think had I not talked to him about it, he wasn’t going to walk around doing tricks to flaunt his skills. This is not the case for everyone.
After all the yo-yo talk, and a third margarita I was feeling pretty good. I notice that two people very determinedly get up from their table and start walking toward the little stage this bar has setup in the back.
“Excuse me everyone.” says one of the gentleman. “My friend is a Rubix cube expert, and I’ve bet him $20 that he can’t solve a Rubix cube that’s been all mixed up in under a minute, in front of a crowd.”
Maybe the inhabitants of San Francisco are smarter than other places I’ve lived, because this drew the rapt attention of the place. I’m not sure what the big deal was, I’d much prefer to see some yo-yo tricks, but as this guy started a countdown on his phone, it got very quiet. Someone had even turned down the music.
He starts shuffling the plastic cubes in his hands very quickly. It was apparent he’d done this before. Seconds go by, and everyone waits with baited breath to see if he’ll beat the deadline. I stand up, wobbling a little with the excellence of the drinks, and cup my hands around my mouth before yelling, “Dun Nah Nah, Dun Nah Nah”.
Nobody even chuckled.
The guy finishes the cube, lifts it up for everyone to see, and tosses it over his shoulder as he walks off the stage in what I imagine is the most gangster way possible to win a bet like that.
