I have to believe things like this can only exist in Los Angeles.
So I was about to say it was a lazy Sunday, because the term is familiar and relatable, but it wasn't. There's just no room for anything like that in my universe - lazy. I woke up this morning around 8 without much of a hangover - mostly because I've disallowed myself to believe in such things - even though I certainly chased a combined bottle of red and rose with neat Jacks and Chimay Reds and rocky Goose into decent frames of the night.
I also don't much believe in drinking anymore, but when I do, well...
So I got up after a night of drunk sleeping, which is never really that good, and I wrote some lines...the most precious of the day being, "You're unbreakable. Bullets, blades, none stand a chance. My Superman. We're gonna make it because that's what you do. You don't know how to fail. (beat) But we need one more. It's gonna have to be your greatest yet."
Don't worry about context. It's perfect. After penning for a couple hours, I ran to my church so I could run 5 miles to sweat poison out before taking a yoga class that was literally so tough, it cooked my bones. Beautiful.
I ate lunch, threw on some bike shorts, some green striped tube socks and a Hawaiian T-shirt that I tragically pre-owned and headed across town to apartment Nelms Brothers. From there, we walked to this abandoned theater close to Hollywood and Vine. I was told there would be dodgeball.
At the door, reps from Nike (?) were there to collect waivers and give welcome. There was no fee. And there was this kid who looked like he was 17 and was asking for ID's. He was there to give out "drinking" wristbands, but when I told him I didn't bring ID, he said, "Oh well. Well, I guess you look like you're older than 21. Whatever."
We walked inside and I lost speech. Honestly, this place was Thunderdome meets Running Man meets Lord Of The Flies. And there were kegs of beer in back, and stacks of pizza, and blasting music and technological wizardry and the scrappiest bunch of LA scrappers you could imagine. This place was beyond imagination. Every inch of my body stood frozen in awe. Only this town. Only LA.
We made our way through the crowd and quickly found our team - The Magnums...as in Magnum P.I., as in Tom Selleck the womanizing, no nonsense 1980's Hawaiian crime stopper. Maybe for the first time in my life, I wished I had chest hair.
The organizers grouped 6 teams of 20 and set us off in a no holds barred, double elimination tourney...
Now, I have issues that I've potentially left unshared. Competition. Love it. I become insanity, twitchy, eyes and mind like razors. These dodgeballs are soft-esque. They're made to be safe, but the second I picked one up and felt it in my fingers, I instantly became aware of a fundamental truth that went back to my days of slinging baseballs - I was going to be quite capable of throwing them hard...like, dangerously hard. Like, hard to see hard. And I knew that if someone upset me in the least, OR at least through a theory of inevitability, the balls I was going to be throwing were going to be finding faces.
But that's dodgeball. Ladies and gentlemen, it's a fucking war out there.
As we were walking up a dark set of stairs to enter the arena, I started to slip into this zone, Tina Turner, voice suddenly pitching high..."Two men enter. One Man leaves. Welcome to Thunderdome." And then I just kept repeating "Thunderdome" until this guy on the other team looked back and gave me this gift with his eyes -- I think he sincerely thought there was something wrong with me.
In the end, we got crushed, swept right out of the tourney. I took a couple of hard evasive falls - walked away with bruises to tend and pride to repair, but it was my first time out since grade school. It was to be expected. Our group of rag-taggers just didn't have the experience or leadership as some of the stronger teams. But we'll get better. I've now made a seasonal commitment to play at rotating venues around the greater Hollywood area.
But I did walk away with at least one gem. The last game we were playing, right before we got bumped...
We were down, it was something like 2 on 9 and we were fighting to stay alive. They were holding balls and zoning on me because the other last Magnum standing didn't have star-kissed genetics like your author. I was doing a decent job staying alive, blocking, moving. And every now and again, after their balls were thrown, I would get a chance to toss one. When this happens, the other team is helpless, really. I know I can lay it on thick sometimes, but we're talking clubbing babe seals.
So I pick their "guy" out of the batch and I make my approach and fling this thing, fucking fling it. And I think he saw it maybe for a split second and thought maybe it was heading for his gut when it just took off and then yep...this thing just blasted him in the face. Blasted. Him. In. The. Face.
Face shots aren't worth anything and I was soon knocked out by a Blitzkrieg of tosses, and we lost...but looking back, being able to tuck something like that in my back pocket on this Sunday in November...
There is no greater reward.
