It’s late Saturday evening… A layer of foggy mist swirls around in the air just above the ground. The streetlamp at the corner provides an ominous atmosphere of dread. A cab driving up to curb eases to a stop. It sits there idling for a few minutes. Slowly the back driver’s side door opens. A leg extends from the vehicle… within twenty to thirty seconds another comes forth. With both feet finally on the ground a hand reaches for the top of the open door and is used to help haul their body up and out of the cab. The task is accomplished with great effort. Once upright, the individual sways a little to the right, and then a little to the left. Arms are extended as one would when crossing a tight rope for balance. Once secure the individual begins to gradually lower their arms. A half step is taken, but is cut short when a large crash is heard by a nearby garbage can. The startled individual immediately lifts their head to find the source of the loud clang… and immediately begins to lose their balance. Falling backwards, they topple back into the cab… only to smack their head on the car roof first. The cab remains idling, and all is quiet for another thirty seconds. Stretched out on the back seat with their feet still planted on the asphalt, one could hear the passenger address the cabbie, “no… no… don’t get up… I’m okay… yeah… I’m okay.”
This poor individual was none other our Matt on his return from another successful “Stink & Drink.” How did he get this way? What was the reason for such intoxication? Perhaps we will discover why later on in this recap…
Interesting fact...
At three minutes and four seconds after 2 AM on the 6th of May, the time and date will be 02:03:04 05/06/07.
Another action packed tournament was held this past weekend. We saw everything from dazzling plays to cataclysmic collisions, (eyewitnesses claim that I was hit by a scud) to even the first beach doubles “double block” of this early season?
I know, you’re thinking who in their right mind would attempt a double block on the beach? Well I’ll tell you who… me… I would! I personally blame it on a synapse misfire. The doctor warned me about mixing the green pills with the blue ones… but no… I wouldn’t listen. Now I’m out on the beach trying to perfect a double block. What kills me is that when you sprint 75 feet for an errant pass, throw your body another 12, get the touch and send the ball back to the net for your partner to hit straight down… no one sees that. No one sees the spike that rockets off the sand and lands on a condo balcony 135 feet away… nope. However, perform your very first beach doubles “double block” and everyone in the world happens to be watching your net when you attempt it. Perhaps I thought Graham would be fooled, and would try to power it through the massive wall that was thrown up against him. But silly me… I forget that Graham has been playing for years… and easily recognizes a double block… especially in doubles. With unabashed resolve, Graham merely placed a “well executed” roll shot over our heads. But then anything would have been considered to be “well executed” had it landed on any of the additional 178 square feet of court beyond the two feet that we had blanketed. Look for more posts on my instructional beach doubles series that include the following topics on how to improve your game:
The double block
The “I” formation defense
The “No man’s Land” run and duck
“One Ball” winning strategies
And the ever popular backwards serve where everyone else knows where the ball is going but you.
All this plus much, much more!
On another note, I must say that the Miami South Beach exchange program is working extremely well. At the beginning of the season Graham, Zak and I discussed implementing an exchange program with the South Beach crew. A group of us have done this many times before in restaurants. The premise is simple… an idividual from your table ventures over to a nearby table of diners bearing food and alcohol as gifts. Eventually they in return send their representative to our table with their food offerings. We generally accept. Over the years, and many table exchanges, we have discovered that this works best when our table is all men, and the other table is all women. This is the idea in which the Miami South Beach exchange program was created. Thus far the results have been simply smashing. New and talented people such as Jorge, Freddy Garcia, and Miami Carla have come up to play in our tournaments in an effort to spread good will from one beach community to another. They have brought volleyball gear, lines, Carlton Draught (the Florida state beer), great attitudes, and amazing volleyball. We have embraced them and have brought them into our fold. However, we do feel as if we have benefited tremendously out of this deal. While they sent up three outstanding players… we sent down… Louis the Lawyer with three-dozen tubes of saran wrap and a jar of peanut butter. We have considering this a “win-win” situation… except perhaps for the remaining players still down in South Beach.
And now for the highlights of the tournament and the “Stink & Drink,” where the mystery of Matt is solved.
And now, I’d like to introduce to you today’s guest speaker/writer… Sung Chung ladies and gentlemen (applause, applause).
The audience becomes silent. Several seconds tick past. Finally, a calm Sung casually strolls out from behind the red curtain on the stage. He stops directly in front of the microphone. He doesn’t speak. He takes a long moment to carefully survey the audience… wondering, “will it be a good night… is this a receptive crowd… do I have sweat stains forming at my underarms?” He clears his throat… still silence throughout. He taps the microphone, “IS THIS ON!!!!” His voice booms as it is mixed with piercing squelch. Embarrassed he slinks back for a second, “sorry,” he says, “I’m not use to this.” Once again composed, he begins…
Sung’s Recap:
This week’s King & Queen was reminiscent of “Heart of Darkness”, Joseph Conrad’s novella published in 1902 about an adventure into the Congo River aboard a ferry-boat, in search of that ever-elusive bald white whale named Moby. I read this book back in high school, so I can’t quite recall how the author reconciled a sea-based mammal wandering up the Congo, but that’s really here nor there.
Our decent into the Heart of Darkness was captained by one Todd Serad. He was trying to recover from a Chinese meal that didn’t quite agree with him. Then, he got up at some ungodly hour (5am maybe) to pick up Romeo and make it to the tournament on time. By the second game, he had twisted his ankle, and for good measure, I gave him a mui thai knee kick to his hip flexor that I learned from watching hours of Ultimate Fighting Championships.
Romeo, on the other hand, had been temping in my office for about a week. He stayed briefly at a going away party of my colleague. Although lacking sleep, he was in fairly good shape to begin the day, not realizing what terrors were in store for him.
As for me, Friday was my fourth outing in five days. Romeo only stayed at the first bar, but we would eventually hit three different bars, and by the time I got to my house in Long Beach, it was two in the morning. I got up tired, hung over, and grumpy, hence my mui thai knee kick to Todd’s hip flexor.
The tournament was able to attract only three women, Darlene, Big Lar, and Amy “the Fluke (formerly the Flounder)” Fletcher. So we were going to run a non-gender specific tournament with 13 people, but wouldn’t you know it? We were missing that schedule, so we divided everyone into As & Bs and started the tournament with three nets.
This tournament was our introduction to Jorge. He is not too tall, but he can jump, and he covers the whole court and picks everything up. Here are a few facts about Jorge:
• In roughly the time it takes for someone to sneeze, Jorge can cover about 1.12 miles.
• When the Flash was sick at home with the flu, Jorge substituted for him at the Justice League. Only Superman was any wiser.
• Along the same principles as the Shinkansen, the Japanese bullet trains, there are electromagnets underneath Jorge’s feet that allows him to hover over the sand, eliminating any friction while providing faster movements.
• Although Jorge loves beach volleyball, he is not to keen on the sand itself. If anybody makes Jorge dive for a ball, a member of his cartel will kidnap your firstborn. Seriously, don’t mess with Jorge.
The pool play included several men’s games, co-ed games, but for men against women games, we often swapped partners. When the smoke cleared, the top two teams Jorge & Matt and Darlene & Terry had byes. The third seed, Todd & I would face Freddy and Big Lar, while Christian and Romeo squared off against Rick and Graham, now referred as “the team with the combined age of 94” or “Team 94” for short.
Normally, Todd & I play well together. In fact, during pool play we notched a win against a formidable men’s team. However, against coed teams, we had put the “in” in inept, and thus far put up a bagel in the win column. Perhaps it was psychological, perhaps our opponents saw a hole in our defenses, or perhaps Todd still had a tinge of animosity for that mui thai knee kick to his hip flexors. Regardless, we were cautiously optimistic against yet another coed team.
Freddy and Lar took the early lead, with strong serving and precision shot placements. As the lead got wider, the crafty Belgian started taunting us, jutting out her buttocks and slapping it, rolling her fingers under her chins, followed by a birdie. What did we do to deserve this? Now, there are only two things I can't stand in this world; people who are intolerant of other people's cultures and the Dutch. In addition to French, Belgians speak Flemish or just another fancy way of saying Dutch. Do the math people, do the math!!!
At this point, I decided to whip out my secret weapon, the jump serve. I racked up point after point, to eventually tie up the score. Eventually we pulled ahead and surged on to victory.
“Sung, you alright? Snap out of it!” Todd said.
Was I delusional? I don’t jump serve! Laurence hadn’t been obnoxious! And it was us that were on the verge of losing. What happened? How much of this game had I missed?
“C’mon Sung, we can still do this.”
Todd’s words of encouragement actually stirred some anger in me. As I looked over at Todd and contemplated a second mui thai knee kick to his good hip flexor, a serve came whizzing down my line… and it was game over for the walking gimp and the sleeping lush.
On the other side, Team 94 had defeated Christian & Romeo, and would now face Matt & Jorge, while Freddy & Big Lar would face Darlene & Terri in the semi-finals. Team 94, the crowd favorite among the older folks like myself, held their own but would eventually fall to the maddening defense demonstrated by Matt & Jorge, while Freddy & Lar initially frustrated by deep arching shots from Darlene & Terri would be victorious.
In the final, once again the stifling defense of Matt & Jorge proved too much for the Cinderella team of Freddy & Lar. Matt & Jorge became the King & King? As everyone congratulated the winners, Todd explained that winner had to do shots, and if one partner left, the other would have to do both shots. At this point, I sneezed, and Jorge had disappeared, and coincidentally, so did all the women.
That left Todd, Romeo, Matt, Graham, Rick, and I. We headed over to Sutton Place for the Stink & Drink. Matt had to do his shots as well as Jorge’s. The rest of us also had our share of tequila and Jaeger shots, but when orders for car bombs began, I knew we were headed into the Heart of Darkness. I stated that nothing good could come of this. How prophetic I would be. I avoided the car bombs because I was the designated rider… of my bike… to my house…
Wit our many rounds of “car bombs,” Romeo was consistently the first to finish. Rick talked about how he wanted to be home for when his young fiancée and her nubile friends would arrive from her bachelorette party. Rick’s bride to be is French, and Romeo kept pointing out to Rick that french fries is redundant to the French and to just say fries when in their presence! Hmmm… I speak French, but somehow Romeo had me convinced.
Another car bomb, maybe the sixth or seventh, with a warning from the waiter not to slam the pint glasses down. Take a guess if anybody heeded his warning.
As the night wore on, we had our first casualty. Matt passed out sitting up, with a meditative or a vegetative trance, I couldn’t tell which. Rick repeated his need to rush home to greet nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, and three French hens, and his fiancée in a pear tree. I was praying “hen” was a euphemism for women, otherwise, I would rather not know.
We headed out to the parking lot. Matt, Graham, and Rick could no longer accompany us into the Heart of Darkness. Rick had one thing in mind, and somebody had to turn back with Matt. Unfortunately it would have to be Graham. Todd and I looked on as Rick drove away, while the silhouette of Graham slowly disappeared toward the train station. I was amazed at the hulking sight. He was packing on his back and right shoulder a large bag, two nets, a cooler, a chair, a sack full of volleyballs, all the while dragging Matt’s limp body by his ankles with his free hand.
We turned around to see Romeo in the middle of the parking lot in a fetal position sucking his thumb. “Romeo, are you alright?”
“Go on without me.”
“No one gets left behind. No one! C’mon, get up Romeo.”
Once we got Romeo into Todd’s car, we all headed over to my house. We quickly dropped off our stuff and headed over to J.W. Trainors which has been revitalized ever since PattyFest. More shots were had. Then Todd and Romeo, and two of our bartenders, did yet another car bomb, and once again Romeo was one of the early finishers. A slice of pizza later, Romeo decided to call it a night, while Todd & I continued our conversation and drinking for a while.
When we returned to the house, we saw the TV on, with Romeo passed out on the couch with a garbage can between his legs and fresh make-up on. We couldn’t figure out which was more bizarre, the garbage can or the make-up. I could only assume that my tenant Jeanne must have thought that the peacefully sleeping Romeo was dead. I had to admit, Romeo makes a pretty attractive Juliet. He stirred and explained to us that he had been throwing up all night. Like I said, nothing good came of this. When Romeo finally decided to turn in, he took the garbage can with him, just in case.
The next morning, Todd and Romeo were ready to depart. We never did find that ever-elusive bald white male name Moby. I couldn't quite reconcile why a Brooklyn-based musician would be wandering around Long Beach, but that's really here nor there. Todd had successfully navigated us through the Heart of Darkness, alive and well, but not without costs. Romeo was now permanently attached to the garbage can, like Linus' security blanket, he insisted on taking it with him wherever he went. He also developed the habit of cleaning himself like a cat, by licking his hand and rubbing them over his face to clean that layer of make-up that has since been smeared all over the pillow case.
As Todd was ready to pull out of my driveway, I got up on my desk and said, “O, captain, my captain.” The headmaster was yelling at me to step down, while I saw a tear form in Todd’s eyes.
“Sung, snap out of it,” Todd said.
Damn it. Another dream sequence. That would explain the desk and the headmaster appearing out of nowhere. By the way, I didn’t like your tone there Serad. Be careful I don’t give you another mui thai knee kick to the good hip flexor.
Epilogue
Rick did have his fantasy night with his 70 virgins, and has a permanent grin plastered to his face. Although he didn’t have to sacrifice himself in the name of Allah, he did lose all sensation below his waist less than a month away from his wedding.
Todd and I can vividly recall the image of Graham dragging Matt away by his ankles, but since then Graham has been nowhere to be seen. He hasn’t made it to work, he doesn’t answer his cell, wait, wait, he doesn’t own a cell, ok, so that’s not that shocking, but really, nowhere to be seen. No body, no crime.
Matt’s condition quickly deteriorated, and now he is nothing more than a vegetable, a turnip to be exact. Amy “the fluke” Fletcher is tending to him, but the prognosis is not good. To his own partner in the playoffs, Jorge, have you no decency?
As for me, I have noticed that whenever I strike up a conversation with a striking woman, I end up sneezing, and when I open my eyes, she and every one of her cute friends are gone. That Jorge is playing with me. Then, I have deduced a more ominous plot in the works. You see, Jorge had lost only two games the whole day en route to becoming King. Both of his losses were against me… one when I was playing with Matt, the other when I was with Graham!
I am the only victor still alive and functioning, but I live in perpetual fear of what may happen next, if and when Jorge changes from playing simple games to exacting his terrible revenge. I may not be around by the time you read this. I believe in Keyser Soze, and I am deftly afraid of Jorge from Miami!
