Just When You Thought
That’s the dumbest story I ever read. It makes very little sense, and if any of it is actually true, it makes even less sense. Incoherent ramblings of a middle aged man pretending to be a kid. Your style is amusing at times, but as RZ once told JL, you’re not saying anything!
Rick from Canada
By 2005, I was able to convince Kip & Spuds that Lance Armstrong deserved to be at the same table as Babe Ruth, Muhammed Ali, Michael Jordan, and Tiger Woods. A cozy little table for five. Lance’s achievements rung a little closer to my home than theirs, but they had hung around me long enough to know how unprecedented his fitness, combined with his competitive hunger, really was. Lance took it to the craziest, most unimaginable level. In every phase. In every way. And it all went down in Europe. It’d be the equivalent of some American Soccer Player coming along and becoming as good as Messi. No chance. No way. Once in a blue moon. And even with all the information coming out these days regarding him being a cheat and a liar, his sporting accolades, namely his 7 TDF titles still shines brighter than the Palmares of his ‘supposed’ table-mates.
Enter Kelly Slater
So me and my two close friends would talk regularly about this fictitious table for five. And the most common thread between these five athletes was that they single handedly Transcended Sport. Not only Their Sport, but All Sports.
Transcend /tran’send/ v Be or go beyond the range or limits of (something abstract, typically a conceptual field or division).
Born in 1895, Babe Ruth produced stats in baseball that FAR surmounted any player of his era. His 714 Career Slams, .342 lifetime batting avg., and his 2200+ RBI’s stood firm for quite some time. His 1200 IP combined with his 2.28 ERA proved that The Bambino could do it all. Then there was his 59 Home Runs in 1921, followed by his whopping 60 HomeRuns in 1927. Not to mention all the whispers about him being able to claim and predict his home runs. And what about all that black and white film that captures him “fast running” the bases even though he was a slow poke? Hot dog eating champion. Party Animal. Couldn’t deny The Babe of his Cigars & King’s Crowns. His $100,000 salary was 20x that of his peers. The Big Boy earned himself a candy bar, which is still my all time favorite. As a side note, I used to tell kids in school that I was named after Hank Aaron. He got a candy bar too, and I happen to love the Oh Henry as well. It just wasn’t in Caddyshack.
Enter Kelly Slater
Muhammed Ali always gets thrown into the best athlete of All Time conversations, just like you can’t talk about the NFL greatest of All Time without mentioning Jim Brown’s name. He became Ali long before it became trendy to change your name. He publicly resisted, refuted, and made mockery of the draft, all the while rubbing elbows with Malcom X, MLK and dem sortz a fellas. He was handsome, and pretty, and he floated like a butterfly. He spoke his mind as a black man in the racially prejudiced country that we still live in. And who can forget about his unlikely friendship with Howard Cossell? And to top all that off, he was The Self Proclaimed Greatest of All Time. But make no argument, Muhammed Ali fought spirited 15 round boxing matches all over the world, at a time when Heavyweight Boxers surely roamed the earth. 3 of his 5 career losses came when he was in his late 30‘s.(Berbick, Holmes, & Spinks) In his prime, he lost once to Ken Norton, and once to Joe Frazier. He also beat them big boys too. And Down Goes Frazier!! He was a BAAAAD man!
Enter Kelly Slater
What can you say about MJ that already hasn’t been said. Sort of a fading icon if you ask me, and as I am sure most real sports fans have begun to mutter. Even the “experts” are allowing Kobe’s name to creep into The MJ Debate. Especially if Kobe gets his sixth title. Then of course Lebron is coming of age, and who knows what that BEAST will end up becoming. I guess my point is that Michael Jordan absolutely put the third sport, NBA basketball, on the map for absolute good. It always took a two or three player combination of NBA players to identify the era. And along comes Michael Jordan. Guy makes a trillion zillion dollars with the whole Air Jordan phenomenon. Spike Lee commercials. You remember. But then there’s the womanizing and the gambling. And then the failed mini comeback. And what did HIS Charlotte Bobcats finish the year…10-72?? Da Bulls!
Enter Kelly Slater
Tiger Woods. Good Gads! He’s got to be relegated to the kids table. He had his chance. In the end, His one time “good friend and whistle blower” Roger Federer made himself a stronger case for this fancy dinner table of five than Tiger Woods ended up making for himself. Woods appeared on pace to double the number of majors that Jack Nicklaus set forth a generation prior. He was absolutely crushing the ball, and playing Uber-clutch golf week in and week out, Major In & Major Out. What about the Tiger Slam? The guy had it all. Unique name. Black Man in A White Man’s Arena. Clearly a once in a lifetime sort of athlete. But now he is stuck on however many majors. 14 is it? And then all his well-documented domestic BS. I’m done talking about this clown.
Enter 11x World Champion, Kelly Slater.
I just have to give a shout out to The Boswell Family of Bend Oregon. One of their own, namely Ian Boswell, has signed his first European professional cycling contract with the Very Best Cycling Team in the World. And the kid’s just 22 y/o. He signed w/ Team SKY, the team of 2012 Tour de France Champion Bradley Wiggins. As IBoz was quoted as saying, “It’s like signing a contract to play for the NY Yankees in baseball.”
I(We) just really don’t know what to make of it. I do know that he will be groomed to be a long time participant in the Tour de France, if not an eventual winner. It blows me(us) all away. And to think that I was riding his uncle off my wheel for all those years up in Chico. LOL. And now, his 22 y/o nephew, is poised to be a professional athlete at the VERY highest level in the sport. Stay the course young man. You Owe Us.
http://velonews.competitor.com/2012/10/news/sky-signs-boswell-to-neo-pro-contract-for-2013_240485
Neither of them had shoes on. She couldn’t keep her tongue out of his mouth. He didn’t have a shirt. They were both darker skinned. They could have been any brand of human. My only guess is that they were not from Oaxaca. He had dreads. Plenty of tattoos. She was gorgeous. Probably 20 years old. Perfect complexion. He wasn’t much older than she. Chiseled. Very cool. Boxers showing. They were both in front of me in line at Super Che. She had a loose top on. No bra. Tons of jewelry and tethers hanging all over her wrists and ankles. They were a good looking, young couple, without what seemed like a worry in the sky. Together, they purchased like six limes, some cilantro, and maybe a few other herbs and what not.
I couldn’t get this guy out of my mind. For that matter, the girl either. But the guy was like somebody I had seen a dozen or so times. For weeks I tried to put my finger on it, but couldn’t.
A fourth stoplight found its way to Puerto Escondido during my six months back in The States. Like the other three, this stoplight is also on Hwy 200. It’s at the entrance to The Adoquin. I guess The Bare Footed Blow Torch Juggler decided to give up his post at the Main Stop Light located at The Crucero for the new stop light at The Adoquin. And he upped his ante to christen the new stop. Now he does his act on a six foot step ladder. Light turns red–He runs out there and performs, timing it as such so that he has maybe 20 seconds time to ask the captive audience for their handouts. It’s an incredible display of talent and desire. I’m dying to meet the guy. So next time he’s in line in front of me, I hope to have the courage to introduce myself.
I appeared at Papa Chango’s treehouse, unannounced as always. Chango was busy making wood models. It had only taken him 59 odd years, including 40 years of gucci construction to realize that blueprints are just a load of bullocks. He says they are absolutely impossible for the client to wrap their mind around. Ditto that my brother.
Sure the blue print with all the exotic fractions and measurements everywhere show there is a door here, which opens to a deck there. And yes the fridge sits here and the bidet goes there. Oh, and if we go to page 9, there is a sideways back view of the Master Bedroom. So long as you can imagine it from a bird’s eye. Eeesh.
So PC is making models. Clearly putting the word model back in Model Home. His models are all made of scrap wood and glue only. His current project is a two story, 1200 s/f guest home. For your viewing pleasure, the roof lifts off. So does the second story. Everything is scaled exactly to size. So simple, a monkey can understand it.
Word was out. The chess legend in Puerto for the past 20 years or so was finally being beaten by a young fellow named KO. True Stories. KO was regularly beating Tron, yet not without giving it everything he had. It was no secret that Tron was well underway with the derailing affects of Alzheimer’s, but trust me, he still managed to play a very professional game of chess. I had heard through the mezcal vine that Tron used to play many of Puerto’s so called ‘best’ players without using his Queen. He would set it up, but never move it. How fucking cool is that?
I saw Tron & KO doing battle in a cafe once. I knew who they were. They didn’t know me. The reason I knew of them is because I’m good that way. So there I was, thumbing through my pocket dictionary, minding somebody else’s business. The game looked very serious. I began wondering if I had it in me to play at their level. Had I known that I would be given that very golden opportunity in less than 10 days from what is now then, I don’t know what I would have done differently. Second guess my ability more likely than not. I made like a banana.
I made the Big Man feel welcome. He was just two days removed from competing in a Mr. Universe qualifying comp. in Germany, and one of those days was a full day of travel to get here. I was sure he was wacked. Big Jim brought him coconuts.
He’s a 40 y/o cop from Paris. Different. Bodybuilders can get that way at his level. He tries to fit in here, but it’s impossible. He boogies. If I had anything in common with the dude, I am sure I would find him to be Universally different than me.
He likes to tan himself in a tiny thong in the mornings and evenings down at the beach. I saw him sunning with a pretty Mexican once. She was topless. He called me over to them. The ‘booby’ traps I fall into around here never end. Solid B cup.
He appeared at my penthouse suite at about 3pm this past Tuesday. He had a sunscreen bottle in each of his hands. “Oh don’t fucking tell me!!” Good Gawd! Yep, that’s what Biggie wanted. HOLY CRAP!! And he wanted lots of it put on too.
Well, did you really do it? I personally would have told the Hulk to Beat It! Tell me you didn’t lather the Big Boy up with lotion. Oh Dude! That’s Classic!! You couldn’t pay me a million bucks to do what you just did. Grow a sack amigo!!
