| | | Editor's Note: When we got to work today, we found another e-mail from that bartending, skateboarding buddy of ours in California. We decided to pass it along again. A word of warning: always wear a helmet.
Chapter 26
... in which our hero convinces one of Shaquille O'Neal's bitter foes to commit yamikaze.
Stu Getzler never understands any of the weird sports I do, so I guess it was stupid to think yamikaze would be an exception.
"It's the busiest week of the year, Wheeler," Stu won't stop growling. "The Lakers and the Kings are lighting up the city. The Dodgers are cruising. People are packed in here three deep. But you can hardly walk. How're you gonna bring people drinks?"
I explain to Stu that my homey Puker heard about yamikaze, which is this kind of near-death urban obstacle course where you jump between buildings and over railings and just swarm. The object is, don't kill yourself. So, by only getting a broken foot, I win.
"Lore's could sponsor an Urban Yamikaze Challenge. Kind of like the Ecco-Challenge, Stu," I say, "and maybe donate some of the money to combat Carpal Tunnel Syndrome."
"You'd need a name athlete to support that, melonhead," he says. "The only thing I'm sponsoring is a bartender with a broken foot who maybe can't move fast enough to earn a paycheck," Stu growls some more.
"It's a walking cast, Stu, in case you don't know the difference."
"Then start walking, Wheeler," he says.
The only sympathy I get is from my new Internet buddy, Honcho, back in Washington. We've been playing bass fishing games online every night. For all you critics out there, the new President is one heck of a computer bass fisherman. Not to mention, he's the one who suggested Dave Wallace fill in for Kevin Malone as the Dodgers GM.
"Lowers the volume," Honcho said in an e-mail. "Let the players play. It'll make for a more compassionate pennant race."
Unfortunately, I have to tell my buddy in the White House there's no time to play online bass fishing tonight. I've got Stu Getzler on my case, and, anyway, Honcho's got some sort of airplane stuck in China he's trying to get out.
|  | | Even with 20 pounds of nachos and margaritas, Scot Pollard still falls about 30 pounds short of matching Shaquille O'Neal, right. |
There's no way I'm going to give Stu Getzler the satisfaction of me looking like I'm having trouble on my broken foot, not even when I'm delivering four mega-orders of Nachos Xtreme with blackened crawfish to a huge, crazy-looking guy with three ponytails sticking out of his head. It's Scot Pollard.
Pollard tells me fellow Sacramento center Vlade Divac told him to visit.
"Gotta bulk up in a hurry, Wheeler," Scot says. "Shaq's tearin' us up in the paint. Makin' me look like a pogo stick. I need to lay on 20 pounds to contend with that monster the rest of the playoffs. So jes' keep 'em coming. Heap on the wha-ka-hoolie."
The great thing about my job is I get to see competitive fire up close. This is more than just munchies. I can see that Scot Pollard wants an NBA championship by how many orders of nachos and margaritas he downs to get in shape to play Shaq. The dude refuses to quit.
Around midnight, after Asian Nachos with quail dumplings and a pitcher of margaritas, Scot jumps up on the bar. He definitely looks about 20 pounds heavier.
"Here's how I'm gonna celebrate after I bump bellies with the Diesel," he hollers. "Yee-haaa!"
The dude starts clog-dancing. Who knows, in his combative fire he might even be a pitcher or two overprepared to compete. Training is a very subtle art.
But watching him kicking plates out of the way up on the bar, me and Puker get exactly the same idea. I holler to Scot that I have a proposition for him. "How'd you like to be the spokesman for the first annual Urban Yamikaze Challenge to fight Carpal Tunnel Syndrome?" I ask.
It doesn't take much talking to get Scot to climb on top of Lore's roof out on the patio.I get my digital camera, because me and Puker figure we'll need some kind of poster shot for the brochures.
"I'm ready for Shaq now," Scot yells up at the sky.
"You sure you're ready?" I ask.
"I'm ready," Scot hollers. "What do I do?"
"Jump, dude," Puker says. "Yamikaze."
Scot looks down. "Yama-what?" he asks.
"Yo, dude, it's for a good cause," I holler up at him.
It's maybe 15 feet. I broke my foot doing it. But I'm not an NBA athlete. Besides, a dude that tall, he can practically hang from the tile and reach the ground.
"Well," Scot says, "OK."
Scot didn't actually hit the landing right. But that's the great thing about yamikaze. You don't have to.
For NBA basketball purposes, though, you ought to. Maybe we should have thought about that before, but I guess that just shows how fired up Puker and I can get when there's an injustice out in the world like CTS.
Scot left a lot of that 20 pounds he'd put on to contest Shaq out on the ground by the patio. Then he kind of pulled himself together and crawled off ready to game.
Kings coach Rick Adelman likes to come by when he's in town.
Me and Puker swore we'd keep our mouths shut.
Next week: In Chapter 27, a prank gone awry leaves Puker fighting for his life.
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