The Mighty Ducks

I remember one time lining up in elementary school to wait for the busses and the topic of what we were gonna do after school came up among us little dudes. The consensus was that a few of them were getting together over so-and-so's house to watch The Mighty Ducks, and yes, I was actually invited. Twas a different time. So different in fact, that now the kid who played the Young Gordan in the movie (Brock Pierce) is not only a Bitcoin billionaire, but also running for president this year. What's his political experience you ask? Well, he did star in First Kid, with Sinbad (and I'm telling you, if he made Sinbad his running mate... I'd vote). Not to mention other cast members who went on to futures maybe not as wealthy but still noteworthy, and with talk of a Mighty Ducks show in the works... all of this reminded me. Oh yeah. Mighty Ducks was a thing.

Let's talk about a movie that you never hear talked about despite the fact that it was actually quite big when I was a kid, because what the hell else can we do this year? The Mighty Ducks... or as us 90s kids referred to it, "Mighty Dicks" or "Mighty Fucks" or "Mighty Sucks"... (It's not that "hard" of a joke... I mean, they do call it "peewee" hockey, so what do they expect?). Unclever 90s kid humor aside, you really can’t get a more by-the-numbers sports movie than this. They literally spoofed it in South Park a number of times, especially with the "...but he's about to fund out...!" trailer voice. Famously enjoyed by internet meme Tourette's Guy between taking a leak, it's basically Bad News Bears with far more hockey and far less raunch. So nothing huge. If anything, what is amazing is just how many sports movie clichés this thing squeezes in!

Now I had my own experience with hockey in my day. Yep. You see, as I'm sure I've told the story before... one time in gym class, eh... about the 4-5th grade... we were playing floor hockey and I happened to be the goalie, because they certainly didn't want scrawny me out there on the floor! All was going good, I was doing pretty good. Then just as the game was counting down, the last seconds on the clock... they slammed a puck at me so fast, I just put my thighs together like a bolt cutter. Oh I blocked the goal alright... with my CROTCH! No cup. Everyone froze. The other kids said they saw the puck freeze in that spot and then drop to the floor. They burst into laughter. And amazingly, I... didn't get hurt... To this day I don't know why it didn't destroy me, but I became a legend that day. The other guys were like "wow dude. That hung there for like a half second and dropped!" It's true too. I had the groin of steel. (Unfortunately for me, and my groin, it was a one time thing...) Don't try that at home kids... (unless your brother deserves it.)

So I learned a thing or two about hockey in my day, and the importance of wearing cups, but this movie teaches an even more obvious lesson in the importance of picking the right team, a team that supports you over a team that tears you down. And since everyone these days loves to divide up into teams and go to war, well hey, it's probably time we take a lesson from a sports movie... a sports movie that opens with music right out of a softcore porno, with smooth jazz interludes throughout. Despite being a narrative beat of every feel good sports movie in existence, this movie's also got some smooth-ass cool jivin' B E A T S. And Danny Tamberelli. Hell yeah, they got Young Pete. 

Brock Pierce 2020

We open on our would-be president, young Gordon Bombay (Brock Pierce 2020), missing the final penalty shot of his local playoffs sometime back in the 70s or 80s, costing the game, the season, and becoming the forever disappointment of the town and his evil coach who only cares about winning. And all because he failed that one time, he grows up to become a pretty good lawyer. It's Everylawyer's story really. As a boy, if you failed at sports, you probably beome a lawyer... or an accountant. Your life was over. Trust me. So then we join older Gordon Bombay (Emilio Estevez). He's a hotshot lawyer who wins at everything except life... kind of like a reverse Tom Cruise from A Few Good Men. He gets caught drunk driving one night and shows up in court... the judge (who knows him from being a lawyer) is like "I assume you're representing yourself." (8-year-old me's mind *blown*. Wow, just like doctors must be their own doctors... lawyers must be their own lawyers!)

For reasons no kid will understand though, he gets "released on his own recognizance" (I still don’t know what it means). But being a lawyer, he's like, “they have no case!” (against him driving under the influence with an open container). But instead of fighting it, he takes a plea bargain(?) I guess(??) and is sentenced to community service and revocation of his drivers license. Suddenly he's forced to coach youth hockey because somehow community service means coaching jobs, and apparently they’ll give coaching jobs to just any guy with a DUI in the 90s… (oh how times haven't changed). His boss Mr. "Ducksworth" (Josef Somer, who played the scientist in D.A.R.Y.L.) doesn't fire him, and he gets a driver provided by the court. Man this guy gets off easy! But then… I guess the team he’ll be coaching is the "real punishment," amiright? 

They're called “District 5.” They’re your typical snot-nosed little shit 90s goon squad, backwards-hat brigade, obsessed with Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, and “your mom” jokes. There's of course Fat Kid ("Goldburg"), who is afraid of getting hit with pucks (so of course he's the goalie)... Dork Kid (Les Averman), who spouts what are supposed to be hil-laaarious one-liners but are usually just garbled cringey nonsense... Perv Kid (Peter), who is the "Mouth" of the group... Girl Kid ("Connie," I think?), who is a girl... Shy Kid who they call "Spaz" ("Charlie") (played by Jake Gyllenhaal), who is too pure for this world... Misunderstood Punk Kid ("Fulton"), who is exactly what it says on the label... Other Fat Kid ("Dave "Karpster" Karp"), who falls down a lot... Nice Kid ("Terry") (played by Jussie Smollett), brother to Streetwise Kid ("Jesse"), who says "cake-eater" a lot... and Ginger Kid ("Danny Tamberelli"... no wait, ah screw it, it's him), who has a sister who also plays for the team and is a figure skater (uh... not guessing on her name). We meet some of them in the act of doing the good old “dog poop in a abandoned purse” prank on the sidewalk. And we see every part of the plan from them feeding the dog, to following it around waiting for it to give them a good one, to scooping it, to setting the trap with the bait (a dollar bill sticking out)… to the mark finding it and then chasing them down the street all sped up ala something out of A Christmas Story. One nutshot later and Victory is achieved. Profit!!

So basically they're little shits. It's set up like they're bored and directionless, but then we learn that these kids also already play hockey together on a team, but are so lousy they're still just called "District 5" (which is not a 90s boy band but the hockey district they all live in). It seems they just lost their old coach to a heart attack from shouting at them too much. (Not a joke, it's in the movie.) Gordon Bombay meets the kids by having his driver drive his limo(?) out onto the ice they're playing on, just to be badass, and he shows them just how much he cares about his forced community service: “I’m sure this will be a real bonding experience… and maybe one day one of you will even write a book about it in jail!"  (And thus, the movie.)

“Hey, just so you know, you really suck.”  (Ouch! 90s kid smack down). But no, it is the boys who suck. But then, saywahhhht? There’s a girl??  But then Coach Gordon: “if you need anything, fax me.” He gets back in his limo. And there you go. So of course they want a ride in the limo, and all go jump on the roof and climb in, eat donuts off the dash, mess around with the phone, and rip a really ripe SBD in the backseat… immediately... and it's all fun and games until psycho-mom ruins it by overacting... I meant overreacting to the car being on the ice. Party's over. Parents mad. But the really sad thing about it was... now we'll never know who's fart it was.

So okay, that's the Mighties for ya. But what about their inevitable rival team? Well, of course they're a little Cobra Kai military unit. “The Hawks." Evil incarnate, wearing all black, your typical jerks who drop “wuss breath!” and “girls!” (while talking to boys) every other word and of course sport some pretty rockin’ roller blades when they’re not on the ice. And you guessed it, they're the very same team that Coach Gordon once played for as a kid, and you guessed it, they're still coached by none other than Evil Coach himself, the same guy who ruined Gordon's love of hockey! Oh and guess what, Evil Coach "has never forgiven him" for making the peewee team have second place for the only time in its history that year. Woo doggy! That's some baggage to be carrying around for decades! So now it's not just about community service... now it's personal for Coach Gordon. 

But to say they get their asses handed to them in their first tryout game against the Hawks... is to assume they're anything but a bunch of asses. They suck!! Sticks flying... body checks... body slams... face plants into walls, into floors, into each other... exasperated refrains of “They’re killing us out there!” and “You guys stink!” (Well, they’re sweaty hockey players.)  Not to mention some really cringy humor by yours truly, dorkatron dorkus maximus "Averman" (“huummm goaliegoaliegoalie... saa-wing-goalie!”). So, seeing as the team he's coaching is really that bad and is playing up against a team headed by a Coach Evil, Gordon starts teaching them the old lawyer-speak whiplash tactic... to fall down on purpose to cheat. “What do we do?" "Take the fall! Act hurt! Get indignant!”  "Good. You guys are ready." But Shy Kid Charlie’s not having it, and neither are the parents. Now it’s not just personal, but parents’ money for hockey practices is on the line. And oh yeah, German old guy says it’s “not all about winning, it’s about fun.” “Teach them to fly.”

Now Charlie doesn’t want to be on the team if he's just being taught to cheat because he's too pure for this world (despite the dog poop pranks), but apologies are offered when Coach Gordon shows up at Charlie's house. At first the kid eye rolls, probably ready to just crop dust the room and leave... until, that is, he realizes that maybe coach can be New Dad to him and New D to his single mom... setting up an obvious romance plot with Charlie’s mom... and... setting up Coach Gordon for a lifetime of factual and guilt-free "your mom" jokes at Charlie's expense. (Gee, Charlie did you think this through?) In the end, Charlie decides he wants to be on the team and will go to any lengths to get his mom and his coach together. Sweet or weird, you be the judge.

So while Coach Gordan is getting tight with Charlie's whole world, he also gets back tight with the team by utilizing his legal firm to give money to the hockey team to buy them new gear (SWEET!) and enlisting the local figure skating kids to come play hockey with them. It's here they get their "Ducks" name from their sponsor (Gordon's boss, Mr. "Ducksworth"), and it’s also where the kids learn from an old newspaper clipping in the sports store that their coach was a former “Hawk!” Oooh now it’s getting interesting! At practice, Dorkus Dorkatron Averman says “wax on wax off” in a racist accent and gets a stick to the stomach, and Scaredy-Goalie Goldburg gets over his fear of pucks by being subjected to a firing squad of pucks while tied down in a scene that has a least 15 things wrong with it…  it’s funny because it’s child abuse? Actually, it’s probably 10 times worse than what Coach Gordon experienced!

But now there’s also “Misunderstood Punk Kid” (Fulton) who keeps following them around but doesn't join the team. He's out breaking windows with his puck shots. What good will ever come of him? Wait a minute…  he shoots pucks like bullets… and we have a hockey team… 1+1= 2! But he can’t skate. Well… shenanigans ensue when they start teaching him how to skate by having the whole team go joyriding through the mall on roller blades in a montage cut from every single 90’s kid’s fever dream! Splash! Old lady in the mall fountain! 

Now they get their new uniforms. “Ducks? What braindead jerk came up with that name?” To which Gordon inexplicably replies: "I’ll have you know that the duck is the most noble, agile, and intelligent animal of the animal kingdom.” “But they don’t even have teeth!”  “Niether do hockey players.” “Ducks never say die” …etc. (Really, Gordon says that). In reality, it's "Ducks" because Disney’s making this movie and Disney can only draw mice and ducks for cartoons, so they decide on the name “Mighty Ducks” and this wins them over. (A similar thing happened when we got the “bat” badge in my cub scout den.) This gives them a new glut of confidence because sure, District 5 sucked, “but the DUCKS are UNDEFEATED!” (Technically true...)

And so, getting cool equipment and being called “Mighty Ducks” also suddenly makes them much better at hockey, scoring their first goal even, until Other Fat Kid ("David "Karpster" Karp") “takes one for the team” in either his head or his family jewels, it's hard to tell (complete with bird tweeting sounds)… to which Dorkatron Averman does his schtick “Eh Karpster! You-just-hadta-stopda-puck! Eh Mr. Karpelaney!...” (showing just why it should've been him). But  Fulton (“Misunderstood Punk”) turns out to be the ace in the hole, the secret weapon, the real silent but deadly amongst them, for he gets out there and ties the game! Wow! We TIED! 

We also learn that Coach Gordon would not have been a Hawk if he was playing today, since he lived in what is now "Duck territory." But as a result of his legal precision as a lawyer, he also ends up snagging one of the "evil" Hawks kids (a kid named Adam Banks) because technically he too lives within the district boundaries for the Ducks, not the Hawks. The parents and the Evil Coach protest, as do the Ducks themselves, since "evil kids" should stay on "evil hockey teams," and the other kids of the Ducks even overhear Coach Gordon calling his team “losers” out of context in front of the Hawks parents, and NOW it means something to them. They feel like it's because they're not good enough, so that's why Coach Gordon is putting a Hawk on their team. Ducks forfeit a game as a result, and everyone on the team's mad at each other. 

So now they’re in need of a pep-talk, and Charlie’s playing scab. He’s meeting Coach Gordon in a neutral location (a diner where his mom works), and crossing the picket line. Coach is a “Hawk” after all, it’s in his blood. Once a Hawk, always a Hawk! But Charlie thinks otherwise because coach is also New Dad. So Charlie of course says the line most 10-year-old boys say about their own mothers serving them coffee: “You know, she has many fine qualities that most men find attractive.”  Gordon replies, “I know that Charlie, it has not escaped me.” But coach has more on his mind than a forced romantic subplot. He wants to quit being coach because the Ducks don’t respect him, so Charlie runs out in tears because New Dad is walking out of his life... just like Old Dad. Aw.

Cut to science class. Teacher: “Now if the red balls are oxygen, what are the blue balls?” (“hehehe” -Beavis and Butthead in the back of the room.) “Hydrogen!” says Danny Tamberelli. Teacher: “Right, now put them together and you have a molecule that makes up 96% of your body.”  Danny Tamberelli: “Pizza?” (Fact.)

Teacher is called away and the team begins having a fist fight due to all the drama with their coach, and the fact that they're all in the same science class together for some reason. Different factions are forming for and against Coach Gordon... but one thing they all can agree on is that they are "Ducks! Ducks! Ducks!...!" all the way to detention, where they are all forced to write "I will not quack at the principal" Bart Simpson style. 

Cake-eater!

Long story short, "evil" former-Hawk kid ends up having to play for the Ducks anyways, and Evil Coach gets Gordon fired from his law firm job because yeah, apparently his boss WAS going to "fire him over a bunch of ... kids?? And a game??" He doesn’t back down, and he quits by “quacking” his way out of the building. So because he stuck up for them (and gets them out of detention), they decide to all love him again as their coach. And at least one “your mother!” joke later, the team meets evil kid (Adam Banks), the kid from the Hawks, and while Charlie tries to welcome him, he's quickly called a “cake-eater” and Dorkus goes “ooh, the jestman, eh thenewguy, thejester...!” (“Shut up Averman!”) In short, the team rejects evil kid… except Charlie of course, because he’s too pure for this world. 

Now the Ducks are getting arrogant about tying games like true champions. The gameplan? Give the puck to Fulton, with the sage advice: “soft hands, concentration... not strength!” (Because he can slap it but he can’t aim... he only gets "1 out of 5" shots in). So because of Fulton, they win one game, and make the playoffs. (That’s when you KNOW this is Peewee hockey!) Coach Gordon celebrates with the team by taking them to a profesh hockey game where the hockey players (who say "oot" and "aboot" a lot) impress the Ducks by remembering their coach "from peewees," and suddenly Gordon's looking pretty good if he's getting compliments from pros, so who’s the daddy now?  Good times are had to a Randy Newman-ish song.

Speaking of daddy issues… Charlie and New Dad are sitting down to a romantic dinner, to which the boy says: “Did you know, the Northstars last year wore the same underwear all through the playoffs, for luck. I’m doing the same thing.” (...uh... rock on dude.) Somehow this leads to Coach Gordon and Charlie’s mom having a date at the obligatory skating rink in the snowy Christmas park at night ala Groundhog Day, until she’s realizing that her son may be more in love with him than she is. Oh but they kiss. Nevermind. 

So the team goes into the playoffs in a rousing montage of winning streaks (and of course it makes front page news every week). And so of course it’s the final game, and they get down to good Coach Gordon and Mighty Ducks vs. Evil Coach and Evil Hockey Team, the Hawks. In this corner… “Win! Win! Win!” (because winning is everything) and in that corner, “Quack! Quack! Quack!” (because ducks) … but will evil kid Banks sabotage the game?? Does he bleed Hawk? Well, the Hawks score their first goal. Then second. Then third. Then the Hawks conspire to take down their fellow Former-Evil-Kid Banks just because he's playing against them now. They push him just as he scores for the Ducks, and he’s down, injured, out cold. Evil kid #2 even goes “what did you do?” To which Eviler Kid says, in the coldest, shrewdest, most sociopathic voice imaginable for a 10-year-old… “My job.” Oh it still sends shivers down my spine! 

He does get sidelined for the body check, but Evil Coach gives him a "good job." Meanwhile, the Ducks gather around their injured comrade and suddenly decide that, though he be a a Former Hawk and a "cake-eater," he did help them score, so maybe he’s not so bad after all. And now the kid lifts up his arm in a dying final request as the medics are wheeling him out in a stretcher: “Do me a favor… kick some Hawk butt..." He has turned on his old team because they treated him like... well... like a hawk. He will probably die. (No wait, he shows up at the end).

So Misunderstood Kid Fulton scores with his bullet shot. The score's 3-2. Now the plan amongst the Hawks is to take out Fulton. Hawks then score 4-2. Danny Tamberelli's figure skating sister somehow scores a goal with a pirouette. 4-3! A fight breaks out amongst the teams. Misunderstood Fulton gets taken out for fighting, even though it wasn't his fault (it was a misunderstanding!). It’s all over. No secret weapon anymore. But the Ducks hit back with the “Flying V” formation as Old German Dude looks on… and… SCORE! 4-4!! WOOOT! TIE GAME!  23 seconds to go. Just enough time for the Ducks to win… Charlie’s got it…  oh the Hawks take him down with a stick beating… times up! But because of the Hawk's bad play, it'll all come down to a single penalty shot for the game, and Coach Gordon somehow knows Charlie’s the one to do it... because he wants to bang his mom. So will Charlie do what Gordon couldn’t as a kid?? Will history repeat?? … Will Evil Coach finally get egg on his face after all these years?? Slowmo... annnnnnnnnnd... .... YES! ALL NET!!! Last second!! DUCKS WIN!!!  5-4!!!  Music swells! 

Evil Coach egg on face! Gordon redeemed! “Ducks! Ducks! Ducks!...”

And maybe Gordon gets the the girl (but was he even looking for one?) and more importantly, Charlie gets New Dad.

See world, it's not all about winning, it’s about having fun. Because when you are all about having fun, you always seem to win in these movies. But the real winning is the friends we made along the way. Inter-team competition is good, but hatred of the "other team" is something always taught. 

"A team isn't a bunch of kids out to win. A team is something you belong to, something you feel, something you have to earn." 

Just as long as you don't join Team I Don't Like I mean, Team Evil.

And hey Ducks, see you next sequel season!

Nickelodeon GUTS!

A view from the top.

With the Olympics now in full-swing (me being heavily invested in the US Women's Volleyball team for... reasons that have almost everything to do with their athleticism), it slowly got me thinking about Nickelodeon's own Olympics-like show in the 90s... "The action sports show that's gonna make you sweat!" You know, the one that proved bright yellow helmets actually do match perfectly with any color climbing gear. The one where they were constantly bouncing around on bungy chords and climbing up stuff and having stuff thrown at them.

"Do-do-do do you have it?" You know... GUTS!

Or as I used to say, "BUTTS!" It sure has been a while since Nick had a show that could inflict serious injury on a kid. And for that reason there was always that part of me thinking, "wow that's neat what they just did there,"  and another part thinking, "sure glad it ain't me!" But with a constant theme that sounded like something from Michael Jackson's Dangerous album mixed with random "GUTS!" chants, this show was designed to activate your inner testosterone devil... which is both exactly why they told us not to imitate any of the stunts, and exactly why I ignored that part.

00's kids, this is what you missed.

GUTS was like, gym class on steroids. You had this "in your face" jock named Mike O'Malley doing a lot of fist-pumping in the middle of this massive stadium, surrounded by all these ropes, tramps, and wide assortments of stackable gym cushions, and you'd quickly feel like he'd have you dropping to give him twenty if you failed it. And just like a gym teacher, this guy was just constantly "on it." And I mean, like, face just FULL of cocaine constantly. (He had been the host of another Nick game show "Get the Picture" where he was often memorable as well, constantly eating during the show and complaining about how they don't give him a lunch break.) Watching it felt like those moments in gym class where you'd look around at all the scary equipment and wonder what death-defying things the teacher might wimp-call you into doing that day. But what made it better than gym class for a scrawny dork like me (utterly devoid of muscle) was that all the sports rounds were short. I sucked at every sport there was, so a 30 second time limit would've spared me a lot of pain and embarrassment then, not to mention push-ups.

Then there was that British girl named Moe for some reason who always wore that jail-stripe Nike commercial jersey and wailed on that whistle, calling my name ("On your MARK...!") and saying "Go" every couple minutes (at least I kind of wish she was calling my name... "Uh, hey baby..." -Butthead). And in general there was also a lot of yellow teeth guards, eye guards, elbow pads, knee pads, butt pads... every kind of pad and jock strap around, and somehow the kids wearing them got points along the way from the all-knowing "Leaderboard" that Moe would read from.

Behold, the Aggro-Crag.

And after these kid Olympians swam, bounced, hurdled, biked, and threw a lot of tennis balls at sticky targets, they were suddenly transformed into American Gladiators for the last five minutes, and forced to face the all-intimidating Aggro-Crag! Each player would have to ascend a jumble of fake, jagged rocks just oozing with smoke and lights and dropping fake boulders and snow down on them, and they'd have to hit certain targets, or "actuators"... lights that buzzed and spun when pressed. This thing looked like Godzilla's mountaintop or the actual lair of Rita Repulsa herself, I swear, and it was nothing, because eventually they moved on to the Mega-Crag!, and then the Super-Aggro!.

But for all they built that Aggro-Crag! up to be, the kids always seemed to climb it with little trouble. It was mostly facade, but if it was scary looking enough to make them suddenly stupid and unable to hit their own actuators, then it must've been something indeed. In the end it didn't matter, because all I wanted was one of those awesome glowing green crystal rock chunks they gave away to the winners. Supposedly hewn from the rock itself, or from the Emerald City, they all looked exactly the same, and heavy! Totally tubular.

Go Team USA!

In-Line Roller-blades

Rad (adj.): see above.

Don't call 'em roller-skates, these bad boys are "blades". Since the first couple spins I took around the block in my old blades, back in the mid-90s, I don't think I've ever been able to sit quite right. Wearing these things was like learning how to walk all over again, only this time with eight wheels under your feet and a break at your heel. Come across any slope, or even just a gradual downturn or pebble, and you'll quickly find yourself careening out of control... BUTT I guess that's what your BUTT is for (...nature's impact absorber). Now if only I wore a helmet...
 
Seriously, after your first 200-something falls, you do get the hang of it, and then you'll be damned if you can go without them. The steady ground below your feet, the presence of "friction,"... it just no longer felt right. "If the good lord had intended us to walk, he wouldn't have invented roller-skates..." said the great candy man, and I got to agree... except for the "roller-skates" part... (these things are too X-TREME!! to be "skates"). In any case, I think I went through a period in my life around the age of 10 where these were just the natural extension of my feet. I lived on wheels. My blades sat by the side door, so if I was going anywhere... "I--was--roll-ing!" (Forrest Gump everybody!)

Not me, but damn close!

At one point I could do everything in blades, like climb up and down stairs, use the bathroom (yes!), ride around on a trampoline (kids, don't try that at home), or fly down even the steepest sloping cul-de-sacs... (coming back up was a whole different story though). I even got up the guts to trick out a bit on the local half-pipe at the park, but only the kiddy one and only to the best ability a little dork like me could do... which meant a lot of back and forth on the bottom of the bevel and a lot of time on my butt. But isn't that why it's there? As I've said before, me and my butt are tight, we go way back.

The whole "roller-skating" thing that really took off in the 80's got another massive kick in the butt during the early 90s thanks to "rad" culture and the introduction of blades. Suddenly every kid on my block was either rocking a pair of blades, a skateboard, or a Razor scooter. Heck, video games like Road Rash and the very existence of Tony Hawk just became part of the lingo. Blades made their way into just about a thousand no-budget direct to VHS tapes advertising as "awesome jumps" and "XTREME tricks!" that were actually showcasing little more than the non-wipeout reel. They also made it into terrible kids' movies like "The Skateboard Kid" and... "The Skateboard Kid 2." After all, "When there's magic in your [fart], you can soar!" Yeah... all I can say about the 90s VHS craze, at least as far as skating videos and movies were concerned, is there are things more painful than wiping out on your blades.

The world would be a better place if people skated everywhere, I think. I mean, skater chicks have got to be the hottest kind of chick. Save for a bike, these were the quickest way to get around as a kid. After all, a car only has four wheels... these guys have a rockin' eight! Cool blades were definitely on my Christmas wishlist at some point, and I got to admit, I'm struggling to remember why I ever gave up my first real set of wheels.

....unless I want to count these babies.


< Here's a cool design I found on Zazzle, get it on a t-shirt! 

Swimming Lessons

"Why do I have to go to swimming lessons when I can just stay home and play Sonic instead?" That was probably running through my mind in the summer of 1993 or so, on a sunny, hot morning like today. And trust me, the Sonic water levels were FAR more hazardous than being in actual water anyways! Why not swimming lessons to learn how to survive in THOSE? So it was like pulling teeth to get me and my brother up, dressed, and out the door, but once we hit the pool, we were having a grand old time trying not to die. The one we used for our swimming lessons was outdoors, submerged in a bed of scratchy white concrete that was hell on your bare feet, and built up on all sides like Fort Knox with high chain link fences. It was like its own micronation of "Community Pool," complete with it's own laws (No Diving, No Splashing, No Running...etc.).

You could only enter in through the changing rooms, which served as its border crossing. The boys and girls separated. It was like passing into a third world country. Our changing room was nothing but a series of slimy, buggy, weedy showers next to a changing bench, which at the right angle was perfectly visible to the outside. That's okay, I'd gotten used to having no privacy, but I could only imagine the luxuries the girls had. Their side was probably furnished like a Turkish bath by comparison!

The only problem with the pool was the fact that the water was too damn cold, even on the hottest, most humid days. I could feel every limb on my body shrivel right up when I jumped in... and not just the usual suspect. There were occasional warm spots in the water, but they probably weren't the kind I should've been hanging around in, now that I think about it. Other than that, it was a blast! That pool also came with a slide, which I was literally running to get back in line to (which apparently is against the rules or something). In any case, I did not wear "floaties"...you know, those things that make you look like you're a real heavyweight stud whenever you... oh who am I kidding, there's nothing manly about floaties! I didn't need them. I could dog paddle with the best of them!

So did I actually learn to swim that summer? ...Hey! These things looked pretty cool!

Hell to the yea-ah! 

Most of our lessons involved swimming back and forth, launching off the sides, splashing 101 (holding onto the side and kicking), and learning how to "use spoons, not forks" when going overhand. I insisted on inventing my own swimming maneuver though, calling it "knives," but it didn't take me very far. When I was above water, it was about making bubbles, and when below, it was about holding them in. That's all you need to know. I used to spend a lot of time under water holding my breath, keeping my eyes open to see up from underneath the other kids like the shark in Jaws. The only bubbles I didn't like so much were the ones that filled my shorts after jumping in, which would blow up my hips and blurp out the leg holes unexpectedly in one big bubble! Well, no. I take that back, those were the best! Second best, getting up next to another kid in calmer waters and letting the air out of your shorts. Bloop! "Nice."

Girls didn't have those benefits. Their bathing suits were skin tight and always looked like they were giving them wedgies. Not only that but they were required to shout "Marco!" "Polo!" back and forth at each other in the water, which is a "game" I guess? I truly don't know. At the end of the summer, we were given a cheap printout award by the lifeguards in charge of our swimming lessons (usually super hot high school chicks or dudes with sunglasses and more SPF than Ug's nose). All I remember about that achievement was how horribly, horribly wrong they spelled our last name.

In short, it took a shower just to erase the effects of the chlorine. I can still smell it.

Christmas Eve Billiards

I've recently discovered that pool (billiards), is the only sport I actually find entertaining (if you call it a sport). Watching a couple hours of it tonight reminded me of all those years in my kiddyhood we spent Christmas eve at my rich uncle's house (yes, certain members of my family were upper middle class, in case you haven't guessed by the sheer amount of privilege I seem to throw around). He had this lush refitted basement... a cozy space for gatherings, complete with shag carpet, wood paneled walls, stocked bar, and three types of indoor recreation: table tennis, darts, and pool. He had a really nice pool table with one of those stained glass light fixtures hanging low above it and all the typical billiards paraphernalia (wooden signs on the wall reading: "Billiards is not just life or death, it's more than that!"...etc.) All the essentials.

"Keep your fingers off the table! You want to get hit with a ball?" That's what they'd tell us. Funny as it may seem, the adults (and when I say that, I really mean the DADS, who I guess are adults) hogged the table as they got progressively intoxicated and left us kids to the table tennis and darts to almost "kill-each-other the night away!" My dad walked around the hot room holding a camcorder with a title card on the lens: "Family Christmas Party/ 1995,"... like he was shooting some amateur film, and that was about the extent of his supervision. Meanwhile, all the kids ran wild with the music cranked. The problem with the darts, besides me almost blinding my brother with them, was there were so few unbroken ones and most ended up hitting the board and falling down behind the recliner. At least it was a nice dart board. It even came with a small slate on the door where you could chalk in your score. One could say it wasn't a good idea to let us play with the darts and paddles and not the pool table, but I guess mixing alcohol and projectiles in a crowded setting would've been a worse one.

The pool table was obviously what us kids wanted to have a swing at though, and soon enough we'd get our break (pun definitely intended). When the adults were having a good enough time they'd head upstairs to really "get serious" and let us kids play with whatever we wanted. My brother and I would break out the sticks, balls, and triangle, and stand tippy-toe around the edges of the big piece of shiny, carved oak. We'd chalk the ends like we'd seen the dads do a dozen times, lay our sticks down on the green, and poke random balls around for a good ten minutes, ignoring any idea of stripes, solids, and numbers. Supervision poopervision! Bah... our rich relatives had their own shot glasses to attend to (and by that I mean literally, wearing shot glasses AS glasses half the time).  "Yep, pool's a man's game," I'd smugly say, trying to sound cool between sips of my non-alcoholic Sprite... I mean, alcohol.

Who won and who lost? Who knows. The game would evolve, and soon we'd just be rolling the balls around with our hands to see how many collisions we could set off or knuckles we could break, and eventually do away with the pool table completely and sword fight with the sticks. My brother whacked me good right across the back with a cue, but he was helpless against my 8-ball air assault! At least some time was spent with the stick between my cousin's legs, pretending it was his "wooden pole," if you know what I'm saying, which I wish I thought of at the time because it was a good one. We didn't break anything except a little skin. I got my brother back with a boomerang toss of the triangle right to he gut. Our cousin still thought his "cue-stick woody" was funny. He was right. Good times. Good times.

"Yep, pool's a man's game," I said.

So once the temperature in the room had risen enough and the energy in us kids was finally flushed out, we'd head upstairs to wind down and enjoy the lit fireplace in my uncle's posh living room (watched Jumanji on television one year). This was Christmas Eve to a dorky suburban boy with a rich uncle.