My greatest sporting achievement ever

My greatest sporting achievement ever is awesome and frankly; you will be mightily impressed. But before I share I should mention the runner up for My Greatest Sporting Achievement Ever:


Back in college at the University of Portland there was an annual battle to see who could rise up and conquer the Mt. Everest of all intramural sports - The 5 on 5 Basketball: Competitive League. My buddy Ty and I were on a team that won it all our sophomore year but we were merely invited onto that team and it wasn't "our" team. They weren't really our friends. While it was fun, it wasn't all that we had hoped it to be. We wanted to do it on our own.


Senior year we finally assembled a team that we felt could do it. After losing our first game to some needledicks we ran the table in the regular season. The way it worked is that we'd go out, slaughter our opponent and then all go get drunk afterward. Times were good. We won our playoff games and made it to the championship game to be played in The Chiles Center - this is where the real basketball team played so that only added to the excitement.


Our team was visibly nervous prior to the game and during the first half. When halftime rolled around we were ahead by one.


At the beginning of the second half my three roommates and I all were on the bench. The teams traded buckets for about 6 minutes and that's when all four of us checked in. I'm not gonna lie and say that the four of us checking in was intimidating seen as how we are all basically 6 foot tall white guys. But what transpired could best be compared with when Michael Corleone had everybody killed at the end of The Godfather. Ty hit a layup. Thornburgh hit a 3. Then I scored on the baseline followed by three 3's in a row. All in all we went on a 15-0 run in two minutes putting us up by 16. Game blouses. I'm bored, who wants some pancakes. Good times. Let me tell you, the 40's were flowing that night!


Now for my greatest sporting achievement ever: when we were in high school my buddies and I loved to play wiffle ball. And when I say "loved" you need to understand that we used to play about once a week during the summers. There were six of us who were the core: Kevin, Matt, Hank, Nate, Davis and me. We had a fairly unique set up in that we had distinct teams: The West Hill Fighting Squirrels composed of Hank, Nate and Davis and The Maywood $pud$ composed of Kevin, Matt and me. Those were the teams and that's how it worked every time we played. You also need to understand that we didn't just go outside and start smacking the wiffle ball around. We played at Hiscock Memorial Stadium. Hiscock was located in my front yard with the garage door as the backstop behind the plate. We had bases out in the street and the field extended across the street into Ms. Hugg's yard. Her garden happened to be shaped like a baseball field so it acted as our fence and it was a homer if you hit it into her garden (or hit her house, or her front window, or went onto her roof, or over her house). The field also went around to the left of her yard and into the street. That's where we placed four large traffic cones like this:

Kevin and I "borrowed" these cones from a construction site and they served as the supports for the left field wall that sat in the street and connected to Ms. Hugg's garden serving as the perfect wiffle ball home run fence. Additionally we kept having yelling matches over disputed fair or foul home run calls so Hank took matters into his hands and "borrowed" two 15 foot tall PVC pipes from a construction site. We painted the pipes bright yellow and kept them in buckets filled with dirt so they stood perfectly upright in both left and right field at the end of the duct tape foul lines in the street. Hiscock Memorial Stadium had a flood light over our driveway and we would also run two extension cords out into right and left field where we would set up more flood lights for night games. Did you think we were messing around here? Come on now bra! This was serious business. We had a wooden scoreboard that hung above the garage and everything. It was legit.

I should also mention that Hiscock Memorial Stadium was named after Bill Hiscock who was an old neighbor of Kevin and Matt. It was initially Hiscock Stadium but we changed it to Hiscock Memorial Stadium after he passed away...obviously.

Anyway, I digress (I don't know what the really means but I know you use it after you've rambled on for far too long), so one fine Saturday we all agreed that we would clear our calendars and play an all day seven game World Series.

The Maywood $pud$ (Kevin, Matt and me) got off to a hot start and won three of the first four games for a 3-1 series advantage. Then the West Hill Fighting Squirrels fought back and took two games in a row to send the series to the deciding game seven.

At this point we had been playing for about seven straight hours with only a pizza break keeping us going. By the time you get to game seven it's a battle of wills to see who wants it more and who can handle the pressure. And as you'd expect from two such fine teams game seven lived up to its billing.

The $pud$ jumped out to a fairly significant lead in the first 5 innings. I'm quite sure the score was something like 13-3. Basically an ass whooping was in the works. However, in typical Squirrel fashion, they clawed their way back into the game and even took the lead in the top of the ninth inning on some clutch hitting with two outs. Heading into the bottom of the ninth it was Squirrels 15 - $pud$ 13. You could feel the tension in the air. It wasn't even fun at that point. It was a battle. There was no joking around or teasing of any kind. In fact the two teams weren't even talking at all - every one's face had a look of complete focus and tension. Frankly I'm getting a little tense just recalling the situation as I'm typing this.

The $pud$ were reeling after giving up the huge lead so we had to get things going. We were determined to come back. Matt led off the ninth with a screaming line drive right at Hank for an out. Then Kevin managed to draw a walk off Nate. So we had a runner on first with one out.

I step to the plate and my palms are sweaty, my heart is racing. It's crunch time. I just missed a good pitch and fled out to Davis in left. So we were facing two outs with only a runner on first.

I'll admit, things were looking pretty bleak for the $pud$. But, moments like these are where great teams and great players show their true character. Matt calmly stepped to the dish and smoked a single that bounced off the curb and back into the street. Kevin easily advanced to third on the carom. First and third - two outs.

Kevin steps in, stares the pressure right in the face and has what's known in the business as a professional at bat. He fouls off about 5 pitches before finally drawing a walk to load the bases. Holy shit! At this point I distinctly remember feeling some excitement because I was going to get another shot to win the game after flying out my last at bat. Then I started to feel the nerves so I took a few moments to compose myself, collect my thoughts and to get into a good frame of mind for the biggest at bat ever. It's not every day that one gets to step to the plate with the bases loaded, two outs and your team down by two in the deciding game of a seven game marathon. This one at bat would decide everything and one team would walk away as kings and the other in somber defeat.

Upon stepping in I distinctly remember feeling quite nervous. Almost shaky to be honest. But after taking a couple pitches and working the count I began to slip into a calm focus. You've heard it a thousand times but its these huge pressure moments where great players step up and make clutch plays. It's how the greats are made. By making big plays at big moments in big games.

At this point Nate was so dialed in that he was painting the corners with all his pitches so I was doing everything just to stay alive. I fouled off several pitches and the count ran full. Nate threw a great pitch - a cutting fastball right on the inside corner. I turned on it just right and hit a grand slam off of the very top of the foul pole in left field! Game over, series over. A pig pile ensued. The Maywood $pud$ were the champions!

And that, my friends, is my greatest sporting achievement ever.

Awesomeness in Everett, WA - Part Deaux

At my office in Everett, Washington I used to have to park across the street in the parking garage. A few years back I arrived at the parking garage around 7:20am like normal. It was a really nice day and I hopped out of my car, walked down the stairs and up the half a block toward the intersection where I cross the street to my office building. Just as I approached the corner of the intersection I noticed a tubby kid walking down the street towards me. He looked to be about 16 or 17 years old and was wearing a black trench coat. Meanwhile it was about 70 degrees and sunny outside.

As you have surely noticed, I really enjoy spotting weird people out in the wild but at this exact moment I honestly recall thinking, "This kid isn't even that weird for Everett." And at that exact moment, just as I'm mentally giving this kid a compliment for not being a super freak, he walks right up to me, reaches into his trench coat and proceeds to pull out a light sabre. No, i am not kidding. As he pulls the light sabre out of its holster (yes, he had a holster on his belt) he makes the light sabre sound - "SHHHHHEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW" and begins twirling his light sabre around like he's getting ready to have a dual with me.

Keep in mind this all happened in about 5 seconds plus it's 7:20am and I'm not even fully conscious yet...then, as this guy is whirling his light sabre around and making light sabre noises he says, "I'm going to kill you with my light sabre."

This was when I began to wonder if I was on Punk'd. Meanwhile I'm laughing in this kids face and looking around for TV cameras because I can not believe what's going on three feet from me. Then I started to wonder what else he might have in his trench coat and walked away...giddy to share what had just happened.

By the way, the kid was visibly disappointed when I walked away. I'm not sure if he really wanted to kill me or if he just wanted to have a light sabre duel.

The Most Amazing Thing I've Done

Since we are still getting to know each other I think it's time I open up a bit and share with you the single most amazing thing I've ever done in my entire life.

About six or seven years ago I went to the grocery store. (I bet your thinking, "Cool story Hansel." Well, not so fast my friend!) So I roll in and grab a basket - not a cart but the basket that you carry as I only needed a few things. I start shopping, grab a few things and I'm chucking them in my basket...yada yada yada...next thing I know I'm in the produce section. I'm walking through and notice that green peppers are on sale. I happen to love green peppers so I walk over, grab a bag and start rifling through the green peppers looking for the good ones. Keep in mind that at this exact moment I have the basket up around my left forearm and am holding the bag for the green peppers in my left hand. Meanwhile I'm using my right hand to search for the most awesome green peppers. I see a beauty on the right-hand side of the green pepper section that borders the yellow peppers. Just as I pick up said green pepper it loosens a bordering yellow pepper from the stack and this yellow pepper apparently wanted to get the hell out of dodge. This is when things escalated. Quickly.

So my left arm is unavoidably detained with the basket and bag o peppers and my right hand is holding a scrumtrelescent green pepper at the exact moment that a yellow pepper decides he's going to make a run for it...and head head towards the floor. Looking back on this situation it really wouldn't have been that big a deal if I had simply allowed this obviously oppressed yellow pepper to escape his hell of a life on the yellow pepper pile. But at the time, in my simple little mind, I was apparently Fidel Castro and I had to use any means necessary to prevent this defector yellow pepper from tasting the sweet air of freedom by hitting the floor. It was the most important thing in my life at that moment...and it was a very brief moment because this little bastard was quick! He was making a run for the border, not the actual border (nor Taco Bell for that matter) but the floor. And fast! And my hands were full so what did I do under pressure in the eighth of a second I had to assess and react to the situation?

The defector had already jumped off the pile and was headed for the floor so like a ninja I lifted my right foot and all in one motion cradled, controlled and then tossed the defector yellow pepper back up toward the homeland of his fellow yellow peppers where the defector yellow pepper nestled back EXACTLY IN THE SAME SPOT WHERE IT BEGAN!

Yeah, you read that correctly. I cradled the defector yellow pepper and gently tossed it back up and it rolled back up the pile and stopped exactly in the spot where it started WITH MY FOOT!

The crazy thing is that I happen to be blessed with the ability to instantly recognize greatness when I see it. And this was pure, unadulterated greatness. Thus, after performing this miracle I turned around to bask in the glory of my fellow shoppers who were all witnesses and who were undoubtedly preparing a celebration in my honor...only to find exactly ZERO people anywhere in sight. You should've seen the depressed and deflated look on my face. I imagine it to be priceless. But that's beside the point. Regardless, it was the most amazing thing I've ever done. So I've got that going for me...which is nice.

The Coolest Thing That's Ever Happened

I'll admit, the title of this post likely creates pretty big expectations for you, the reader. Because of this there is good news and bad news. I've always been a fan of getting the bad news first and saving the good stuff for last. And since I'm the one in charge here that's how it's gonna be. Got it? Good.

The bad news: after giving this serious consideration I can imagine how a crazy person might not find what I'm about to disclose as "The Coolest Thing That's Ever Happened."

The good news: I am the one in charge here and anyone who doesn't find this to be "The Coolest Thing That's Ever Happened" is ignorant, a liar and a whore. So get the hell out! And stay out! (Actually, if you think you have something cooler feel free to make a suggestion in the comments section below or email me at pdesilet@comcast.net) I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders now that we have that settled.

Without further Freddy Adu...here is The Coolest Thing That Has Ever Happened In History. Ever.



Let's get serious here for a minute. Can you honestly watch that video and tell me that it's not The Coolest Thing That's Ever Happened? I didn't think so. I'm glad we could get this settled once and for all.

The Reasons Why I Hate Suzuki

I have a deep hatred for Ichiro Suzuki. Since you're undoubtedly on pins and needles wondering how someone who is both from Seattle and who loves baseball could hate Ichiro Suzuki let's cut through the crap and get right to it - two reasons:

1. Suzuki is blatantly more concerned with his personal statistics more than than helping the Mariners win. "What the hell is this idiot talking about, Ichiro gets 200 hits every year" you ask? Well, that's just great...for him. But the facts are that for the first 5 years of his MLB career he refused to play center field in spite of the fact the the Mariners needed to get more power hitting on the team more desperately than Ray Finkle needed the laces out. And in case you didn't notice right fielders are, by definition, power hitters. And to top it off the M's center field situation was and is known by baseball insiders as shit on a stick. So not only did/do the M's need a center fielder and not only would Suzuki be a great center fielder (which he was during his two gold glove seasons in center field before again refusing to play center field this year) but the M's also needed to add power to their lineup which would most easily be acquired in a right fielder. I'm already pissed off and I'm just getting going! In addition to Suzuki being blatantly unwilling to help his team improve by playing a position he is perfectly suited and capable of playing he has continually been remarkably selfish about his personal goal of accumulating hits. For some reason in this tiny little man's head he thinks that his sole purpose in life is to get hits as opposed to helping his team win baseball games. Any half educated baseball fan would admit that Suzuki is known for having great power in batting practice and its frequently mentioned by the media that "Ichiro could win The Home Run Derby if he wanted to." Well if that's the case and he has this ability to hit for power then why the hell, when the M's are annually among the most power challenged teams in all of baseball, would this little asshole continue to hit like a little cotton headed ninny muggins and slap singles all the time when the team clearly needs him to do more? In the name of Baby Jesus and his little golden fleece diapers why the hell hasn't Ichiro even tried hitting third in the order so he can drive in some runs with his magical power? Because he's a selfish asshole who only cares about accumulating hit totals. That's why. Oh (and this is the clincher on this subject) I have personally seen, with my own two eyes, Suzuki BUNT WITH TWO OUTS AND A Runner ON SECOND BASE. TWICE! For those who aren't baseball fans, a little sissy single scores the runner from second with two outs while a bunt is a low percentage play to get a hit for your self and your stats that will not score the runner from second base - and will bring up a worse hitter than Suzuki even if he does get his selfish butt on base...which he didn't either time. Dammit I'm fired up just thinking about this!
2. The other reason that I hate Suzuki is because it is racist that he gets to put his first name on his jersey and be called Ichiro by any and everyone when in this country you get your last name on your jersey - period. Why does he get to have Ichiro on the back of his jersey while Hideo Nomo can't have "Hideo"? Why doesn't So Taguchi get to just have "So" on the back of his jersey and be referred to as "So" by everyone? What about Hideki Matsui? How come he can't have "Godzilla" on his jersey? Is it because MLB doesn't let you put whatever the hell you want on the back of your jersey EXCEPT for Ichiro? Everyone calls David Ortiz "Big Papi" and it's a cultural thing in that he got his nickname from being the sage veteran presence and father figure in the clubhouse in Boston...you know, just like with Suzuki! This whole issue infuriates me and I can't understand how this is not a bigger deal. Anyway, I have officially taken to calling this selfish little asshole Suzuki and I strongly encourage each of you to do the same.

My buddy Kevin and I have made a pact that we are going to get together and celebrate with a 40 oz. the day that Suzuki finally gets traded...please let it be soon.

The Greatest Cell Phone Pic Ever

Back in 2003 or 2004 we were tailgating for a Seattle Seahawks game down near Seahawks Stadium. There were about 30 people tailgating in our little group and we were all drinking beer and eating and having a grand old tailgating time.

After enjoying ourselves for a while we went about getting the BBQ ready to cook some brats but we needed the grate for the BBQ. We had arrived in Kalso's Toyota Camry. For those who don't know Kalso, to say he keeps his car in complete and utter disarray, chaos and filth is a gigantic understatement to say the least. So Sophomore and I are in Kalso's trunk sorting through hockey skates, piles of newspapers, antique (or likely just really old) golf clubs, food, bottles of booze, charcoal briquettes and empty beer bottles looking for the damn BBQ grate. This is when things got interesting.

You see, I am the "Idea Guy" when it comes to situations like this. I'm sure you'll learn of more examples to come but on this occasion Sophomore and I came across a can of silk worm pupas. What are silk worm pupas you ask? Uhhh...we had no clue and our interest was only elevated by the fact that most of the writing on the can was Korean (I didn't know it was Korean at the time. Come on now.) Anyway, after asking Kalso what the hell the can was he explained that our buddy Kirk had just come back from teaching English in Korea and had brought said can of silk worm pupas back for him. After trying to figure out what silk worm pupas were Kalso said he wanted to save them. Uh...ok. This is when "Idea Guy" went to work.

At this point I calmly took my hat off and walked around to all the little groups of people who were tailgating with us and explained that if Kalso were to eat the entire can of silk worm pupas and keep it down for a full minute - how much would they give him? After a trip around the tailgate I had $73.28 in my hat. At this point I approached Kalso with my hat full of money and explained his charge (one thing you need to understand is that Kalso will accept nearly any challenge predicated upon him getting money for eating or drinking stuff and/or getting naked in public). To my surprise it did take some convincing, but after a few minutes a deal was struck.

Upon opening the can of aforementioned silk worm pupas we learned that they are perhaps the most disgusting and vile "food" in the entire world. Unbeknownst to us, silk worm pupas are little larva type things that look like little half size potato bugs and this particular Korean "delicacy" came in some type of pickling juice (I'm using that term quite loosely as this shit was sick and stinky). And to make things even better (for us, not so much for Kalso) the little tuna sized can contained like 200 of these little bastards!

Sophomore tried one (1) and gagged.

As Kalso got to work he started off pretty strong and was downing about 10 at a time. Then once he hit his "stride" he was taking them three or four at a time and gagging with every swallow - that's what she said!

Anyway, after about 15 minutes of battling his gag reflex Kalso finally finished the last of the silk worm pupas...then, surprisingly, came the tough part. Kalso normally can eat ANYTHING and keep it down (I once witnessed Kalso drink a bowl of super super SUPER hot BBQ sauce for $20 and he felt he had ripped off the guy who gave him the $20). Not so much with the silk worm pupas.

At this point Kalso was Michael Spinks and the silk worm pupas were Mike Tyson as Kalso BARELY made it to the 1:00 mark...then at about the 1:03 mark Kalso became the subject of the single greatest cell phone picture ever taken...

Awesomeness in Everett, WA

So I’m rolling through Everett this morning on the way to work at about 7:15am and while driving through one of Everett’s finest neighborhoods I had the privilege of seeing perhaps my all time greatest domestic dispute (granted I haven’t really seen any domestic disputes so I may not be the best judge but I would imagine that this one would be high on just about anyone’s list). So there is a super duperly hideous lady on the street corner in her flannel pajamas smoking a cig. This lady is terribly gross and she was the beacon in the distance that initially attracted my eyes to this glorious confrontation. So I’m driving up and looking at this beast of a woman who was so ugly that she didn’t even hit any of the branches when falling from the ugly tree – other ugly people actually hit HER as they fall to the ground. So she’s out there on the corner facing the other direction and as I am getting closer I notice a guy coming down the front steps of a house about 3 doors from where she is standing. This guy is rocking a VERY nasty mullet and is wearing this sickest most disgusting bathrobe you’ve ever seen. And that’s it…just take a minute to get that picture cued up in your head…now you may be laughing at this point because this is funny stuff but just hold your britches for a minute because what I’m about to tell you is going to rock your world…so this awesomely white trash guy rolls out of his house and is yelling VERY loudly at his antithesis of a beauty queen lady friend on the corner and just as he gets through his front yard and to the sidewalk is the exact moment when I am driving by staring and what does this guy do just as I drive by? I’m sure you have lots of guesses in your head right now but I assure you that none of them are as good as what actually happened because Gob blessed me this morning. He really did because this gentleman walked out of his house YELLING at his horrifically repulsive lady friend on the corner just at this very moment explicitly for my enjoyment. It was at this very moment that I am convinced that God intervened - only God could be this funny and ironic – because just as this guy gets to the sidewalk and I am driving by he pulls a 24oz of Mickey’s from his bathrobe pocket, slugs a HUGE drink, chucks it into the neighbor’s yard pinwheeling Mickey's everywhere and then carries on yelling profusely at his beast of a lady friend on the corner.

I’m not sure if I’m just luckier than everyone else or if God just likes me more but the facts are the facts. I am blessed. How is it that I get to see this kinda stuff on a semi regular basis? Do other people see things that are this awesome but they just don’t tell anyone? Or am I the only one who gets to see sweet shit like this and it’s just my duty to report the happenings? I would really like an answer to this question.

Good talk.

The Air Supply Concert in Lewiston, Idaho

I wrote this email to some friends back in 2005 at work the Monday after we got back from this trip. This post will introduce you to a few characters that you'll come to know even better the more read this blog. I hope you enjoy.


As is my tradition with a special weekend, here is a brief running diary...

THURSDAY

• 7:00pm - On the road to Pullman in Kalso's car with Paul, Paylor, Cory and Wilson. Paul has taken the time to prepare himself two 32 ounce vodka tonics with ice and lime. After we stopped at the top of the pass for the other guys to get beers, we drank the entire way over, except for Kalso of course as he was driving. Wilson was so loud in the car that Kalso and Cory had to repeatedly plug their ears in the front of the car. He could not be stopped.
  
• 10:00 - We are singing Air Supply at the top of our lungs in the car. Cory is a woman and keeps turning the heat on and I'm sweating like a pig with my window open because I am a man.
• 11:45??? - Arrive at Mikes house in Pullman. Chat with Mike for a while and set up shop. Then head to My Office. Upon entering My Office, it is EMPTY and the bartender says, sorry to say this but it's last call guys...to which Kalso and I look at each other and without missing a beat say, "no problem, 5 pitchers please."
• 2:00am? - Bed - and we didn't even wake Mike or his roommates up. Not sure why we didn't do that?

FRIDAY (the best day ever)

• 8:30am - We all awake. Shower. Wilson is in full on panic mode because he is terrified that we are not going to get a camping spot at Hellsgate State Park even thought it's Friday morning and it's not a holiday weekend or anything.
• 10:00am - We leave Pullman and it takes all 4 of us to over-rule Wilson so we can stop for breakfast in Moscow, Idaho at The Breakfast Club. Wilson has already started drinking in the car by the way. And we are a spectacle while eating breakfast talking to everyone in the restaurant, our waitress LOVED us and considered coming to Air Supply with us but reconsidered...presumably when we tried to order Wilson a "Pink Chardonnay" with his breakfast.
• 11:30am - We arrive at Hellsgate State Park in Lewiston. As we pull in and drive around we notice a few things. 1.) it's awesome, right on the river, tons of grass all mowed nice and lots of space. 2.) they have these cool little cabins that we want to stay in and 3.) there is NO ONE there. The place is virtually empty meaning we have our choice of literally 150 camping spots. We are all glad Wilson was in a hurry to get here.
• 11:35am - We roll up to the visitors center and walk in and they have Lewis and Clark on the wall and stuff everywhere so I walk up to the ladies at the desk and ask them where the heck Sacajawea is. They we equally appalled that there was no mention of Sacajawea. We did end up getting a cabin though...
• 11:45am - We arrive at our cabin - Ponderosa. It is right on the river and has a little deck with a porch swing on it and 5 beds inside with a little table and electricity and a fire pit outside. It is glorious. We are totally pumped. Wilson is drinking warm Coors Light alone.
• 12:00am - BEER RUN with Kalso, Paylor and Paul. Before leaving I mention how important I am in this regard. I may not be good for much but one thing I ALWAYS bring to the table is that, when purchasing beer, I let everything happen and let everyone select beer and what not and then I step in and pose the question, "now listen fellas, is this really enough beer? Honestly, I don't think this is enough." And what happened...we had 3 cases of Key Light in the cart when I posed the question. after thinking it through both Kalso and Paylor were appalled that we only had 3 cases so we grabbed the 4th case.
  Very good decision.
• 12:45am - Back at the campsite. Before we left on the trip I had to bargain with Wilson to get him to let me bring my horseshoes with us in spite of our car being jam packed. I won and the horseshoes came along....GREAT decision. We set up those horseshoes on the grass right by our cabin right next to the river in the 80 degree clear blue sky and sunshine and proceeded to drink 3+ cases of beer and play horseshoes for 5+ hours. No joke, these five hours were among the best of my life. Simply glorious....by the way, Wilson is BOMBED by this point. He's shotgunning beers left and right. At one point he threatened to tackle Kalso and Kalso pulled off one of the greatest moves in the history of history. Wilson was approaching Kalso at a slow pace and you could just see in his eye that he couldn't be stopped. Meanwhile he's repeatedly telling Kalso that he wants to tackle him. At first he starts off by asking nicely, "Kalso, let me tackle you." And Kalso gives him a few no's but you can just tell that Wilson won't be denied. Then out of nowhere, Kalso says, "Hey Wilson, look over there!" and Wilson whirls around looking to where Kalso is pointing and at that very moment Kalso sprints five steps and form tackles him to the ground like Mike Singletary. It was one of the most stunning turn of events I've ever witnessed. And yes, I realize that I just compared Kalso to Mike Singletary. You're welcome Kalso.
• 3:22pm - Wilson is odd man out for this particular game of Horseshoes and is standing on the side guzzling beer because he's Wilson when all of a sudden Paylor, who is 30 yards away, says, "Wilson, what is that huge tumor on your back?" Wilson finds said tumor looking bump in the middle of his back and begins to freak out because he has a tumor.
• 4:22pm - Wilson is still freaking out about his new found tumor and is quite annoying at this point. Even for Wilson's very high standards. (Note: upon returning home Wilson did go to the doctor and he really did have a fairly large tumor right in the middle of his back. He had to have surgery to get it removed and everything. Some may have found this to be a serious matter...us, not so much. It was and still is a decent source of humor.)
• 5:45pm - Our cab shows up and we are waiting for him with 2 beers each. The cab driver (if you can call him or it that) is named Paul and he's driving the first car ever made. I was 50/50 at that point if it would actually get us into town. Paul was about 102 years old with no teeth and without 3 of the 5 senses. Quick highlight of this 5 minute ride: about half way into town Wilson, who is sitting front bitch, asks, "Hey Paul, is it cool that we have beers in the cab?" And as Paylor and I are literally mid-guzzle he says, "Yeah as long as they aren't open." Laughter ensued.
• 6:00pm - We pick up our tickets at will call BOMBED and you can tell that every official looking person on the Lewis & Clark State College campus is suspicious of us. Maybe because we were BOMBED and singing Air Supply?...whatever. If they can't take a joke, fuck em.
• 6:02pm - After getting our tickets we ask the ladies behind us where we can get a drink that's close. They are very nice and in their mid 40's...and they are with their 80 year old parents. We follow their advice and then try to get them to come to the bar with us. No luck. We are on our way to the bar.
• 6:04pm - We've walked probably 200 yards and a truck pulls up to us - it's the ladies we just got directions from. "We decided to go to the bar - hop in!" so we all pile in the back of her sweet truck and bomb on down to "Bricks." We walk in and there are maybe two people in the bar tops. We drink and proceed to get acquainted with our new friends. They LOVE us and still can't understand why five heterosexual guys drove from Seattle to go to an Air Supply concert in Lewiston, Idaho. Neither can we. We also made friends with the bartender, who was our age and who also happened to be the owner...
• 7:00pm - The Air Supply Concert. To put it mildly, we had 5 security guards monitoring us for 100% of the show. I felt like a convict who was out on freeway trash pick-up duty. Just an awesome feeling. People were moving away from us because we were singing so loudly and cheering. Just a marvelous time.
• 8:30pm - THE Highlight of the concert, without question...after a great song, I can't remember which one. There was thunderous applause and then The Singer was waiting because they were moving on to a slow song and it got totally silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Anyway, as you may or may not know, I am the king of the line crossers. I didn't know this but apparently even I, Paul, can be embarrassed because during this brief moment of total silence Cory shouts out at the top of his lungs, "WE WANNA PARTY WITH YOU!!!!" I am squirming in my seat right now just thinking about it. I still can't even think of anything more awkward to say than this at a moment of silence at a concert. It was pure genius. AND people clapped and laughed. AND it didn't get us kicked out. I will have that moment, precisely as it happened, in my mind for the rest of my life. Additionally, we were singing so loudly during a sweet finish to the concert that we may have actually been louder than the band. We're not sure.
• 9:00pm - We get about two feet out the door of the concert and...we run into our friends again - Lori and Crissy and their parents! Turns out they are going to dinner but may meet up with us later - but they offer us a ride back to Bricks anyway. Heck yeah!
• 9:15pm - We get back into Bricks and are ushered passed the long line and past the presumably anti terrorist pat down guys all without paying cover because we know the owner. We are awesome. Now even more fun begins. First of all, Wilson is officially WILSON'D (our new term for being drunker than BOMBED). The place is still pretty empty because it's still early but the music is already going. Wilson proceeds to go out on the dance floor - where there are currently zero people - and dance. FOR LIKE 15 MINUTES! And I'm not talking goofing around like ha ha I'm the only guy on the dance floor. I'm talking Wilson was out there dancing and having a great time by himself. He was flailing all over the place and going nuts. Oh yeah, and he was barefoot. And please remember this - he was out there for like 15 minutes! ALONE! Later in the night people did start dancing and what not and every time it would die down Wilson would go back out there and dance alone. Then when people came out on the dance floor again, he would get visibly angry and storm off the floor. Lori and Crissy showed up again and drank with us for a long time. Somebody got their nose broken in a fight, which was cool. There were actually a lot of talented girls at this particular establishment which was nice too. We tried to put it all together the next morning and we believe we had about 12 pitchers at this bar. Then Lori and Crissy drove us home. By the way, Lori owns a gun store. On the night we spent about $40 and lost two cell phones and Paylor (we did find him the next morning though.)

SATURDAY

• 10:30am - Wake up - ouch! We are HUNG OVER.
• 11:00am - We go into town to look for Kalso's cell phone and I buy sidewalk chalk in downtown Lewiston.
• 12:00am - We get back to camp and I draw a huge penis on the sidewalk with balls and pubes and the whole deal. The guys found this to be quite funny but nowhere near as funny as I found it to be.
• 1:00 - We pack up the car and head toward Roslyn. WA.
• 2:00 - Drive.
• 3:00 - Drive.
• 4:00 - Drive.
• 5:00 - Drive - and after a brief stop for gas Wilson and Paul share a Boone's in the car. Blue Hawaii. Boone's is NOT good, even in the car.
• 6:00 - get to Roslyn, go to The Brick, drink a lot.
• 12:30pm - We walk over to the park by The Brick and sleep in the gazebo. If you find this to be ghetto, that's because it is.

SUNDAY

• 6:30am - Drive home.
• 8:30am through the rest of the day - Ouch.