by Craig Birk
Chapter Nine
Games Part I
5:02 p.m.
“Do you believe in miracles? Yes!!!”
– Al Michaels, 1980 Winter Olympics
It was still early in the trip, but the group was making solid progress and had just passed through Corona, California. Despite the fact that the Stanford game had not yet started, Mike woke Roger up several miles back because he was snoring and they were starting a game of categories. Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit was playing lightly on the stereo. Roger yawned and stretched his arms, straightening them into the front seat, one on each side of Gary’s head. In the driver’s seat, Alex was trying to crack his left knee but was struggling because there was not enough room to fully extend it. Behind him, Mike rearranged his balls with the hand in his right pocket.
Roger: “Alex, do you mind if I have a dip in here?”
Alex: “You mean another one? No, not as long as you give me one. Just don’t spill. Hundred dollar penalty you spill. Plus I beat the shit out of you.”
Roger agreed to these terms. “Done and done,” he said. He grabbed the Kodiak can off the floor, and packed and inserted a dip within five seconds. “When have I ever spilled?” he asked through a mouthful of tobacco grains, handing the can up to Alex who had put his right hand awkwardly into the back seat but kept his eyes on the road.
The question was directed at Alex, but it was Gary who answered, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe like the time when you got drunk and tried to hide your open spitter inside Blair’s new Dior bag.”
Because this elicited no response from anyone, Gary got back to the game at hand. “Okay, the scores are Alex three, me two, Rodge four and Mike three. If Roger loses here, I win and Alex gets his money back. And the category is . . . either World Series winning teams or league MVPs – you need the team or the player and the year. I will start with the ’86 Mets.”
Roger: “So a World Series winner or a regular season MVP?”
Gary: “Yes, and you need the year.”
Roger: “Okay, Bonds, 2004.”
Mike: “Bonds, 2003.”
Alex: “In that case, Bonds 2002.”
Gary: “Bonds, 2001.”
Roger: “Yeah, that guy sucks, Bonds, ’93.”
Mike: “Bonds, ’92.”
Alex: “Bonds, ’90. Next?”
Gary: “Okay, I guess that is done. How about Kevin Mitchell, 1999?”
Roger: “Ooooh – nice one. I will go with Sosa, ’98.”
Mike: “Caminiti Baby. 1996.”
Alex: “Mike, you really are gay. The guy is a juiced-up crack-head. And a dead one at that. Whatever. Okay, I can do World Series, right? 2005, White Sox.”
Mike: “Have some fucking respect. The dude won the MVP and led the Pads to the World Series. Who are you to judge his private life?”
Alex: “Okay, fair enough. Take it easy.”
Gary: “2004, Red Sox.”
Roger: “2002, Angels.”
Alex: “Those bastards.”
Mike: “Larry Walker, 1997.”
Alex: “Pujols, oh-five.”
Gary: “Yastrzemski, 1967.”
Roger: “Good one, last triple crown winner. Okay, if we are going old school, Bob Gibson, 1968.”
Mike: “He won the Cy Young and MVP?”
Roger: “Yep.”
Gary: “Yeah, that’s right. He did.”
Mike: “Okay, 1989, Oakland A’s.”
Alex: “1955, Brooklyn Dodgers.”
Gary: “Yes. I will go with the Marlins in 2003.”
Roger: “George Brett, 1980.”
Mike: “2001, Yankees.”
Alex, Gary and Roger immediately sounded the buzzer sound in unison: “Aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
Roger: “Sorry, buddy, Yanks won 1998 through 2000. Womack singled off Rivera to beat them in 2001.”
Mike: “That’s what I meant, 2000.”
Gary: “Sorry, dude, no take-backs. New score Gary two, Alex three, Rodge four, Mike four. Rodge, your category.”
Roger: “Okay, we’re gonna go with, in honor of lover boy driving the car, actresses who Tom Cruise has boffed in a movie. I will start with Renee Zelweiger in Jerry McGuire.”
Mike: “You fags are daydreaming about who sleeps with Tom Cruise and you call me gay? Okay, whatever . . . um, Nicole Kidman in Eyes Wide Shut.”
Alex: “Rebecca Demornay, Risky Business.”
Gary: “Cameron Diaz, Vanilla Sky.”
Roger: “Demi Moore, A Few Good Men.”
Mike: “Wait, did they actually fuck in that movie?”
Roger: “Come on, they must have.”
Mike: “Does anyone else remember?”
Alex: “No, I don’t.”
Gary: “I don’t either. I think we have to give it to him, though. They must have at some point.”
Mike: “So you won’t let me change the Yankees but this is okay?”
Alex: “Just fucking go.”
Mike: “Fine. Kelly McGillis, Top Gun.”
Alex: “Shit, how did that last this long. Okay, E-liz-a-beth Shue. Cocktail.”
Gary: “Good one. Nicole Kidman, Far and Away.”
Alex: “You actually saw that?”
Gary: “No, I just remember the preview.”
Roger: “Jeanne Tripplehorn, The Firm.”
Mike: “Okay, give me a minute . . . Didn’t he fuck Brad Pitt in Interview With a Vampire?”
Alex: “No dude, I don’t think we can give you that one.”
Gary (eagerly): “Is that a loss?”
Alex: “Yes, unless Mikey can come up with another one in five seconds.”
Mike: “What about the six-year-old girl in the vampire movie?”
Alex: “Christ. What’s wrong with you? No.”
Mike: “That’s all I got. This is bullshit.”
Gary: “Ah very nice, that means I take the pot and Alex gets second.”
Mike: “Great, so I’m already down twenty bucks and we are not even to Nevada yet?”
Gary: “Shit, we’re not even to Barstow yet. You are in for a world of hurt.”
Mike: “This is bullshit.”
Alex: “Jesus, chill out, Sourpuss.”
Roger: “I really need Stanford to hit. Let’s play another game for double the stakes.”
