In the brightest day, in the blackest night
No evil shall escape my sight.
Let those who worship evil's power, beware my might,
Green Lantern's light!
-- Green Lantern Oath
I think that pickles are cucumbers that sold out. They sold their soul to the devil, and the devil is dill.
"Did you hurt your back again?" Asked Will as I attempted to launch the gigantic frame to full vertical from the padded blue kitchen-table chair.
"I think I screwed it up during basketball practice."
"How did you do that?"
"Must have pulled something while running a suicide."
"You're the coach," Will said. "Why are you running suicides?"
"Because the girls bet me I couldn't beat them."
"And you took up a bunch of twelve year olds on that bet?"
"Yeah, for sure."
"You know, you're getting too old for that."
"Maybe," I replied. "But..."
"No, buts about it," Will said, cutting me off. "I mean, c'mon, just who is the adult?"
"But, don't you see, I won."
In reality, I'd eked out the victory; size fourteens thundering across the baseline three strides ahead of Karrie and Emily. What really hurt: after witnessing the LOSER Olympics, Amy's younger brother challenged me to a second squeaker, a challenge which I -- being a "real" man -- accepted. I lost by four strides to that speedy, smirking little shit.
At Friday's outdoor practice, the players' backs seemed to be functioning quite well (never fear, there will be a full write-up on summer b-ball. What's the loquacious Youth Sports Manifesto without another chapter?). The same could not be said for my lower lumbar region, which -- while nowhere near disastrous USA carpet-sniffing tour levels -- groaned and creaked like grandma's favorite porch rocker.
Wincing the next week, I stuffed a rolled up red Delta blanket into the seat for support while boarding a flight to New York. Today's assignment: rendezvous with Joe K. to deliver simultaneous financial intelligence sessions to managers from across the globe at a public company's beautiful corporate training center in upstate New York. When I trained for the first time at this company, Karen "warned" me things would change.
"Once you work with these guys," she commented, "people will look at you differently."
"What do you mean?"
"You're presenting at the premier corporate training facility in America for one of the largest companies in the world. This is something to put on your resume."
Karen, as always, had been right. When people learned about the company, they often saw me in a different light. From my perspective, however, that seemed a bit silly because, whether I work with this firm or not, I'm still the same stupid, inept LOSER I've always been (and will forever be). Still the same genius who stormed across hardwood floors to "win" races against twelve year olds and, alas, lose them to even younger kids (BTW: did I tell you I won that first race?).
Landing behind schedule, I ambled through LaGuardia's crowded terminal. The company provided a limo service pick up for everyone visiting its facility. You've seen these guys at airports standing near baggage claim holding signs with people's names, like Jim Bado, you failed to recognize. For for the first time in four trips, I couldn't locate the driver. Calling the limo company, the rep told me to stay put beside the coffee stand; fifteen seconds later he found me.
If they scrawled mr loser on the placard (i.e., my real identity), I would have found this guy without a problem
****
Tomorrow: escape from New York
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