snow·ball (sno bôl )
v. snow·balled, snow·ball·ing, snow·balls
--To grow rapidly in significance, importance, or size: problems that snowballed by the hour.
A modern day action movie has something blowing up or someone being shot in the first three minutes. Novels of the same genre tend to be hefty reads, but nonetheless, page turners.
This is neither. This is a tragedy and a comedy, and the disservice is that I am the one writing it. Before we even get started, I must invoke several forms of poetic license in the names of brevity, responsibility, and because sometimes drunk bike racers just don't belong out in public.
To help move the story along, it is important to know the cast of:
Brad Thompson
Doc
The Prime Minister
The Beaner
UPS
The Coach
Pro Card
Featuring:
Whale Call
The story begins on a Friday afternoon as a Texas-based cycling team--nay, club, but heretofore referred to as ‚ "The Team," gathered for one of their annual training camps. And someone brought the Coors, coffee, cards, cash, Crown, Coke, and The Coach got the keys to the Chevy.
Fast forward (poetic license, you see?) to Saturday morning, where The Team left camp at 10:30 for the 10am ride. The Team completed 80-115 Hill Country miles, depending upon the individual rider and how much some of them are willing to lie about their mileage, particularly those who don't have a computer on their bikes. But I digress, because a lack of mileage does not bear any correlation to ass kicking or nakedness after the bars close on 6th street, whether one knows he's in Austin or San Marcos.
Upon completion of that ride, there was barbeque. And beer. And wine.
When all of that was gone, there were cards, Crown, Coke, cash, some more Coors‚ and by the time 11pm rolled around, much of The Team were in bed, which is where they all should have been. But hindsight is what it is when you have received mace in the eye.
As the card game came to a close, The Coach in his infinite lack of wisdom suggested that those remaining awake steal keys to a Suburban and drive into San Marcos (his college stomping grounds) to enjoy ONE beer before the bars closed there. Just for old time's sake.
The members of The Team who were awake and thought it a good idea, made offer to those asleep of much adventure. The Prime Minister was up for it. The Beaner told everyone to "Fuck Off" but he got dressed anyway and climbed into the back of the truck.
Just before the key was placed into the ignition, discussion regarding the closing time of bars in various cities was had. It was determined that it was somehow more efficient to go to Austin, where the bars close at 2am, than to go to San Marcos, where the bars close at midnight.
The Coach just wanted to get a beer in his old college town.
But Brad Thompson offered to buy the drinks for the night if The Team went to Austin.
Just as The Team pulled up to 6th street, Whale Call, who is sitting in the front seat, asks, "Are we in San Marcos or Austin?"
I'm not sure how familiar you are with the Error Chain Model, but The Team was well on its way to being a case study for some Economic/Management graduate class.
The Team bounced from bar to bar. Brad Armstrong fears no Chuck Norris, as Brad Thompson can get women to pose topless for eight bike racing dorks, outside, in 30 degree weather, by simply saying, "I've got marshmallows!"
The Coach never went to school in Austin, so he didn't drink, but instead, watched the shenanigans. He's not Irish either, but that's ok for this story.
To demonstrate just how far decision making skills had declined, it is worth pointing out a side incident, which will (if I may abuse literary convention) foreshadow just how ridiculous of a situation The Team was now fully entrenched...
The Coach was about 20 feet from the rest of The Team, as The Coach does not drink (like a fish, he does, but not that night), but instead was watching a talented woman dance in a modern dance form known to some tribes as "Stripper," while under the guise of watching and listening to a blues band.
Doc notices The Coach and wanders over to see what there is to see. Doc continues to smoke the cigarette that The Coach put out for him, but Doc does notice our favorite blues dancer.
The Beaner, not wanting to be left out, notices The Coach and Doc noticing something. He moseys up to the pair and says, "What are you looking at?" The Coach wonders just how bad The Beaner's vision really is, and gives the head nod to the dance flower and says, "That." The Beaner doesn't notice the talent of the dancing woman, but instead, the talent of a man, who is also dancing, and his world class mullet. "Look at THAT mullet,' says The Beaner with much enthusiasm. Doc and The Coach can only look at each other and wonder what it is about a mullet that has such power over The Beaner.
It is a sad note that at that bar, Brad Thompson's marshmallow trick met its demise when a mark ate one of the props. Bitch. At that point, Brad Thompson and his well attending straight man, UPS, then had to improvise. Which they did for another couplefew bars until closing time.
At the last bar, even with 80's music blaring and multiple talents dancing on the bar, Whale Call and The Coach opted out and went for pizza. As the remaining members of The Team fell later out of that place, pizza became the focus, and Doc was recruited to buy.
The Team, happy with their plight of the night, made way for the truck and made merry talk. Pizza and the boys. Life is good.
About a block from the pizza place, The Team crossed paths with another team from the opposite direction. The streets were crowded with people not particularly walking direct routes, especially at that time of the night, and if I dare say, there was something in the air that smelled like teen spirit. Or maybe I was just tired. Or maybe it was because Whale Call said to Pro Card as we left the pizza place, "Watch. It looks like there will be a fight. You can just see all the people around waiting for it."
Damn foreshadowing.
So, the two teams approach, having nothing at all in common or anything at all from such opposing view points or edicts that would warrant a declaration of war upon those who are without pizza on those who do, but nevertheless, it happens.
One of the opposing team says, "Gimme your pizza‚" as their group walks through and around ours and we through and around theirs.
The Beaner, who is the self-proclaimed protector of pizza and its integrity and pride, turns to confront the (now) opponent about his demands. Much chest puffing, yelling, and circling of the wagons and spectators ensues.
Whale Call, the Prime Minister (appropriately or not?), and others attempt to diffuse the situation, but the ass clown is quite obviously willing to see the situation approach level "Stupid.‚" Level Stupid is picking a fight at 2:15am when the streets are full of drunk people and lots of Police armed with mace. And picking that fight with eight actual teammates who, though they are dork bike racers, are still fit. Oh, and there's the one guy who is sober too, so the advantage is decidedly with The Team, though in fairness to ass clown, there is no way he could have known this. Anyway, ass clown #1 knocks The Beaner's pizza out of his hands.
Despite this, The Team, at this particular moment, looks like it escaped a physical confrontation when The Beaner had enough of ass clown's posturing, chest poking, spitting, pizza abuse, and all that stuff. That's when The Beaner went for the 10 foot head butt, connecting somewhat. Whale Call turns The Beaner to the direction of the truck and shoves. Ass clown takes aim at any target, which happened to be the Prime Minister, who was then bench pressed from approximately 6th and Trinity to 6th and Neches.
Whale Call and Brad Thompson, the closest Teamnuts to the Prime Minister, do not let this deed go unrewarded.
Brad Thompson catches ass clown in the mouth quite accurately. As Whale Call goes in to pay or collect (depending upon which team you are rooting for), Brad Thompson is caught with a strong connection to the ear by ass clown #2. Ass clown #1 is scampering away as Whale Call makes sure he stays away when ass clown #2 then connects with Whale Call's eye, from behind.
Though it was entertaining, and The Coach really, really, really did not want to go to jail, nor did he want to use the rest of Whale Call's poker winnings to get any Teamnut out of jail, there is a time when you, in the immortal words of Ferris Bueller, say, "What the fuck?" and just do it.
But The Coach was sober, and just as he was ready to hit and (more likely) be hit, he saw the police come around the corner. One or two were on foot. Two or three were on bikes (right on!) and three were on horseback. The Coach quickly figured they would probably have the situation more under control than he could, so he started throwing people.
He started throwing his teamnuts towards the truck.
The first few were easy, especially since ass clown #1 was resisting and fighting with the police, and that cleared up some room. It did not clear up ass clown's face, however. He was bleeding from more than just his mouth as he was escorted away by the Police, but to add injury to injury, his face was well-smeared with mace and tears from his crying and whining mess of self-esteem. Ass clown #2 and #3 were in the process of getting Whale Call's shirt up over his head...
We have to pause for a visual. Whale Call is pasty white. He claims it is something to do with being German, but I think he puts on lots of sunscreen and otherwise doesn't go outside much. But whatever.
He's in the middle of 6th St at 2:15am, in a big f'n crowd, with his shirt off, flaunting his honed bike racer upper body and pasty skin, while wearing camo pants and croc sandals. And Whale Call has a shaved head.
...but Whale Call is committed. He took a few shots before The Coach could get there, but he also put one of them (ass clown #3) on the ground. Ass clown #2, I kid you not, ran away. At this point, Whale Call really wanted a piece of ass clown #3, but as The Coach got there, the police on horses were circling and (as luck would have it) going after ass clown #3, first.
The Coach grabbed Whale Call instead, tried to dress him while shoving him towards the truck. Whale Call put up such resistance to The Coach that a circle of spectators began to form around the two Teamnuts. The Coach won out and Whale Call left.
The Coach sees another shirt on the ground and reaches to pick it up (it was near ass clown #3 and the clusterkick he was getting from the Police) only to catch some mace in the eye.
The shirt just wasn't worth it, so he quickly made for the truck with the rest of The Team. It was then that he realized Pro Card was unaccounted for.
The Coach turned around and went back into the melee fearing that Pro Card was either being beaten by more ass clowns, was being arrested, or was just plain lost.
Turns out he was just watching the ass clowns get arrested. Pro Card did have quite a grin on his face, but that may be because he was holding everyone's pizza.
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