I stand here gripping the fragile plastic ball gently but strategically. The plan: to guide it delicately into that hillbilly chalice positioned across the table. However, my good friend, Captain Morgan, thinks it more entertaining to spin my environment around me, rather than let me enjoy the competition at hand. “Hiroshima!” I yell, as I toss that tiny white warhead over to my adversaries. With a devastating explosion, it obliterates my opponents. Their hopes, Their dreams, Their dignity, Their very souls all vaporize before me in one blazing inferno. Yet, the only sound effect of the shear desolation is a “plop.” My ally and I embrace and as I lift her into the air we both turn to face across the table and mock the ashes of what was once a formidable enemy. She looks stunning, basking in the splendor of our victory. However, she is stunning even in upheaval. I always insist that my ally is a beautiful girl, and for many reasons. Some are obvious, some are not, but all are strategic and shall remain unspoken.
What remains of our adversaries are coarse countenances and fiery tempers. This particular breed of human being, the “Long Islander,” hates nothing more than to lose at his most precious past time. Here come the insults. They fly like arrows toward me and my ally, directed at our most inner being with the goal of wreaking havoc upon our emanating jubilation and our self-perceptions entirely. As the new ruler of this domain I cannot permit this behavior. I weigh my options, but ultimately decide to engage in the second most cherished pastime of “The Guido.” I must summon the strengths of my past, nay, my ancestry and the family soul that lies within me! I must call into myself and sieze the power of my late countrymen, who spilled blood and whose blood was spilled in the name of glory, pride, and love! I must reach within myself and grasp these powers, and those of the gods! And with Poseidon’s mighty trident and Zeus’s legendary lightning bolt and with all of the fire from Hades’ underworld and with the frightening power of the Titans themselves, I’m gonna kick this guy’s F**KING ASS!
I am well versed in the ritual, so I begin the initiation portion of the dance. My shirt comes off. My arms extend out. My head tilts back. I am a noble crucifixion.
“Come at me, bro.”
The ceiling is an interesting shade of beige. My eye is an interesting shade of purple. My shirt is an interesting shade of red. My nose is an interesting shade of broken. I am an interesting shade of thirsty. I think I’ll have a beer.