Chapter 3, Blog 3
By Chuck Wells As Told To Ray Hochgesang
You know, those with at least half a brain would have respected his decision and changed the subject to the Iraq war or the incoming cold front. Brainless, I rolled over and spit out a mouthful of nasty tasting snow.
“Ralphie, look at you. You were tossing that thing like a baseball. You weren’t even trying.”
The maniac lunged at me. But I was ready and dove away into another snow bank. Brainless, yes – death wish, no way.
“Ya know I hate dat shit. Da Olympics, dey’re nuthin’ but a bunch of nonsense. Dey’re for losers, like you.”
Scrambling to my feet, I backpedaled to keep a safe distance, waggling my finger at him from at least 18 feet.
“I looked up the shot put online, too. Twenty-three point twelve meters.”
“I said, 23.12 meters, or as you would say, 75 feet, 10 and a quarter inches. Randy Barnes, 1990. That’s the world’s record in the shot put.”
“And like, who gives a crap?”
“You should. You were throwing that hunk of metal at least 68 feet (I lied). Maybe 69 feet, I don’t’ know without measuring. And you weren’t even trying, Man.”
“So, like I said, who gives a crap?”
Ralphie’s anger subsided. He listened, albeit, grudgingly.
“So, it’s time someone broke that record. And you CAN do it.”
At that, the bull snorted and charged. Sore or not, I scampered away.
“You dumb sonvabitch,” I screamed over my left shoulder. “Listen to me for once.”
Ralphie could pull an oak out of the ground, roots and all, but my dead grandma could outrun him. Plus, the shot weighed him down.
“Ralphie, c’mon, Man.”
Sensing the futility of the chase, he stopped to flip me off.
“Ya c’mon,” he huffed. “Screw ya and da damned Olympics.”
I stopped, pivoted, out of breath. A short minute passed. My lungs caught up.
“What’dya say, I’ll make a deal with you,” I offered.
“A deal? Dis is whut I dink of your damned deal.”
Ralphie dropped the shot put, squeezed a handful of snow and fired.
My right shoulder stung with the pain of 15 bumblebee stings.
“Ralphie, you freakin’asshole!”
I reached for snow, but another white canon ball smacked my head. It stunned me. Dizzy, I wobbled. One more would finish the job. Fortunately, “my friend” decided he had enough.
“Take ya damned deal and shove it!”
With that, Ralphie huffed off.
“Ha, Olympics,” he muttered in the distance. “Who DA HELL needs ’em?”
Copyright © 2012 by Chuck H. Wells/Ray Hochgesang