The Good Lord hath blessed you with a real angel next door.
But alas, barring some miracle, she shall never be yours…
“James Earl Ray.
Adobe.
The Man of La Mancha.
Al Green.
Red Skeleton.
James Earl Ray. Adobe. The Man of La Mancha.
Al Green. Red Skeleton.
James Earl Ray. Adobe. The Man of La Mancha. Al Green. Red Skeleton…”
What do you do when you hear the begrizzled man loitering at the bus stop muttering these words under his breathe like some bizarre version of the Lord’s Prayer? You should pay no him mind, but…
But then again, once you hear those words, the mystery of it all is bound to haunt the darkest recesses of your mind until the day you die.
Well, as that begrizzled man, I’m here to say: you wouldn’t be alone in your insanity.
You see, I myself am doomed to be frequented by this very same specter for all eternity; this random list of trivia(l) facts fluttering through my mind at unexpected moments, causing an inexorable shudder, an indubitable pang of regret.
But what are These?
These? They are The Ones That Got Away…
Believe it or not, I wasn’t a jock in high school, but *ahem* that doesn’t mean I wasn’t a stud in my own right. Back in those glory days, I was a member of a juggernaut Quiz Bowl1AKA Scholar’s Bowl, Knowledge Bowl, Trivia Bowl–basically competitive Jeopardy at the high school level. team, the one that the mere mention of struck fear in the hearts of opposing team of schools all across Kansas, both large schools and tiny schools alike: Rolla High School.
Look at this picture. Just look at this picture:
I mean, wouldn’t you poo your pants if you walked into an academic showdown and you saw these intellectual beasts at the opposing table?!?
I would like to try to #HumbleBrag here, but I can’t: the fact is, we were good. Real good. And me? I wasn’t just some B-Team backup, clinging onto the coattails of more successful and competent members of my team. Even from my Freshman year, I was carrying my share of the load, and from my Sophomore year on, my name was a name to be reckoned with for those who dared face…Rolla High School *dun-dun-duhhhhhhn!*
Out of my four years of high school, we were State Champions three of those, I made the Santa Fe Trail All-League Team all four years, and my Junior year we pulled off a feat that no RHS Quiz Bowl team has been able to pull off before or since: we went 10-0 in all our tournaments. We were the 1972 Miami Dolphins.
But for all that personal and collective success, there were still failures. In fact, when you’re that good, those rare incorrect (or inexplicably forgotten) responses that end up costing you have a way of really sticking in your craw.
It’s like regret on steroids. I mean, James Earl Ray? C’mon, how do you ever forget the name of an asshole like that?
Yes. It’s true. Even studs can have their down days…
“Surely you didn’t write that beautiful and strangely romantic haiku about drugs yourself…did you? I mean, it’s just…really good.”
Oh, right. I forget that I previously left everyone on a cliffhanger last time, wondering if my newfound George-From-Seinfeld-Do-The-Opposite-Of-What-My-Instinct-Tells-Me strategy was actually going to profoundly impact my life in any way, if it was going to finally get me somewhere with the ladies, if you will.
In case you need a refresher, you can pop on over here for a sec to get caught up. And as always, I’ll wait…
…
…
Yeah, so to catch you up, I had started FaceBook flirting (kinda) with The Dimpler, the hottest and most exotic young lady at my church–and my new neighbor.
She had accidentally thrown down the gauntlet and challenged my poetry and prose skills unknowingly, and got surprised when a professional-grade haiku ended up in her inbox. So good, that she didn’t believe I had written it.
And when she shared how good she thought it was, I couldn’t believe that she was being sincere, and got pissed that this pretty girl was turning out to be just another mean girl. Like, geez, did she have to mock my attempt at the written verse.
Last I left you, though, I had remembered that my natural instinct hadn’t exactly served me well in the past, so instead of firing back and telling her to f**k off, I just ghosted her for a few days. You know, let us both digest the situation.
Well…around that same time, one of my roommates–also neighbors/church friends with The Dimpler–came back from a visit to her place with a sh*t-eating grin on his face.
Turns out, he had inadvertently learned that this seemingly off-limits beauty had recently broken up with her long-time boyfriend (side note: do you know how flipping hard it is to flirt/”not flirt” with your hot af neighbor when you have to assume they have a boyfriend? Didn’t think so). One might even say she “\finally “kicked his ass to the curb.”
An interesting development indeed…
Flying monkeys. Would I ever be able to redeem those ----- stupid flying monkeys? That was yet another question that perpetually haunted me.
The year was 1998, and it was my Senior year of high school. Recall that the previous year our Quiz Bowl team had went undefeated in all 10 of our tournaments. And now it was supposed to be my turn–Quiz Bowl Stud Extraordinaire–to lead our fabled team to another undefeated year.
But it was not exactly going well. It was early in the season and we had suffered two Second Places in a row–no one wants second place–and in the current tournament we had made it to the championship match and were looking to break that streak of bad beats.
Late in the tight match, all tied up even with our challengers, the moderator began their question: “In the book, The Wizard of Oz…”
*BUZZZZZ*
I realized that I had instinctively reacted to the trigger phrase “Wizard of Oz” and ol’ Quick Draw McGraw here had buzzed in prematurely.
Normally, I would know the answer and leave the audience in awe at my ability to conjure the correct response with such little information and with such great confidence.
But…fuuuuuugggg. It was the Don Quixote/Man of La Mancha fiasco all over again (for the record, that was another premature answer on my part that effectively cost RHS the chance to achieve another unthinkable: winning the State Championship 4 years in a row).
The best, exasperated, I-am-fully-aware-of-how-ridiculous-this-situation-is, “educated” guess I could proffer with a chuckle was…flying monkeys.
I mean, it had as good as a chance of being the right answer as any other character/item/scenario from that beloved American book/movie.
But of course it wasn’t. And instead of being awarded 10 points and securing the win going into the final question of the match, we were dinged 5 points because I buzzed in early and got it wrong.
We went on to lose that championship match moments later. By 5 points…
“In the book, The Wizard of Oz, what color were Dorothy’s slippers?”
Not knowing what else to do with The Dimpler, I broke the 3 days of FaceBook radio silence with–you guessed it–the full version of the question that screwed me over roughly 10 years earlier.
Honestly, I didn’t have a plan of any sort. I just wanted to get back to chatting with her online, because when she wasn’t ambiguously insulting/complimenting me, it felt good. Real good. It was a bit of a high, and I feared I might be getting willingly addicted.
A day later, her response came back:
“Silver.”
I later found out that she Googled it, but obviously I didn’t give a rat’s ass whether she cheated to win or not. And yes, in the movie, they’re ruby-red, but in the book they are indeed silver. And the only reason I know this…well I just regaled you with all that.
Was I surprised that she got it right? No.
Did I have a well-calculated move waiting in the wings when she did? Also no.
And then…and then the Universe shined kindly on my dumb face with another inspired moment.
It felt as if I was watching somebody else control my hands as they typed out my response: “That is correct! And for your correct answer, you have won an evening with…the Mystery Author of the High-ku!”
…
“Awesome. When?”
…
“Does tonight work? He happens to be in town from Virginia.”
I had been playing along with her doubt about my authorship, going so far as to claim not only was the High-ku from an anthology of poetry written by current and former drug addicts, but to actually write another addiction-themed piece of work called The Light. Yeah, I was having a bit too much fun with the power that came with keeping things a mystery.
…
“Sure. I’ll be available around 6.”
…
“Sounds great. I’ll bring him by around then…”
The point of the story is that what you ultimately do with some of your deepest regrets is up to you. You can sit around and forever kick yourself for your Flying Monkeys Moments and all the stupid silver medals they won you.
Or you can turn around and find the Silver-Slippered lining in your hilarious, face-palming mistake and use it to trick and/or fall ass-backwards into a date with the hottest girl in the ‘hood.
In the end it’s up to you…
“But wait! Does the whole trickery about the Mystery Author blow up miserably in your face? How long can you last before your luck runs out and/or you return to your natural instincts and blow it all? Can you stick the landing, or will you add The Dimpler to your long list of The Ones That Got Away???”
…you are indubitably asking.
Well, stick around a bit longer and you just might funk around and find out…
(*Ahem* That’s how I say “To be continued…“)
Content created on: 5 August 2022 (Friday)
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