No Dog Relevance

You know when you forget to put on your watch and you keep glancing down to see bare wrist? Well that’s how I feel without Scout this weekend. I keep looking down at my feet and expect her to be following but she’s not. She’s back in LA staying with Big Scout. And I’m in Vegas.

I’m not really a gambler. It has nothing to do with money. You could give me money and I still wouldn’t want to gamble. I find both slots and table games a bit boring. If the games involved an obstacle course or tackling, I think I’d be more into them. I’m not talking about watching others undergo these physical challenges, I’m talking about doing them myself. They should have American Gladiator events like the joust, hang tough and assault. I’d totally rock that shit.

We used to have a pudding wrestling day in sleepaway camp. You formed tag teams and challenged camp frenemies. There were really no rules; it was absurdly dangerous. This is clearly something that could never happen at a camp these days – they’d get sued by fifteen parents within fifteen minutes. I actually went to the hospital twice while at camp. One was totally my fault – I ran full speed into a telephone pole while playing Ultimate Frisbee and sustained a concussion and several bruises. The second was probably my fault but I could have had a case.

We were at an intercamp game (you travel to another camp and play them in sports) playing street hockey; I was about 9 or 10. I took intercamp games very seriously. Actually, I took any game very seriously, from Monopoly to travel lacrosse playoffs. My camp happened to have especially spastic kids; we ALWAYS lost intercamp games. So, I felt like I had to hold our whole bunk up. Well, on this particular street hockey day, I was totally dominating and we were actually winning for the first time in Camp Kennybrook history. The Camp Lakota girls started taking cheap shots at me – sticks to the shin, pushes into the boards, holding of all sorts.

I rather quickly hit my breaking point. While their best player was running along the boards, I hip-checked her (possibly a little harder than necessary). She hit the ground with a thud and started to cry; I shouted “Wuss!” at her face. In retaliation, her bunkmate ran at me, swung the hockey stick like a baseball bat and nailed me in the chest. Both she and I got thrown out of the game. Though it hurt to breathe, I yelled “Fuck You Dickhead” at the ref and launched my stick like a javelin into the woods. This got me thrown out of Camp Lakota and resulted in a barrage of screaming curses on the way out. I got myself so worked up that I began to hyperventilate which in turn made my chest hurt even more. My whole age division got back on the bus, dropped me at the hospital with a counselor and went home. A short X-Ray later, I was told I broke two ribs and caused my blood pressure to rise to that of a 60-year- old- obese smoker with a heart condition. All I cared about was whether I would recover for Color War*.

*Color War is a week long all out competition in which the camp is split into two teams. Events range from volleyball to rope burn to whole-camp bucket brigade. Points are also awarded for spirit, organized lines and bed-making skills. Color War is part Fascist, part cheesy and part amazingly awesome (if you are 14 and under).