Bluish People

Jan. 27-10
Hipsters,

You remember that several weeks ago my new roommate Rick went to the Dubai Film Festival and saw a bunch of films. One of them was called “Avatar.”
Well, he was so taken with the visuals in this movie that two weeks ago he suggested we go see it. And so we did. It was the second time for Rick to see it, as he had previously seen it in Dubai…a couple of weeks earlier. But for me, it was the first time. We saw it together here in Manama (which in Arabic means: Bad Moon Rising).

The movie was really something. It’s all about these sort of blue-striped people who are really tall. And sometimes they snarl. They are indigenous to a far away asteroid and are called, I believe, the Wafi-Wafis. Not only can they really commune with nature, they also, amazingly, live in a three dimensional world!

And the plot was thick with intrigue, featuring, as is often the case, your basic good guys and your basic bad guys. The good guys of course are Uncle Sam’s finest fighting men and women who are on a noble mission to introduce free market concepts to savages. But these savages are so stupid (they think it’s fun to ride around on large birds and 6-legged mammals, that’s how dumb they are) that they are resistant to progress. And they don’t appreciate that our Uncle is clearing off unneeded trees and underbrush and blue people in order to provide more arable land for agriculture. In short, they just don’t get it.

So there’s this big fight. And there’s almost no end to how pesky these Wafi-Wafis can be. And some of them are inhabited by traitorous Yanks, which is of course totally unfair. Which is why during one spell, when American gunships are layin down a pretty good volley of mayhem and destruction, I felt compelled to leap to my feet and yell, “Keep the pedal to the metal, boys! And remember, the only good Wafi-Wafi is a dead Wafi-Wafi!”

Well, no sooner were those words out of my mouth (in fact I hadn’t even had time to close it) when some obnoxious clown from nearby pelted me with popcorn. Fortunately, it went right in the old pie hole…and the joke was on Mr. Obnoxious: the popcorn was caramel flavored, my favorite. So the movie had a happy ending.

But Rick, who had now seen the movie twice (to my once), still didn’t quite get it either. He kept wanting to talk about the interdependence of all living organisms. I shook my head sadly. Because I had noticed that for the past two hours his only notion of interdependence had been between his perpetual-motion hand and the giant tub of popcorn between his knees. And that made ME a little blue; cuz I kept hoping to sneak a handful or two, but no-could-do. And it was caramel flavored, too.
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And then, just when I think I’ve gotten everybody mostly back on track, I receive a crushing blow. I receive an inexplicable response to my last report (about lions and Agent Bauer and stuff) from my old friend Steve. Totally baffling. Leaving me totally baffled. Here’s what he wrote:

“dear coach P-thank you for the update. totally enjoy all analysis of games and life with one exception. if you ever mention "24" again i will personally send 8 small chinese black belt guys to lay in wait for you as you do your power walk. they will be above doorways, behind billboards, underneath parked cars, posing as police and retail salespersons. they will beat you about the head and shoulders and leave you for dead. they have been instructed to stop short of the final blow only to allow you to recover, to be beaten again at a later date.”

This made no sense to me. I’ve known brother Steve since college days…over four years now. And I can vouch for his giant intellect (he graduated, after all, in the top 66% of his high school class there at Long Beach Poly). This set me to pondering. I pondered and pondered. And then it hit me. Steve is also a voracious reader (let me cite the fact than in less than three years he was already through nearly half of his Cub Scout manual…never mind that all his former Cub mates had been Boy Scouts for two years by the time he finally finished the volume).

Having recently read a provocative news report from South Florida, I think I’ve been able to successfully put two and two together. In short, Steve had read the EXACT same Sunshine State news item.

Let me recap. You very well know that my first wife Cynthia and I had lived in Miami for over a year before I came here to coach. She continues slaving away there in Kevin’s eye doctor office and in talking to her on the phone, she told me how incredibly cold (to freezing and below, for days and days) Miami had been last week. And you know that a certain phenomenon occurs in South Florida under such extreme conditions: the iguanas are stunned into unconsciousness.

It’s true. They climb up in trees to roost at nite (and though they roost they seldom if ever cock-a-doodle-doo), but then when the wintery chill set in they became comatose. Which had an interesting consequence, and this is what I, and undoubtedly Steve, both read about.

And it involved a guy named Jack, soon to be known as “Lizard Jack.” He’s a homeless person in that area. And since homeless persons seldom have two-for-one coupons for Chili’s restaurants, they have to make do. Which is what Jack did. He discovered that shaking the freezing trees sent the unfortunate iguanas tumbling to the ground, inert. Then, since he had neither Remington nor German Luger, he would stomp the iguanas to death. And then barbecue them and eat them.

The article quoted another fellow who stayed under a bridge by Jack and this citizen told how in the morning everyone living in that area marveled at all of the iguana skeletons around the remains of Jack’s fire. This earned him the monicker of “Lizard Jack.”

After reading this heartwarming human interest story Steve, no doubt, suffered brain freeze, though it’s never very cold in San Diego. But since he dearly loves all creatures, great and small, he had tremendous difficulty in coping with Lizard Jack’s actions, despite his circumstances. And in his frenzied state of mind Steve made a tiny mental error of juxtaposition, and believed it was Agent Jack Bauer who had committed these culinary indiscretions; both named Jack, right? So what could be more natural or more easily explained? Just took a little pondering.
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On a slightly different note, Manager Hussain called me while ago to alert me to the fact that he’s discovered a guy that he’s brining to our practice tonite for a tryout. The kid is 6-5 or better and, interestingly, half Bahraini, half Filipino (a boy from the Philippines). Actually, around the Gulf there are a number of half-Arabs, half-Filipinos. What happens is that there are so many Filipina (a girl from the Philippines) guest workers in these countries that sometimes they meet a local man and…and one thing leads to another…and…and…well, you know.

Coach Pea