If you’ve gotten around to reading this column (thanks to
both of you), it probably means one of two things: You’re in
summer school, or you’re reading this online.
In the case of the latter, I urge you strongly to put the mouse
down, back away slowly from your keyboard, and go outside.
Coming back to school as pale as you were when you left
absolutely screams, “I read Daily Bruin columns during my
summer vacation.” Definitely not the kind of message you want
to send people.
The rest of you poor souls are likely stuck taking classes,
working at jobs and internships ““ toiling away while the rest
of your comrades partake in various fun schemes. Worse yet, while
you sit behind a desk, the sports world passes you by. But your
faithful correspondent ““ that’s me ““ is here to
share his experiences on this joyous summer day.
Like a Little League dad watching his son on the field, I hope
you can live vicariously through me.
11:30 a.m. ““ I am startled awake by the sound of a
chainsaw hacking away at some overgrown branches. Sheer insanity to
be conscious at this ungodly hour.
12:30 p.m. ““ Zzzzzzzzzzzz.
1:45 p.m. ““ It’s time for some breakfast. Eggo
waffles, cereal and microwave bacon: the real breakfast of
champions. Wheaties is so arrogant.
2 p.m. ““ Mark Philippoussis hurls unstoppable 140 mph
serves at some French dude named Sebastien Grosjean and wins in
three easy sets. Andy Roddick, the last American left now that
Andre Agase turned 206 years old and Pete Sampras didn’t feel
like winning Wimbledon for the 206th time, loses to Roger Federer,
some Swiss guy.
2:15 p.m. ““ I go outside to lie out in the sun and fall
back asleep.
4:10 p.m. ““ Ouch. Maybe I should have turned over once or
twice. Putting a shirt on is really going to hurt.
5 p.m. ““ Ah, the gladiatorial sport of BBQ begins. This is
a real spectacle and a feat of amazing self-inflicted danger. After
deciding the flames weren’t high enough, I add just a touch
of lighter fluid. Subsequently, I lose an eyebrow in the mushroom
cloud of flame. Awesome.
5:30 p.m. – In one of the greatest traditions in the United
States, the annual Nathan’s Hotdog Eating Contest is held on
Coney Island. Takeru “Tsunami” Kobayashi, weighing 145
pounds, ate 44.5 franks in 12 minutes to dominate the competition
““ most of them morbidly obese American truck drivers. In
response, I stage my own eating contest, with my dog as the
challenger. I think I had eight. If you want to know the secret to
beating a German shepherd in a hotdog-eating contest, it’s in
the buns. Seriously, they can’t handle that much bread.
6:15 p.m. ““ Baseball. Overall, a great day for the
American pastime. The Yankees get pounded by seven home runs from
the Red Sox, which is always a good thing. On the other end of the
offense spectrum, the Dodgers put one run across in 10 innings.
Honestly, these guys couldn’t score in a monkey brothel if
they had a barrel full of bananas.
8 p.m. ““ Fireworks, obtained quasi-legally from Mexico,
are set off in my driveway. Half of them malfunction, and the other
half leave a faint smell of Tijuana in their wake. Awesome.
9:15 p.m. ““ My day winds down, and the eight hours or so
I’ve been awake have really taken their toll. Too much
excitement for one day. As Yao Ming might say, “I feel as
though I had erected a new fence around the village, so as to keep
the buffalo from trampling upon the gardens.”
12:10 a.m. ““ Put the finishing touches on this column.
E-mail Colin at cyuhl@media.ucla.edu to share your holiday
experiences.