Skynet Football Pool Week Cuatro

Brothers, Sisters, and Friends of the Revolution,

I am pleased to announce a uniting… a joining… a convergence of two very special things: your money and my pants. It’s been a couple of years since El Commissionero won a week, and oh, I've missed it so. What an illicit gambling pool has joined, let no man put asunder.

Although, admittedly, it wasn't much of a victory. Nine and five on the week will not exactly get you the "1-2-3-Fo', All you 'hos get on da flo" Suite at the Bellagio, and I had to have the Patriots pound the Fins mercilessly just to get the points to hit my tiebreaker. It's not exactly dominance -- more like winning a race by a nose because of one’s Southern European genetics. I will endeavor to fill this hollow feeling with money; which, incidentally, is now available.

The accounting breaks down like this: there are thirty of us clustered around the buffet this year. Each threw in 88 units for 2640 total; so, less 90 units (at 3 each) to the website, there's 2550 big fat yeast rolls for the taking. That slices up to 120 for each weekly victor; and by the time the playoffs start, we'll have 250 left for the overall winner, 175 for the seasonal silver medal, and 85 to go back to the player earning the Oreck/Hilton/Gravity award.

This weekend, I will face a deeper and more fearsome challenge: my 25th High School Reunion. The general consensus is that it's not that big a deal; and that the passage of a quarter-century makes it a relaxed, welcoming, and cordial environment that is the exact opposite of high school. Nonetheless, I have a ponderous sense of dread. Maybe it is that this is a step directly back into the circumstances of my formative years when fear and uncertainty ruled the day. I mean, the last time I saw THAT guy, he was a defensive end making sure everyone went the right damn way on the one-way staircase; and the last time I saw THAT chick, she was a cheerleader looking past/through me to one of the faster, stronger, or more facially-symmetrical males in the tribe.

Despite John Hughes' great efforts to demonstrate that inside every kid is a rebel/warrior/prince/poet, and despite every scar and every score that I earned in the years that followed, it feels like I'm going to be right back in 1985 again. If that guy or that chick tries to talk to me, I bet my first reaction will be to blurt out several five-syllable words and throw up on my shoes.

I'm not much for small talk in large rooms, either; but I have to remember that I've become something that I never expected to be: comfortable.

HEY IT’S YOU ... (glancing down at my nametag) ... CHRISTOPHER! HOW YA BEEN, MAN?" (Offers handshake, which awkwardly converts from straight handshake to semi-vertical handclasp to very uncomfortable bro-hug)

Hey ... (glancing down at his nametag... Hello, his name is... what? Is that Jon or Jason? Can’t quite tell, damn the tiny font -- too late, locked into manual greeting ritual and must …get… timing right) ... you! Call me Chris, it's shorter and more accurate.

YEAH, CHRIS. MAN, WHAT YOU BEEN UP TO?

For all 25 years? Well, I wasn’t in prison, so it’s been kind of varied.

HA HA HUH HA. YOU’RE THAT SMART KID, RIGHT? DID YOU BECOME A DOCTOR?

No.

GOT THAT ENGLISH AWARD, DINCHA? YOU, LIKE, A WRITER?

No, although I did once describe a bathroom as being so disgusting that it looked like a blind epileptic tried to ice a chocolate cake in there. That one was well-received.

OH, I BET YOU WAS ALL OVER THAT INTERNETS, YEAH. GOOGLETUBE, WAS THAT YOU? YOU A DOT.COM JILLIONAIRE G6-FLYING MUTHAFUCKA?

No. I was not involved in the Googletube project.

AWW NAW, I BET YOU GOT YOUR OWN COMPANY AND GET TO TRAVEL AROUND AND GET PREMIER PLATINUM MILEAGE UPGRADES AND WHATNOT.

No. Let me skip ahead for you: I steal.

S' COOL. YOU WAS KIND OF A SKINNY KID, USED TOO MANY BIG WORDS. DID YOU EVER GET LAID?

Yeah. Twice on the way over here.

YOU USED TO HAVE BIGGER HAIR. WHAT HAPPENED?

The stores quit selling gel. And mousse. And someone pointed out it looked like a mullet from the back and the front.

SO, WHATCHA BEEN UP TO, ANYTHING?

Well you know ... (glance down to his nametag, still can’t read his penmanship) ... dude, I spent a few years in college and grad school, had jobs I hated and jobs I’ve liked, been with women whose names I never knew and to places I will never forget. I’ve seen the sun rise over a mountain in Wyoming and over the horizon in Nicaragua. I’ve seen the sun set on the lives of too many people that I wish had more time to share with us. I've got a wife so awesome that we ought to fight crime together on Thursday night prime time. I wrecked a couple of cars, saved at least one life, gained muscle mass and alcohol tolerance, and been getting better about asking questions instead of answering all the time. I’ve won several times, lost a few more, and learned something every time.

I guess I’ve been doing pretty well since High School. If nothing else, I’ve learned that testing yourself is good, and a little change is nothing to be feared.

It's great to see you. (execute flawless bro-hug) I see a girl that doesn't remember ever seeing me, and I'm going to go ask her how Jenny Craig is working out for her. Later, champ.

Maybe it won't be so bad as I think.