Word Count: Two of Burt’s morning “ablutions”
When Hello Kitty put out the call for someone to cover DZ I was on-the-fence about taking it. It was Theismann’s birthday Q week and there had been abysmal turnout the previous four days–maybe 2 or 3 people on average and only those because they couldn’t get a spot in a clown car to another AO. But then after agonizing over it for a while I remembered great Q’s have to make hard choices so I decided to sacrifice Theismann’s feelings for the greater good. (That was the most agonizing 10 seconds of my life.)
YHC had two goals for this Q. First, I wanted to Q a Bruisers (Injured Reserve) AO at the same time as a regular AO. I was one of the founders of Bruisers because the thought of losing some really good people from the gloom due to injury hits me deeper than I would have thought possible before I joined F3 a few months ago. Second, since they had been chomping on that pedestrian (Repeato pun) Hello Kitty fare at DZ I wanted to make this a Q none of the PAX would soon forget.
Preparation is key so YHC drove out to DZ the night before to get the lay of the land. Apparently, some people have a problem with a man cruising slowly around a park at night taking videos of everything. Luckily, the officer that answered the call was a Camp Gladiator guy and once he recognized me as “Monkey Humper #23” he found a quiet location where I could work on my Weinke in peace and quiet. Luckily, Ma Bell has a running tab at the Wake County Sheriff’s Office so I was able to use that to get free once my three page Weinke was written up. Shout out to my new friends from cell block 6 who promised to visit me once they were released: Big Jake, Dirty Sam, and Shut In (Shutty Cakes)–I love those colorful South Wake names.
So at DZ, I was a bit surprised to see the turnout that morning as cars began rolling in until I realized the only other Q choices in Carpex that day were a milk blowing merlot-er and a guy who wears so much hair gel he once accidentally cracked an I-Beam he was using to do extra credit pull ups on.
The Warm Up:
Good Mornings x 10
SSH x 54 (to celebrate Crimson’s recent birthday where he has now managed to stay alive 40 more years than his first two wives said he would)
Imperial Walkers x 10
Wind Mills x 10
CHERRY Pickers x 10
Sir Fazio arm circle thingees (Backwards and forwards)
The mumble chatter was growing a bit loud by this point so YHC decided to kick it up a notch. I sent the Bruiser(s) off to do slow (thanks Beaker) Chill Cut Pickle Pounders while I led the rest of the PAX on a run around the pickle (see how I did that–Pro move).
We came back to the lighted spot and I gave the Bruisers 1 : 10 ratio Jack Webbs and took the PAX for another run.
Halfway around the pickle I heard Bartman puffing up behind me. “Fris-, Frisc-, wait, slow down…” (So much for rucking being good for cardio). I slowed down to a 3 minute mile pace to let him catch up. Through hand gestures and gasps Bartman was able to tell me that something was going on with Biner. I let the rest of the PAX roll by and fell in beside Biner.
“What’s up, Biner?” I said. “It’s the weigh vest, Frisco. I just can’t do it. But I don’t want…I don’t want…” I stopped and grabbed Biner’s arm. I am very strong so he squeaked. “Hey this is F3. You can tell me anything and since it’s not inside the circle of trust it’s fair game—I mean since this is a certified AO I probably can’t use anything you say in the Back Blast. Probably.”
Biner hung his head. “I just can’t carry the vest. It’s too heavy. But I don’t want the others see me without it now.”
I assured Biner that no one could think less of him than they already did and then took the vest from him. He mumbled his thanks and something about it having a complex locking mechanism and to give him a minute to get free but I saw that the PAX had nearly completed the Pickle so I took off after them. The vest was slightly heavier than I expected, but after about ten steps I heard a thud and it got a bit easier.
The PAX joined the Bruisers to finished up the 1:10 Jack Webbs. We were halfway through Page 1 of the Weinke. It was time for the first of the six Thangs.
The Thang 1:
Partner up (tell yourself size doesn’t matter)
Partner 1: Low Slow Flutters while Partner 2 runs double court suicides
P1 & P2 knock out 76 of the world’s worst merkins (wide, medium and tight) together. (76 in honor of Theismann’s birthday week. That is incidentally 4x the number of remaining digits Repeato has left after dropping a rucksack on his toe this week.)
The mumble chatter started in earnest so I decided, yes, Banjo, all three positions together counted as just 1 of the World’s Worst merkin. That dulled the MC slightly so I inspired everyone by doing my World’s Worst Merkins with both legs in the air in front of them. A Raleigh guy (you can tell them by their accents) called for me to do it with 1 just one arm, but as I started to I noticed time was slipping by. Also the PAX were finishing up and they looked tired. I wondered if I had pushed them too far since Pierogi was dribbling saliva whenever he tried to talk. But a great Q has to make sacrifices so I slung the big guy over my shoulder and carried him in spite of his protests of “my leg is caught on the fence”. (That Pierogi is always such a kidder)
It was off to the sand volley ball courts (you can thank Bogo for that one, by the by).
The Thang 2
The Weinke sheet was looking a bit frazzled and in the dim light I realized that on the back page I had stopped writing exercises and actually had just written a poem to Ma Bell’s Tattoo Back Art of a bunch of Growling Huskies titled “Ma Bell’s Tattoo Back Art of a bunch of Growling Huskies”. As I wondered how long I had been in the pokey I decided it was time for a little bit of that famous Frisco creativity.
I called 100 LBCs in the sand and triple sand court suicides. (I had shown up early to verify that most of the snakes were off the courts.) The weight vest made it a little challenging for me but I could see the PAX was inspired by the way they clustered together in tight groups and began gathering large sticks. The Weinke sheet was only 1/2 complete (not counting the poem) but my weeks of experience as a Q told me it was time for Mary…and also Saban said “It’s time for Mary.”
Mary:
PAX’s choice Mary. Everyone who I like got to call one. Burt did not call anything.
The Close:
And then it was 6:30. Someone (probably Flip Flop) called Have A Nice Day. I stood after a moment and took stock. The PAX were tired but I could see in their eyes this was a morning they would never forget. What happened next shocked even me however. Saban suddenly stood up and pointed at me. “You!” he yelled. Everyone was silent since he usually only speaks in numbers (i.e., “6:13am and 43 seconds, no, 44 seconds, wait, 45!!!”). Then he took off his watch, stomped on it, and threw it into the woods. He clapped once. Then again, and slowly it was taken up by the rest of the PAX until it was deafening. “Great job, Flacco!” Saban yelled. “Frisco,” I yelled back, trying to be heard over the clapping and chanting of “Never again, never again!” And then the PAX had me lifted above them. A number of PAX tried to high 5 me in the kidneys. I was honored but unfortunately in all the excitement none of them could hear me yelling that they were heading towards a dumpster. They accidentally tossed me in and took turns throwing things into it, chanting “Flacco! Flacco! Never again, Flacco!” I slipped out the side and back to the Circle. Sure, they thought I was Flacco and he would get all the credit for this morning, but I wasn’t in it for the fame. I just wanted to change their lives. For the better, if possible…
COT
Announcements
Odyssey on 10/20: Sign up on CARPEX website, some food and drink items still needed, coolers as well
McCants needs assistance with yard work this Saturday (times on Slack) while the doctors have him on forced IR for another few months (although apparently he could practice law with the concussion. Go figure.)
Prayers/Praises
A situation at work where a PAX needs strength, a parent suffering from increasing memory loss (reminded me of Parker’s story and just as hard to hear), prayers for the people affected by the storms, others spoken and unspoken.
NMS
I am known as a man of few words…but all joking aside I love posting with all of you guys. I loved slogging up ten flights of stairs on 9/11. I recently wrote an Open Letter to one of the guys in Colorado giving Napster some flack for trying to plant an F3 flag out there (he recently moved there). Scott from Colorado had a problem with male-only groups and how they operate off the perception that “men are natural leaders” (maybe I SHOULD Q out there and set him straight :)) and a lot of other less than congenial things involving bring back the patriarchy (I am just trying to bring sexy back personally).
In my unsolicited response I talked about the need that male-only groups like F3 fill in a man’s life. It keeps us physically strong, keeps us from taking ourselves too seriously and most important, in the COT a man can let the face he puts on for the world slip a little and reach out to his brothers for help, to give praise and so on. I don’t know if we will ever see Scott from Colorado post, but if he does I think his life and those that share it will be richer for it.
Florence kicked the Hell out of a lot of us down here last week and while a lot of bad came there was some good, too. In times of trouble you see people band together, you see acts of compassion and determination and sacrifice. F3 really IS just a bunch of guys working out (for free) but a LOT of us were in motion before and immediately after the storm and continue to be in where we work, where we live and where we pray (or don’t pray). No, Scott, nobody in F3 thinks we are all “natural leaders”, but, man, we sure as Hell try to be. CUITG