A Sea World Water Skiing Exhibition
posted November 6, 2009 - 10:10pmWe used to go to my friend's camp on a small lake, and on any given weekend it was not unusual for the number of visitors to reach 20 or so. One frequent visitor during those hazy days was a guy named Greg. (Of course that's not his real name, silly.) Greg was a likeable guy, but whenever he wrapped his hand around an adult beverage, he transformed into a bit of a blowhard. A know-it-all. An incessant yapper. A "been there, done that" obnoxious braggart. You know, the kind of guy you secretly wish would just admit to one teeny weeny mistake. One weekend, Greg got his comeuppance.
My friend and I were sitting on the hill overlooking the dock below. We sat in the midst of several kids playing in the sand, adults carrying on conversations, radios blaring, and the reason I could not hear what Carla was mouthing to me was because Greg had dumped about 10 beers into him for breakfast. I glanced over toward my "escort", Stephen, and noticed his jaw clenching. The veins in his neck were also protruding noticeably.
Greg was in a pissing contest with another guy who was a decent water skier. I mean a VERY decent skier. I mean this guy was born on skis. Greg was advising him of his shortcomings, stating his knowledge came from a stint as a skier at Sea World. Now, most people would have stayed away from such an obvious embellishment for fear of being called on it, but then Greg was not most people. One gullible little kid looked up in awe and asked, "You really skied in Sea World?"
The crowd quieted down and heads turned toward Greg. Now he was in a pickle. He either had to admit to misstating his qualifications, or back up his bloviating. The ten or so beers answered for him. He was immediately challenged to grab a jacket and give us a show. This was where Stephen came in, since he had the boat. Greg mentioned that he couldn't possibly ask Stephen to take him out, it being so early in the morning and all.
I don't think I have ever seen Stephen quite so accommodating. I looked at Carla, she looked at me and we almost broke our necks getting down to the dock for a front row seat. Someone helped Greg into a life jacket and got him some skis. As he sat on the dock fumbling with his gear, Stephen sat off shore revving the massive motor of his brand new speed boat. The spotter just happened to be the "so-so" skier that Greg had been advising.
Greg, in a slight alcoholic stupor by now just kept yapping and yapping as he was positioning himself on the dock. The guy just wouldn't quit. He was giving the kids a demonstration on how to properly adjust the skis, and to always be aware of who and what surrounded you. The kids were enthralled. He was a star skier, and they were privileged to see him in action.
I guess Stephen "misread" Greg's arms waving as a green light, and Greg probably should have taken some of his own advice because in mid sentence he was snapped off that dock by a rope stretched tighter than a virgin's legs in a whorehouse. Because of Greg's position, he sank to the bottom of the water like a rock. Stephen kept that boat at full speed, roaring out of the cove, hauling just a rope, or so he thought.
It seems that Greg had a little more stamina than was assumed. After a trail of muck and weeds surfaced behind the boat, we were beginning to wonder where Greg was. Finally, the murky wake from the boat parted and up sprang Greg looking a lot like the "Swamp Thing" . His arms were flailing and he was jerking forward and backward to the oohs and aahs of the kids, who never realized his bathing suit was down around his knees.
Stephen screamed around the lake once and amazingly Greg hung on to that rope like a trooper. When they returned, my friend and I wondered if he would ever let go of the rope and land somewhere. We soon found out. The moment there was enough rope slack, the spotter unhitched Greg from the boat. He of course kept on sailing, right into the bank at full speed, driving his skis deep into the muck, and landing with an abrupt boinnnggg.
There was a moment of dead silence, bugged out eyes, and one "Wow" whispered by a kid. Greg was lying in the scrub brush at the shore, still covered with weeds. We heard a moan as he rolled over, stood up suit-less and said, "And that's how we do it at Sea World".
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