On the weekends, one of the favorite activities of both guests and members is naked water volleyball. I’ve always wanted to play, because… well… what doesn’t sound fun about naked water volleyball?
I was down at the pool on Sunday, something I’ll do from time to time to make my butt the color of the rest of me (it’s going well, thank you), and I was finally coaxed into a game.
If you read my post a couple of weeks ago, you might remember that I sprained my wrist playing softball and am still recovering. And as it turns out, smacking a ball into the air was not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. The smartest thing I’ve ever done will be happening any day now. I can feel it.
You really don’t appreciate your wrist until it feels like someone hit it with a hammer. In fact, I’d say out of all my body parts, it was never even in the top five on my list of favorite ones. But losing it has made me appreciate it that much more and now I can say that my right wrist has broken into the top five list of body parts I most favor.
My left knee is pretty upset about dropping to the sixth spot, but he’ll get over it. I try to console him by saying things like, “Hey, you could be my liver. You know I never do anything nice for that guy. At least I wrap you in frozen peas and feed you Advil. Stop being such a baby.”
Anyway, I can talk about my favorite body parts and our exhilarating conversations all day, but what I really want to talk about is naked people playing volleyball. They have actual tournaments, scheduled games and even team names.
It’s hard to tell which teams are which, but it really doesn’t matter because you’re rooting for everyone. At least I am. I can’t root against anyone playing a sport naked. As far as I’m concerned, everybody is winning.
At the end of the tournament, the winners are hoisted into the air on chairs and carried around like at a Jewish wedding. Everyone throws fruit and sings We Are The Champions until the victory ring of fire is ignited.
Well, that’s what I think they should do for the winners, but no one listens to me. I’m not saying we have to jump through the ring of fire, but it would be nice. There is a pool, so I don’t see what the big deal is.
At the very least, we should get our team names tattooed on our chests and a number on the back. I call 23, because that was Michael Jordan’s number and the skills are similar. I’m not saying I could take him on a basketball court, but he does not want to walk into my house and challenge me to a naked water volleyball game.
So, Michael, the gauntlet has now been thrown down. Are you man enough? Not showing is the same as admitting that I am better than you at sports. You have until tomorrow at noon to answer my challenge. High noon, Michael.