Recently a friend of mine got involved in a rather nasty
cycling accident resulting in two broken arms. This was during the 5 Boroughs
Bike Race in and around New York City. Apparently he had a momentary lapse of
concentration (probably admiring some passing by fun-bags on the side of the
road – not confirmed), which resulted in his foot getting caught in his front
wheel and the subsequent tumble.
Naturally I was sympathetic but advised that he might change
up his story a little. There’s nothing particularly heroic or interesting about
getting your foot caught in your front wheel regardless of the size of the fun
bags, which I imagine must have been fairly substantial (wait...lets imagine
them for a little bit longer. Yeah, they must have been glorious). Embellish a
little, I said. This story could work to your advantage and maybe even get you
laid.
This is what I suggested he might say:
It was a dark and gloomy day in cold, scary Brooklyn as you
sped along the route of the 5 Boroughs Bike Race, avoiding bullets, discarded
Pabst Blue Ribbon cans, and other natural hazards of the borough, in your
single minded pursuit for victory. Though this race was for more than victory.
It was for little Jimmy, for little Kimmy and all the other sweet, sweet kids
at the St George’s Children’s Hospital that needed your support. The race was
going well. Your legs were a little sore from the marathon you ran for the St.
Bartholomew’s orphanage the previous night but all things considered you were making
good time. Seemingly out of nowhere, a little boy ran into your path, chasing
his labrador puppy, (though in Brooklyn odds are it would have been a
malnutritioned midget hipster OR Gary Coleman and Urkels love child chasing a
rat – but as I said embellish a little). Cars rushed towards you in the
opposite lane but you had no other choice but to swerve into the oncoming
traffic. You plowed straight into a black Escalade, which sent you flying a
good 10 feet in the air. The Escalade lost control and slammed into an
out-of-order fire hydrant.
The driver seemed to be ok but the car was a right off.
After dragging yourself up from the glass littered tar, you noticed the drivers
face for the first time. It was none other then FBI’s most wanted, Miguel Juan Antonia
Ortega also known as El Puma or The Puma, (who you’d recognized from an
interesting and informative documentary on "The War On Drugs" which
aired a couple of nights ago on Discovery). Instinctively you made a b-line for
the escaped drug trafficker come-murder. You chased him right down into the
'Marcy Avenue' subway. Driving through the people, you lost him briefly and
somehow you found yourself on opposite platforms, starring each other down. You
would have pulled out your 9mm at that point but you'd left your piece at home
after watching an interesting and informative documentary on Discovery entitled
"The War On Guns".
Miguel gave you a dirty grin as a train approached on his
side. There wasn't enough time to cross the platforms using the stairs or
tunnel, so you decided to leap across… a ‘leap of faith’ if you will. Your
whole life flashed before your eyes as the distant train galloped towards you.
You remembered all the charity work you did on your 'Gap Yah’ in South America
and Sniffles, your Belgian Corgy, that had passed on when your were eight. You
remembered your favorite meal, cooked by your Mom and the first pass of a
football with your Dad, which ultimately lead to a brief but eventful two-year
professional career at Fulham FC. (Nobody would question the validity of this
because know one really knows who's playing for Fulham FC at any given time or
cares.) You remembered the first time you made love to your first and only love
of your life but simultaneously had something of an epiphany, realizing that
you could love again as long as you 'believed' and found the 'right' girl...
[At this point, you take a sip of your beer and look into the distance
reflectively].
[Returning to the story], Miraculously, you landed on the
other platform missing the hurtling train by inches. Miguel wore a stunned look on his face as he entered the
train, amazed by your heroism. You scrambled up and gave chase into subway car.
Chasing him from car to car, Jason Bourne style, you found yourself at the
final car and seemingly had El Puma cornered. "The games up Miguel!"
you said, “You can’t keep running for the rest of your days!” "You'll
never get me alive" responded a defiant but worn out Puma. He made a dive
for the door just before the train departed. Wedged between the doors, he
struggled to get out as you tugged to get him back in. The train started to
move. With one last push Miguel somehow managed to squeeze out the jammed
doors. "You see amigo, no one can stop El Puma!" But you still had a
grip on him as the train accelerated out of the station, your arms protruding
out the doors. You weren’t going to let go now. "Let go" shouted
Miguel. "Let go you son-of-a-bitch. But you defiantly held on. "I'm
invincible!" he yelled, “invincible!”
"No Miguel,” you said calmly, “You're just another
brick in the wall!" [INSERT CLASSIC QUOTE HERE.] BANG
You might want to work on this line a little. Perhaps
something more cutting. Something Arnold or Christian Bale would be proud to
deliver. Something like... "lets see if cats really do land on there feet,
El Pumo"....which doesn't really make sense since he's not really
falling but rather being slammed
into a wall at high speed.
[CONTINUED] as you ‘delivered this timely quote, Miguel
smashed into the oncoming wall along with your now, dislocated and broken arms.
You fell back to the floor of the train, panting and in pain. Your arms
dangling like pool noodles from your shoulders. [PAUSE briefly].
You never did find out if Miguel survived the ordeal but you
suspect that he didn't. All you do know is that you had a race to finish
because God knows that St. George’s Children’s Hospital didn't need any more broken
promises. And with that you gathered up your strength, hobbled off at the next
stop, recovered your mangled bike, and rode, hands-free the rest of the way,
through the remaining boroughs.
Naturally anyone with a heart will call you a hero and buy
you a drink but if not, maybe you could add:
“I’m glad I managed to finish the race I guess, but I’m just
a little sad I couldn’t get the victory I had promised for little Jimmy, for
little Kimmy and for all those beautiful kids at St Georges. I guess next year
I’ll just have to try harder.”
Anyway, I wish you a speedy recovery.
Solly
