I was wracking my brain for a blog idea this afternoon. Thinking about days gone by, and things I loved. One thing that I loved was hacky sack. There was a time when I thought I was good enough to swiftly rise through the world rankings and capture the Hacky Sack World Championship. Which I believe entitles you to a cash prize, a trophy of some sort, and a badass one-hitter belt buckle like the one Randall “Pink” Floyd wore in Dazed And Confused. Or at least that’s what you should get for being the coolest hippie alive.
As I’ve gotten older I have realized that I probably wasn’t even good enough to qualify for regionals. But that wouldn’t have stopped me back then. I’ve never been one to pay attention to the writing on the wall. Even if it was addressed to me personally and comprised of very well-reasoned points while just trying to be helpful, without passing judgement or coming across as preachy. I ignored these things partly out of teenage rebellion but mostly because of that whole illiteracy thing.
I would have trained for the big Hack meet by hacking off every chance I would get. I would hack until my sack was busted wide open and emptied of its contents ….metaphorically speaking. Then I would hack some more. The street lights would come on and it would phase me none. For anyone not old enough to remember, there used to be these things called street lights. They would come on at dusk, at which time you were supposed to go home for dinner. Or you got your ass kicked. This was to ensure safe passage for pedestrians and motorists alike, as well as to curtail the staggering amount of fun kids were having back then. At some point we as a society said “Fuck that, let’s turn the lights off and just use the poles as a place to advertise yard sales, and also as a public shaming post where we can show everyone that you don’t deserve to own a pet by your inability to control, contain, or even find your pet.”
If I would have chased the dream, I would have done it up right:
- I would have bought matching head and wrist bands, and possibly even ankle bands if those are things that exist. I think that they are, but we just call them socks.
- I would choose a theme song to be introduced with. Something catchy, that has high-octane energy but also says to people,”Hey this guy might seem like a super hero to you, but he’s just a normal, regular hero, doing super things.” Something like Van Halen‘s Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now)
- I would happily pose for pictures and sign autographs for all the crazed Hacky Sack fans crowding around outside my deluxe economy suite at the Best Western Inn, or other comparable motor lodge that offers all the amenities. Such as free continental breakfast with the qualifying purchase of a second full priced breakfast. Or complimentary toothpaste. Don’t forget the indoor pool and hot tub, you. Oh, I shan’t, me. But is the water supposed to be foamy like that? That doesn’t look right to me.
When I got famous and toured the world, I wouldn’t get all diva like. But I would have a rider in my contract to make the stresses of footbag fame a little more tolerable:
- Only the freshest of bottled waters are to be chilled to an exact temperature of ice-cold without actually being ice.
- Talcum powder for my ballbag
That’s it. That’s all I would need to succeed.
Proper hydration is important.
But a dry ballbag is a must.