We had a pentathlon, points awarded in each of five events adding up to the grand winner. An unfortunate gutter ball with my first roll in the family room bowling contest--knocking over empty pop and beer cans with a small rubber ball--got me off to an inauspicious start, which was compounded in the next event, the living room putting contest where former golf coach me didn't even place. Some of the more pessimistic Slovaks (there are known to be a few fatalistic ones) in my entourage were calling for my head, but I had a secret weapon working for me: sussing correctly that there would be no urine testing at these games (despite the presence of a top-notch RN), I started loading up on black jelly beans. Juicing! you howl? Oh no, you warn, watch out for Uncleovakia at dinner; 'Roid Rage is bound to erupt if you don't pass him the delicious potato(e)s promptly? Nah, just seizing the opportunity to gain a little "competitive advantage." Well, the beans kicked in (as beans will) when we got upstairs for the "shooting combined" event. I believe "stunned" would be the word to describe my fellow competitors' demeanor after I made five of ten over-the-staircase-and-across-the-hallway mini-basketball shots, nothing-but-netting my last, pressurized shot to nose out Nephew Canada, my soon-to-be true nemesis. Having some definite Quaker-pacifist leanings, naturally the Nerf-gun-shooting-flying-suction-cup-darts-at-a-target-on-a-door portion of the shooting event presented me with some issues, but the jelly bean buzz I was then experiencing full-bore got me through my time at the trigger rather qualmlessly; my numbers there, combined with my prowess at the hoop, placed me second in the combined event. The Slovak faithful had cause to cheer, cautiously.
Downstairs to the basement for the mystery event: Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Well, if curling and synchronized swimming are Olympic events, who am I to quibble? I just put my head down, my blindfold on, channeled my inner ass, and went for butt. Not too shabbily, either; I wound up second again (are we picking up on a pattern?). My sister, the Avery Brundage of these Olympics, showed she has a little Jim McKay/Roone Arledge panache in her: before the culminating event, to stoke the fans' ardor, we athletes broke for dinner. My brother-in-law, the Jacques Pepin of the games, had cooked up a delicious corned beef and potato(e)s feast, which we all enjoyed with zeal. By the time the birthday cake was lit and we all sang "Happy Birthday," the trash talking was in full swing, as well as trying to figure out all the possible scenarios for gold, silver, and bronze. Tied for second at the time, with gold well within reach, the Slovak contingent ate with confidence and helped himself to a second helping of corned beef.
The final event, back down in the basement stadium, was a new one to the eyes and athletic limbs of the Slovakians: a board game called Sliders. And let me just say this: when they're making board games of curling, it's time to check the horizon for the galloping of the Four Horsemen and bend your ear to see if indeed they aren't muttering, "Eh, hoser." After a quick crash-course in the ways and means of board-game curling, I was ready for my first round match with Nephew Finland, I believe he was from. Result, quick dispatch. Yes, the Slovaks, when it comes to board-game curling, are underdogs and dark horses all rolled (and broomed) into one helluva beast. Next up was the birthday boy, who, despite being the expert board-game curler like no one but a newly-turned eleven-year-old boy can be, had made the fatal mistake earlier in the evening of trading (or is it traitoring) his USA allegiance for Denmark. Do you believe in miracles? Yes! Like the storied Prince of Denmark, the kid was tragically defeated, this time by a marauding gang of Slovak curlers. The World, I believe, sat up and took notice at this time.
So we were down to it: Uncleovakia versus Nephew Canada in the Sliders finals. Winner wins overall Gold, loser winds up tied for Silver with niece's boyfriend Somethingorother-istan. Al Michaels (never, ever Bob Costas) drank some honey, put the headset on, and called the action. Action-packed indeed. A few near misses on either side, a near-lethal game-changing slider or two, and then, groan, defeat for the valiant Slovaks. Oh Nephew Canada went Gold. Did the Slovaks hang their heads, though? No, they proudly whupped Boyfriendistan in a tie-breaking game of Sliders and mounted the second tier of the podium (pictures may seem inconclusive, as Boyfriendistan, despite being a step below on the podium, was still at least even with, if not an inch or two above, Uncleovakia in the height department, but look closely, that's silver hanging from Uncle's neck, mere bronze on -istan boy's).
The moral: Never underestimate a graying, black jelly bean-popping Slovak who grew up playing not high-tech video games, but good (now, I guess, sad to say) old-fashioned board games.
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