The phone rang at 2:00 AM. The only reason the phone rings at 2:00 AM is because someone in Texas has died or someone has been arrested for DUI and needs a cheap lawyer. I always answer such calls with immeasurable dread.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hey,” the thick Texas drawl answered back. “Sorry for the late call.”
I frantically tried to place the voice, but couldn’t, so I faked it. “That’s okay.”
“Dude,” the voice continued, “when are you going to put my name in the blog?”
What’s it all about, Alfie?
It was my teammate from Texas who lives in Santa Barbara. “You called me at two o’clock in the morning to ask me that?”
“Sorry, man, but it’s been keeping me up night and day. My old lady reads the blog religiously and she’s always, like, ‘When are you going to be in it?’ It’s destroying my marriage, bro.”
“Just any old mention. Doesn’t have to be fancy like all that cool shit you write about Zink and MMX and Ryan and Red Light. Just my name, you know? It would mean the world to her. And to me, of course.”
“Of course. But, dude, in order to get, you know, mentioned, you have to do something.”
“You’re joking, right?” He was offended. “You put anybody in that fucking thing. One time you even wrote about Stern-O.”
“Yeah, and he’s still pissed about it.”
“So do one like that. Make it all funny and shit where I look like a stud but you make fun of me a little bit. Not too much, though. C’mon. it’ll get me some ‘favors’ from the wife. Help a fella out.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
What I did
A couple of weeks went by and I’d forgotten completely about it. Then a long email arrived, and it went sort of like this:
Hey, man, I know you’re busy and stuff but you’re putting out like a blog a day and there’s nothing in it about me. WTF? My old lady is really upset. Can’t you just throw my name in there? Something like, “He is a total badass and a hammer and a total bro and a real leader and has a good sprint and leads out his buddies and is respected by everybody in the peloton plus he’s handsome.” You can even use that quote, you have my total permission.
So I wrote him back, and it went sort of like this:
I’m trying to remember what you look like. Are you the dude with the beard who was showing the team your pubic tattoo and penis piercing that day after you crashed on the first lap and took out our designated team leader? Or are you the guy who had the tummy tuck and breast reduction surgery? Shoot me a JPEG to refresh my memory.
Upping the ante
Today I logged onto Facebook and saw a post from my Texas teammate that said, “I ride my bike a lot. I do. But really, the only goal I have left for this year is to somehow, some kind of way, to get Wankmeister to mention me just once, in an email, blog, whatever…just once.”
I felt terrible, so I decided to go ahead an mention his name as soon as I can remember what it is.