CHRIS COEN

Day 4 of my vacation started with severe cramping of the calf muscles.  The best part of waking up…is having punishing spasms in an 82 tent at 8 am after drinking for 14 hours the day before.  Sadly, my party was over.  I got into the car and drove back to my parents’ house to sleep and pick up Stringbean (my Golden Retriever).  I drank six bottles of water, two pops, and a Gatorade while watching the US women blow the championship between real crime TV (I love watching cops catch murderers.)

What’s the worst thing I could have done at that point?  That’s right, kids – go to alumni football practice when it’s over 90 degrees with over 80% humidity!  I sweat so much doing agility drills I was light headed.  I play offensive line – why in the hell was I doing backpedal drills?  Also, we ran pass plays and I snapped (I’m a 195 lb. center) the ball.  Apparently, I am rather rusty, b/c on the first snap I hit myself in the balls so bad I almost went to one knee.  Either that, or my balls are sinking faster than the Titanic.  After 45 snaps, I only hit my nuts four more times.  Glory days are back again!  San Dimas high school football rules!  (Bill and Ted reference).  Vacation over.

Welcome to day three.  This was the first year I had ever been to Jambo with a hot shower – usually I had to hose down in my trunks with a bar of soap and a fresh supply of freezing non-drinkable water.  That was good.  Bad?  Taking a shit.  By this time, even with no water in my body, two days of gyros have caught up to me with a terrible wrath.  There is little (voluntarily) worse things than having to crap in a Port a John, especially one full of previous defecations that are not yours.  At a nice, cool, comfortable 101 degrees.  It’s much like being in “the box” in Cool Hand Luke.  The TP is so thin, you can read War and Peace through it and your stool is so unstable, it might as well be a vial of nuclear waste.  Also, there is little more repugnant than the ol’ Honey Dipper pulling in and stirring up this witches’ brew of cheese fries and cheap alcohol.  That is how day three began.

The heat was so unbearable, I felt like a vampire in the sun.  The “pool” was full, so I huddled under a six foot canopy, sizzling in the shade and thanking God I wasn’t born before A/C.  Space was limited, but at least I got to enjoy a drunk guy telling me political thoughts and his upcoming vacation plans…for an hour.  For once, the steaming concert was a relief.

More people watching…  I made it to end of the show this time.  Toby Keith got old pretty quickly.  I passed out, but my buddy went to get something out of his car and found two white trash specimens having cowgirl sex in the grass next to his Monte Carlo.  He interrupted them, they did not stop.  It may have well been these two.  Stay tuned for day four and the horrible cramping of the calf muscles!

Day 2 started with the “redneck run.”  This is where you get your spot for the upcoming concert by grabbing a tarp, heading to one of the three entrances, and upon a signal, run to your desired spot on the lawn.  This involves praying you don’t fall down and hoping you don’t cramp up (both very likely).  Nothing like drinking for 8-14 hours, then waking up at 7 am to pound a Gatorade and try to outsprint 21 year olds.

Friday is my favorite day, as washer and cornhole tourneys are the order of the day, plus you’re not standing in the sun from noon on.  Plus you see redneck innovations, like the four person beer bong or the makeshift swimming pool.

People watching ensues…this lady was quite the sexpot.  I also saw a woman with a Tweety bird tattoo on her gut that was so stretched out, it looked like a Macy’s balloon.  I also saw a lot of guys in underroos, women’s clothes, and one guy wearing a bear skin in the heat.  His wife looked like Dog the Bounty Hunter’s wife, but trashier.  This time I made it most of the way to the end of the show, but not quite.  I did, however, avoid emptying my air mattress or eating food from a fair stand at 11 pm.

This is my annual trip, I’ve only missed one since 2004.  It is a four day country festival – I had only heard of about 30% of the lineup…I don’t go for the music.  It is basically a sun-baked drunkfest full of hillbillies.  Like this guy.

Doubleheader last night.  We split, but we beat the team that hasn’t won a game and lost to the 4th place by 15 runs.  Against a decent team, my squad, if a pro wrestler, would be the 123 Kid, b/c we get DP’d at least once a game.  Our shortstop is 6’5″, which is good for the errant cutoff tosses from the outfield.  Every team has a bat named “Vortex” or “Prison Rape” and our best bat has a crack in it.  Tonight I was actually glad we lost the 2nd game, b/c if we make the playoffs, we have to play WalMart.  If there is one thing I know, it’s that hillbillies are BEASTS at softball.  They have mercied us three games in a row.  Perhaps we need more tattoos…they have a shitload.  Currently, my right knee is sprained, my left pinky hurts when I write, and my range is equal to a legless bum.  Plus I can’t read a menu without reading glasses.  Why did I sign up for softball?

In honor of Jamboree in the Hills (a four day country concert), I thought I would share the story of the worst fight (result) ever.  Jambo is an event full of hicks and usually OK country music, some Southern rock, and a whole hell of a lot of drinking.  My second year there I was in the general campgrounds (a field near the ampitheater) when I stumbled upon a unique device, a homemade foam party.  Some redneck had hooked up an industrial fan, a hose, and a soap feed to a telephone pole, sectioned it off, then filled the area with foam.

Drunk chicks got in to the waist deep foam, which meant drunk dudes followed.  One lanky young man jumped and stripped down naked and began to grind.  Apparently, one of the spectators was married to/dating the young lady and was either pissed in principle or intimidated by the huge mule swinging to and fro (it was freakish, frankly, no wonder he was quick to go sans pants).  He jumped in and cheap shotted (yes, that’s a word) ol’ horse boy, dropping him into the foam.  He started walking away, but naked guy was not out.  He chased clothed guy down and beat him, still nude FYI, in the roadway.  So not only did his manhood get mocked in front of his lady, he also lost a fight he started…to a naked man.  As this all went down, a toothless drunk guy in his late 50’s recorded the whole thing, wheezing w/ laughter, saying, “You won’t ever see this shit again.”  I hope he’s right, for a lot of reasons.  The good thing was that during the ruckus, I was able to snag two cold beers from the unsuspecting party and sneak out unnoticed.  I call the whole thing a small victory.