Los Lucha Beer Fest

It was year ago in this very season…

In spite of the delicious Kosher Mexican food and a plentiful room of friends, my foot anxiously tapped underneath the table.  I handled small talk with the person across from me with automated nods, as I was outside myself, and already inside my neon yellow tights and luchador mask.  Most likely disturbing those around me, I closed my eyes and licked my lips as I imagined the taste of a cool, foamy “Beer Fest” victory.

A month before, my friend sent out Facebook invitations to his “Beer Fest”, where anyone could enter a team of three to compete in a series of beer sports.  I partnered up with my pals Jesse and Jake, and we registered as “Los LiBROS”, eager for the “bro” pun and unaware it translated to books.  Jesse scored Luchador masks and stole tights from his little sister.  The week before the match I had them over for mandatory practices where we substituted beer for cups of juice.  Initially I thought orange juice and milk would be tasty, but the beverages proved heavier than beer, and we found ourselves too bloated from four cups to continue practice.  The cups we later practiced with were narrower than the average red party cup, which helped us hone our aim for the fierce competition ahead.  After an hour of “Girl Talk”, pong practice, and water flip-cup we were ready for anything.  We left our last practice agreeing to eat lots of carbs during the pre-tournament dinner and decided our awesome code names.  Jesse would introduce himself as El Tequito, because he is fiery and cute.  I was El Churro because I am one twisted amigo.  And Jake, as Taco Bell is the extent of Mexican culture I’m familiar with, was El Crunch Wrap Supreme, because he is very big (a point exemplified by our sock-stuffed crotches).  It was time for victory!

Well… dinner.  THEN VICTORY!

After refraining all of dinner to dart out the house and put on my awesome costume, I did so.  Like Clark Kent in a phone booth it took a mili-second for us to burst through the door and introduce ourselves with our signature tag lines and traditional Latino chants.   “Ay-Yi-Yi-Yi, Ribaa, Ribaa!” we chanted, galloping around the house and stabbing girl’s butts with our bulging Mexican manhood.  If there was an award for Beer Fest spirit or costume, we definitely had it.  None of the other teams even bothered dressing up.

Each round of the tournament was a two out of three format consisting of pong, then flip cup, and, if tied, ended with a chug-off.  In round one, we played my now-girlfriend and a then-evil-nemesis.  Actually, I was the bad guy in this scenario.  You see, way back in my sophomore year of high school I was less than a trustworthy friend, and a pal of mine had just been dumped by a girl who he was still into.  I neglected his feelings to say the least, instead focused in on the facts.  There was an impressionable cute freshman on the rebound and a wank-basket that was half a wadded up tissue from overflowing.   Being a real board master, and I mean the Dwight Howard of relationship rebounds, if you will, I pulled down the opportunity and earned his justified disdain in the process.  Before the first round I began jotting down hilarious jokes about his ex-girlfriend.

“Remember when you said she talked a lot?  The problem was you didn’t put your dick in her mouth.  Yup, that’s how you fix that.”  Gold I thought, pure gold.  That was until his teammates came up to me and begged me to leave the topic alone on account it being a sore subject.  I was furious.  Taunting by zoning in on your opponents deepest insecurities, is the only effective defense in pong.  It was like asking a soccer team to leave their goalie out.  Titty-fucking preposterous.

But I did it.

I remained quiet the whole match, limiting myself to obscene hand gestures to distract them.  Occasionally I was tempted to make a snap about his ex’s braces irritating my butt-hole when she ate out of it, but it seemed more a jab at myself, plus it didn’t hurt to honor my pledge.  In the end we won with true Luchador honor, crushing them at flip cup, and advancing to the next round of the anything, but prestigious Beer Fest!

Due to the odd number of teams, we received a walk for the semi-finals.  With six teams left, there would be two relays for the finalists to be decided.  One teammate played single-player six-cup pong, after which he would run and tag the second teammate to chug three flip-cups, before he ran to the final station where the last teammate had to chug two 16 oz cans.

I stood by my flip-cup table waiting to hear the start whistle, my knees and fingers shaking, my heart bouncing around my ribcage like tennis ball.  No less than a minute after the whistle, Jesse ran into the room and tagged me.  I stood there for a second incredulous, before he tagged me again, and then slapped me for not starting.  Apparently Jesse- forgive me- Tequito had gone six-for-six and given us the jump start we needed!  I handled my flip cup like good whore, ignoring my gag-reflex and left it up to El Crunch Wrap Supreme.  Even with Tequito’s head start it was a close one, however Crunch Wrap sealed the deal.  We danced around an invisible sombrero and fired our finger guns in the air.  “Ay-Yi-Yi-Yi-Yi-Yi”.  It was time for the finals and nothing could bring us down!

***I encourage you to play “You’re The Best” by Joe Esposito and picture a montage of my team sinking shots and high-fiving for the sake of the story.  ***

Yes we made it.  In a two out of three showdown, it was us versus three graduates, each one taller than El Crunch Wrap.  We were underdogs, but drunken confidence lead the way.  At first we went shot for shot in pong, and faced unprecedented taunts, such as one of our opponent resting his mammoth-sized ball sack on his back row of cups.  But El Tequito would not let us fail, and his sensational shooting made our adversaries pay for their taunt, as they were forced to ingest their own brew of “Nutsack Light”.  The first round went to us, we fired off our suddenly heavy imaginary guns.  We were wasted and barely standing.

In the second round, they destroyed us in flip cup.  They inhaled their beer while we gurgled ours, the foam cascading down the sides of our mouths.  We never had a chance.

The final round, one teammate would be selected to chug a glass boot.  (For those who have seen the Beer Fest movie it was an exact replica of Das Boot.)  All the odds were against us.  If we already lost one chugging event, how could we possibly win another?

I’d love to tell you that El Tequito, on a gut feeling, volunteered into a David versus Goliath chugging contest and won.  That mi amigos and I were hoisted on the surrounding crowds shoulders and paraded down the street while he waved the moonlit das boot into the air, but we didn’t.  In a few loud gulps, our opponent swallowed all hope of our triumph.  Again, no chance.

And while I was a sorrowful sight holding open my waistband and asking girls for “runner-up blow jobs” like a beggar and his dented cup, the next morning I looked back on that night with same fondness I do know.  I loved having something to do, something to aspire for, or even dream about.  If only every summer night could be as memorable that one last year…

Well I’m off to college soon, so I’m sure I’ll be occupied more than I like in no time.

I’ll try and keep up the blog if people are interested, this one in particular is dedicated to El Tequito and El Crunch Wrap Supreme, mi beer amigos for life.

3 thoughts on “Los Lucha Beer Fest

  1. So good, keep writing. Seriously. This was so good and in fact i can affirm that it was most definitely true.

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