Science!

It has, in present day, become an annual tradition: the family, which has now become a clan of 59 members strong, convenes to drag me to the middle of nowhere retreat to the solitude of the Wisconsin lakes and force me to experience nature enjoy some family bonding time in the great outdoors every Fourth of July weekend.

The results of the first such gathering were such that it’s probably best if we never return to THAT particular fishing resort ever again.

Since I wasn’t present for the incident at hand, a lot of the details are filled in by my imagination.  The names have been changed to protect the innocent hapless but nonetheless guilty.

July 4, 1996

The weekend had been epic.  There had been fishing, boating, swimming, volleyball, golfing, karaoke, and a constant and abundant supply of beverages.

It was the last night if the trip.  The resort’s bar had closed for the night, and uncles A and B were weaving their way slowly back to their rooms, loudly exclaiming how great the weekend had been.  Their journey took them past the resort’s recreation room, filled with arcade games, air hockey, and a ping pong table.

On an impulse, Uncle A broke away from his brother and grabbed a paddle.  “Hey, play me!” He yelled.

There had been a lot of beverages.

Uncle B immediately complied.  “Loser pays next year’s tab.”

With next year’s beverage supply on the line, the competition was fierce.  After much heckling and trash talking, and the utter destruction of two balls, the score was now 20 to 19.

Uncle A was winning.  He held the ball and paddle aloft triumphantly.  “This is for the game,” he announced, “and all next year’s beer.”

“I’m making a comeback!” Uncle B yelled.  “You’re never getting that point!”

Before he finished his sentence, Uncle A served the ball, hoping to catch him off guard.

With an angry roar and a powerful swing, Uncle B returned the serve.

With so much at stake, the round was a fierce one, with many angry noises and violent volleys. Finally, with a victorious roar, Uncle B spiked the ball hard, smashing it decisively into the table.

“YES!” He bellowed, accompanied with some celebratory gestures which will not be described here, and broke into the customary Family Victory Dance, which consisted of marching around in a little circle, clapping rhythmically, while chanting,”champiooooooooon…ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-champiooooooooon…”

“Hang on hang on hang on hang ON HANG ON!” Uncle A interrupted.  “You didn’t win, dumbass!  That was 20, we’re tied!”

It took a lot more back and forth to convince Uncle B, but he finally conceded, and the two searched for the ball to play out the final serve.

The ball was located on the floor.  One side had been completely caved in.  Uncle B dropped it experimentally, and it gave a single, pitiful little bounce and came to a stop.

Uncle A swore.  “How are we going to finish this now?  That was the last ball!”

With so much future beverage on the line, though, Uncle B was thinking outside the box, and the wheels were clearly turning.  “No problem,” he said.  “I can fix it.”

“There is no way to fix that,” Uncle A insisted.

“Yes there is!” Uncle B held up the ball to demonstrate.  “If we heat up the ball, the air inside will expand, and it’ll apply pressure and pop the other side back out.”

Uncle A looked skeptical.  “There is no way that will work.”

“Yes it will!” Insisted Uncle B.  “It’s science, dumbass!”

“Fine.” Uncle A whipped out a lighter.  “If this doesn’t work, you’re buying next year.”

Uncle B confidently lit the flame and held it underneath the smashed ping pong ball.

Things did not progress quite as he predicted.

What did happen was that the ping pong ball began to melt and, ultimately, burst into flames in his hand.

Uncle B swore and dropped the ball.  It thudded onto the table and sat there, burning merrily, flames licking at the tabletop.

“Put it out!” Uncle A yelled. Uncle B began to frantically blow in the flaming ball.

This did not extinguish the flames.

What it did do was apply a physical force to the ball (science!) and set it in motion.  The ball rolled lazily accross the table, leaving a lovely blackened, scorched trail in its wake.

“That’s not working!”. Uncle A yelled.

The ball hit the net and came to a stop.  The net began to sizzle and melt.

Uncle A grabbed a paddle and smashed the ball with it, knocking it into the floor.  Both of them stomped on it until it was both flattened and extinguished.

In the momentary silence that followed, they both glanced around nervously.  At this early hour of the morning, there were no witnesses around to rat them out.

“Well,” the both said quickly, “have a good night!” Then they hustled down the hallway to their rooms as fast as possible.

The next morning, as our parents were checking out, I babysat a bunch of younger cousins, talking them to the recreation room to keep them occupied.  We were dismayed to be limited to arcade games and air hockey, because the ping pong table was in pretty bad shape, and we couldn’t find any balls.

As my cousins and I played air hockey, a hotel manager stormed into the room, absolutely fuming.  He stared at the ping pong table, seething.

He turned to me.  “Do you kids know who did this?”

I could feel the eyes of all my younger cousins upon me, but I had plausible deniability, though I could guess that had happened.  I looked the manager directly in the eye.

“Nope.”