Assault on Lake Casitas by Lewis Brad Alan

Author:Lewis, Brad Alan [Lewis, Brad Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shark Press
Published: 2012-01-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

New ’Do

June 11, 1984

After breakfast, Paul and I went to the local shopping center, Triphammer Mall. Paul needed to buy shampoo and toothpaste. I had a slightly bigger mission in mind—I wanted to get a haircut. The perfect time had arrived for me to alter my outside appearance and become an extra-ugly brute.

To Paul’s dismay, I still sported my goatee, which I had grown only a few weeks earlier in tribute to the Laker’s Magic Johnson. Now that the Lakers had lost to the Celtics in the NBA finals, I considered shaving it off, but my goatee was so remarkably unattractive that I decided to keep it.

Outside appearances are important. My inside appearance, how I felt inside, was already well defined and intact. But I had a theory: if I wanted to row like a mean ugly brute, I had to feel like a mean ugly brute. The best way to feel mean and ugly was to look mean and ugly. A Marine-short haircut was the order of the day.

As Gene the Barber attempted to follow my instructions, I read about a Ferrari that went 110 miles an hour in third gear. After ten minutes, Gene said he was finished, but without looking in the mirror I knew he was wrong. “Not short enough,” I said. “Keep clipping.” My instructions had been simple enough. I wanted to look like a Marine on his first day of boot camp. I had to remind Gene three or four times before he believed the sincerity of my message.

When we left Triphammer Mall a half-hour later, Paul reassured me that I looked twice as mean, and more brutish than ever. I felt great.

Every morning during our short stay in Ithaca, the lightweight straight-four challenged us on the lake. Except for an occasional piece, only their puddles scooting past our boat relayed their position. Over the next two weeks, I could sense that our speed was improving as the lightweight’s puddles became sharper, which meant they were not as far ahead.

A few days into the camp, Tony Johnson cut four men, reducing his squad to only two four-with’s. These two boats were much faster than the three boats we raced the first day. If our strength or resolve lagged for three consecutive strokes, Paul and I saw the immediate loss of a length to either the straight-four or one of the four-with’s.

One day Tony asked why I had done so poorly at Harry’s camp. “I couldn’t win any seat races,” I told him. “It’s that simple. I can offer a lot of excuses. I was tired from the single trials, the boatings were screwy. But when it came time for Harry to make his decision, he went with the proven seat racers.”

“Would you rather be in Lucerne?” Tony asked.

“Nah, I’m having more fun here.”

Tony laughed, but I was serious. Our training, the coaches, and especially the other rowers, all helped to make Ithaca an unexpected haven. Tony’s college rowers had yet to develop the enormous egos, so common to elite athletes.

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