Some people, however, are just a mystery, like these two older Hispanic gentlemen I see all the time who are always walking towards each other carrying sticks (I've creatively dubbed them Stick Man #1 and Stick Man #2). Do they know each other? Why are they carrying sticks? Are they just makeshift hand weights? For protection against dogs? Thugs? Are they thugs? My curiosity finally got the better of me and so one day I decided to follow Stick Man #1, pictured here.
I tailed him from an inconspicuous distance for about a half mile until we came to a playground. He stopped and stood motionless by the jungle gym for several minutes while I hid behind a tree. I was just about to leave when Stick Man #2 came walking from the other direction. I suddenly noticed that the playground, normally teaming with laughing children, was deserted and eerily silent. The birds, normally cacophonous, were still. The squirrels...well, the squirrels pretty much just went about their business. I mean, you know squirrels, them nuts aren't going to gather themselves. Anyhoo, the two Stick Men were just standing there, maybe 20 paces apart, for some time. Again, I was about to leave when all of a sudden they started making these intricate gestures at one another with their hands and sticks, mostly stylized versions of the sign of the cross. This went on for several minutes and again, I was about to leave when literally all hell literally broke literally loose.
Suddenly they both disappeared into a cloud of sand and leaves. After a minute, my eyes adjusted and I realized that they hadn't disappeared but were stick fighting at such a blinding speed that they were hard to follow. Yup, they were Catholic stick ninjas! What ensued was the most dizzying display of martial arts prowess I have ever seen. It was like watching the spawn of an unholy threesome between Yoda, Jean Claude Van Damme, and Donatello that took place on Bruce Lee's grave fight his twin brother to the death for the love of their mother. Which one is the mother, you ask? Michelle Yeoh is the mother. Who's packing the largest green wiener, you ask? Jean Claude, ironically.
They jumped. They ducked. They thrusted. They dodged. Did they parry, you ask? Oh hell yes they parried. Also, you ask a lot of questions about imaginary scenarios I make up in my head to pass the time while biking. They seemed perfectly evenly matched. Every time one seemed to get the upper hand the other would execute some miraculous move to turn the tide. Stick Man #2 grabbed a handfull of playground sand and tried to throw it in Stick Man #1's eyes. He batted aside every individual grain with his stick and shouted "Please, the sand in the eyes trick? That hasn't worked since 1987!" #2 then turned and pretended to run away, with #1 right on his heels. #2 ran full speed into one of the swings, did a full over-the-top 360 degree swing, came down behind #1 and delivered a vicious stick thwap to the back of #1's knees. He howled in pain but stayed on his feet. They fought for what seemed like hours as I ran around stomping out the leaf fires that were being ignited by the flaming shards of stick that flew off their sticks when their sticks crossed. It was truly the most amazing thing I've ever seen in my life. Finally, they fought to what appeared to be a draw. Panting and glistening in sweat, they slowly backed away from each other in the directions from whence they came. "Adios, Sam," said #1. "Until tomorrow, Ralph," said #2. It was pretty crazy.
A few days later I decided I would try and get a picture of #2 for the blog. I passed #1 as normal but never saw #2. Also, #1 wasn't carrying his stick. Then, near the playground, I saw this...
Did I actually make a stick cross and take a picture of it? Yes I did. Google images was no help and I'm not that good at Photoshop. But seriously, Stick Man #2 is missing. If you see him, tell him to call and at least let me know he's OK. I'm starting to get worried.
