Joe Elder
Published: April 13 2004
As sports editor, I have noticed that attendance has been slumping at PJC sporting events. This trend is troubling to all sporting geeks like myself.
With that in mind, I have stumbled upon a new sport that just might have PJC students doing the wave and wearing face paint again.
There is no doubt that when athletic director Bill Hamilton and intramurals coordinator Doug Rogers catch wind of this new sport, they will petition to have it added to PJC’s line-up.
I can see it now: baseball, softball, basketball, volleyball, and, yes my friends, tricycle jousting.
To give you a little background, here’s the scoop. A couple of weeks ago, some friends and I were at my house throwing back tall glasses of water with a twist of lemon. (Yeah, water…that’s what it was…. Sure, that’s the ticket.)
It was close to midnight, and if you’re familiar with Milton at midnight, that’s when things start “crack-a-lackin.”
David Simon sat on my little sister’s tricycle and started riding it. (I have a four-year-old sister, and yes, that means there is a 21-year age difference.)
I looked on and saw this grown man breaking the weight limit on my sister’s tricycle. I should have asked him nicely to stop destroying her toys, but instead, I took a big gulp of lemon water, and had one coherent thought – tricycle jousting.
We grabbed the tricycle, a red wagon (what’s one more toy crushed under the weight of a grown man), and two brooms, and soldiered our way to the driveway.
One person would take the tricycle and a broom to one end of the driveway while another person hopped in the wagon with the remaining broom at the other end of the driveway.
Two more participants, known as pushers, would position themselves behind the tricycle or wagon, and propel the jousters toward each other.
Simon was still on the three-wheeled chariot, and Jason Doty willingly (if you can believe that) climbed into the wagon.
The jousters were to approach each other and attempt to knock the other off with the bristles of the broom.
Whoever remained intact on his chariot would be declared the victor.
As pushers muscled the two gladiators toward each other, Doty screamed, “I am Jason, son of Doty.”
Simon returned his screaming rant with a battle cry of his own as the two grew closer.
The relentless crowd was torn between the two competitors as some booed and others cheered.
This was obviously an even match.
It would come down to who wanted it more.
The scene of two grown men approaching each other in such a way was not only disturbing, it was also hilarious.
And maybe it was the glass of lemon water that I had just downed or my sick sense of humor, but I was having a great time.
As Doty was hurled towards his opponent, you could see a crazed look in his eye.
Something took over. It was like Doty had decided to resolve some childhood complex right here and right now.
Simon caught Doty in the ribs, but a blow to the ribs could not slow Doty down.
He returned Simon’s blow with a chilling shot to Simon’s neck, sending him towards the heavens above, only to crash back down to the concrete driveway below.
Simon’s head bounced off the concrete like a basketball. Straw from the broom was in his neck.
We expected a whiplash, headache, and possibly internal bleeding, but he was not permanently scarred.
The crowd roared as they rushed the battlefield to congratulate the gladiators on such an honorable showing.
Doty feared backlash for his aggressive victory, but instead, was hoisted on the shoulders of the crowd and carried away to enjoy the spoils of war.
As for Simon, he has been viewing training tapes of the movie “Ben Hur” and vows revenge.