June 6, 1998.  Passing the torch. (#177)

I headed east on Coventry Boulevard, making the familiar drive to the De Anza house.  I had not been there for almost three weeks.  The guys who lived there hosted a weekly watch party for the TV series The X-Files, but the season had ended and the watch parties had been suspended with the show now in reruns for the summer.  The guys from the De Anza house were also the current hosts of the Man of Steel competition, and this was what brought me there on that Saturday morning, just before I would begin my last few days of classes and my last final exams as an undergraduate.

When I arrived, about a dozen guys were already there, including the six who lived at the De Anza house: Eddie Baker, John Harvey, Lars Ashford, Xander Mackey, Jason Costello, and Ramon Quintero.  I arrived on time, and in the following half hour, many more showed up.  I heard murmurs of others’ conversations through the din of voices, everything from routine small talk to talk of upcoming summer mission trips.  Lars, John, Jason, and Ramon were also playing GoldenEye on the Nintendo 64; I heard the sound effects from the game coming from the TV, as well as those four guys occasionally shouting at each other in response to being shot in the game.  My brother Mark had gotten that game for Christmas, but I had only played it a few times while I was home on break.  I was not very good at it.

This was my third time participating in the Man of Steel competition, an event held annually among the men of Jeromeville Christian Fellowship.  The events for this competition were the same as last year: disc golf, taco eating, and poker.  When I was a sophomore, Brian Burr and his roommates hosted the event.  They graduated that year and passed the hosting duties to Eddie.  Eddie was graduating this year, so someone else would have to take over as host next year.

In my first Man of Steel, a lot of very large guys dominated the eating contest, able to stuff ridiculous amounts of food in their large mouths.  Some of these guys were also really good at both disc golf and poker.  But all of those guys had graduated, and as I looked around the room, no clear favorites stood out to me.  JCF also had a large freshman class this year, and some of those freshmen, like 3 Silver and his friend Randy, looked like they could be formidable competitors.

At around 10:30, Eddie called us to attention.  “It’s time to begin,” he said.

“But we just started,” Lars protested from the other side of the room, where he and Ramon were now playing GoldenEye with 3 and another freshman, Blake Lowry.  “And Blake hasn’t gotten to play yet.”

“How long of a game did you set it to?” Eddie asked.

“Ten minutes.”

“Fine.  Finish your game.  No one start any new games.”  Eddie sounded a little annoyed, and I did not blame him.

At 10:38, thirty-eight minutes after our scheduled start time, the “one minute left” message flashed on the GoldenEye screen, and Eddie started getting our attention.  When the game ended, Eddie explained that we would be playing disc golf in groups of four, as always, and that we would leave every five minutes, and that we would be keeping to the schedule.  “No one start any new games of GoldenEye,” he specifically pointed out.  “The first group will be Raphael, 3, Todd, and Randy.”  I was not in the first group, so I walked around talking to people while I waited to be called.

“How’s it going, Greg?” Tim Walton said, shaking my hand.  Tim, with his relatively thin frame and Buddy Holly glasses, did not strike me as being particularly athletic, or one who would be a threat in the eating competition, but he could end up surprising me.  I should not underestimate my competition.

“Good,” I said.  “Hoping to keep improving.  My first time doing Man of Steel, I was terrible, but Eddie told me last year that if there had been a Most Improved award, it would have been me.  I hope I keep improving.”

“Good luck.  That’s a good attitude to have.  You’re graduating, but staying in Jeromeville, right?”

“Yes!  I can’t believe it’s almost over.  Just a few more classes, then finals.”

“And then the X-Files movie!”

“Yes!”

“There’s a big group of us going on the Friday afternoon when it opens.  Are you coming with us?”

“Yes.  And I can drive people too.”

“That’ll be fun.”

“What are you doing this summer?” I asked.

“Just going home working.  And I’ll be up here for the weekend for Scott and Amelia’s wedding, so I’ll probably see you then.”

“Yes.”

Tim’s disc golf foursome got called at that time, so he had to leave.  My foursome went next, five minutes later; I was with Blake, Jason, and Ajeet Tripathi.  The four of us walked outside.  The De Anza house was nicknamed for its location, on the corner of De Anza Drive and Avalon Way in north Jeromeville.  The Coventry Greenbelts, a series of connected bike trails with landscaping on either side, ran between people’s backyards in this part of Jeromeville, connecting two large parks and numerous smaller parks and playgrounds.  I discovered the Greenbelts three years earlier, during the spring of freshman year, while I was riding my bike around Jeromeville enjoying a nice day.  My life has never been the same, as recreational bike rides became a much more regular part of my life after that discovery.

One of the Greenbelt trails crossed Avalon Way just across the street from the De Anza house.  The instructions for the disc golf game said to cross the street and start from the large pine tree.  I pointed to what looked like a large pine tree in that direction, and as I approached, I saw a sign that said “START HERE” attached to the tree with duct tape.  “Here it is,” I said.  “Good luck.  Who’s going first?”

“Go for it,” Blake said.  “You’re the senior.”

“If we’re going by age, Jason’s older than me.  He already had his birthday this year.”

“I can go first,” Jason said.  “Where’s the hole?”

I read from the course instructions, then pointed a few hundred feet down the path and said, “That trash can down there, next to the bench.”  As in regular golf, we usually referred to our starting places as “tees” and the targets we had to hit as “holes,” even though they were not actual tees and holes in the ground.

Jason looked down the path and threw his disc.  The path to the first hole was long and straight, and his first throw easily covered more than half of the distance to the target.  I stepped up next, still using the disc that I had gotten from Brian Burr for the 1996 Man of Steel competition.  Brian’s faded initials were still on the back in black marker; I had added my name next to it, with my phone number in case I lost the disc and someone else found it.  I swung my arm back and forth a couple times, still holding the disc, trying to concentrate on throwing straight.  I had trouble throwing straight in previous years, and since I had not actively practiced, I tried to focus on throwing straight.  I pulled my arm back, then released it forward, letting the disc go; it flew relatively straight down the path, not as far as Jason’s but much more on course than some of my other disc throws had gone in the past.

After the others made their throws, we walked to where our discs were and continued throwing toward the trash can, in order from farthest to closest.  Jason hit the target in three throws.  My second throw landed about ten feet from the target.  I picked up the disc and nonchalantly tossed it at the target, nodding my head to show how easy this would be.  The disc sailed over the trash can and landed on the far end of the bench next to it, still about ten feet away from the target.  “D’oh!” I cried out in frustration, in the style of the television character Homer Simpson.

“Ooooh,” Blake said.

“But at least you did a pretty good Homer voice,” Ajeet added.  I looked at the trash can and concentrated as I carefully tossed the disc toward it; the disc lightly bounced off the trash can and fell to the ground.  I wrote down my score of four throws next to Jason’s three on the score sheet.  I had made a crucial mistake, being too careless on that last throw.  I told myself that I would learn from this mistake and not do that again.

We continued along the course, throwing our discs from pre-marked tees listed on the instructions, trying to hit some target in as few throws of the disc as possible.  Disc golf was usually my worst of the three events in this competition, but I felt like I was doing a little better than usual just by concentrating and not being careless.  When we returned to the De Anza house after 18 holes l knew that I was not in last place, because just within our foursome, my score was one throw better than Blake’s.

Taco eating was next, my strongest event from previous years.  The rules were the same as last year: competitors had one minute to eat a Taco Bell soft taco, then fifty-five seconds to eat another one, then fifty seconds to eat the next one, continuing in this fashion.  If someone left a taco unfinished when time ran out, that competitor was eliminated.  Our group got called fifth out of the six groups, and so far Ramon was in the lead with six tacos.  Last year I made it to eight, so I was feeling pretty confident.

“Go!” Eddie shouted.  I finished the first taco relatively quickly and took a breath, preparing for the next one.  I ate the second and third tacos more slowly, trying to pace myself, but still with time left.  By the fifth taco, I was starting to feel rushed, but I managed to swallow the last of it just as time was expiring.  Blake did not; he was eliminated first in our foursome.  I did not finish swallowing the sixth taco in time, but I managed to fit what was left in my mouth in time.  Jason and Ajeet were both eliminated when the thirty-five seconds for taco number six expired.

I was the last one standing in our foursome.  I survived taco number seven, but half-chewed unfinished lumps of tacos number six and seven remained in my mouth as I began eating taco number eight.  I swallowed as much as I could as the twenty-five seconds for taco number eight began, then took a large bite, trying to chew as much as I could.  I swallowed more when Eddie called out that ten seconds remained; I had to make room to shove the rest of taco number eight in my mouth.  As Eddie counted down, I closed my lips around what remained of the last few tacos.

I swallowed, but now I had only twenty seconds for taco number nine.  I tore this taco apart with my fingers, covering my hands with grease.  I swallowed again, then opened my mouth, practically inhaling half of taco number nine.  As Eddie started counting down, “Five, four, three,” I swallowed quickly and used the palm of my hand to shove the other half of taco number nine inside.  I closed my lips just as time expired.

“Go!” Eddie shouted.  “Fifteen seconds!”  I swallowed and took a bite of taco number ten, trying to chew it as Eddie gave the ten-second warning.  I realized quickly that this was not going to happen.  I tried shoving the rest of taco number ten in my mouth as Eddie counted down, but I still had half of the taco sticking out of my mouth as time expired.  I was done, with a score of nine.  I raised my arms, excited for my accomplishment, as a mixture of lettuce, cheese, and taco drool began to drop down my chin.  Everyone cheered for me, in the lead with only one more group to go.  I got a little nervous watching 3 and Lars both finish taco number six, but 3 spit everything out of his mouth shortly after that, and Lars finished with seven. The eating event was over, and for that event, I was alone in first place.

For the final event, poker, we each started with one dollar in pennies, and we played for one hour in our same groups of four.  We took turns dealing, and the dealer chose which variety of poker we played each turn.  I played relatively conservatively, folding when I felt like I was not getting a good hand, and not betting too big when I did.  About halfway through the event, after  I had already folded, Ajeet went all in, confident that his ace-high straight would win, but Jason beat him with a flush.  Ajeet was eliminated.

In one hand of seven-card stud, with about ten minutes remaining, I had a pair of queens face down.  My first two face up cards were both sixes; I had two pair, and no one knew it.  This could work to my advantage, I thought as I nervously raised the bet.  I became a little less sure of what I was doing when the other two raised their bets as well.  On the sixth card, I received another queen face up.  I had a full house.  Blake had 7-8-9 showing, and he raised my bet; he probably had a straight, but my full house beat his straight.  On the final round of betting, after one more face down card, Jason raised.  He had three spades showing, so I guessed he might have a flush.  Blake matched his raise.  I looked at the others’ cards.  Jason and Blake both had a king face up, and my last face down card was a king, so no one could possibly have a king-high full house.  I could lose to an ace-high full house, but since no other pairs were showing, this was only possible if Jason’s face down cards were two aces and a card matching one of his face-up cards.  Blake had no ace showing.  I could also lose to four of a kind if someone had three face-down cards all of the same rank as one of their face-up cards.  These scenarios were unlikely, so I raised again.  Jason matched my raise, and Blake dropped out.

“What do you have?” Jason asked.

“Full house,” I said, showing my queens in the hole.

“Nice,” Jason replied.  “That beats my flush.  I thought both of you were bluffing.”

“I was bluffing,” Blake said, showing that he did not in fact have a straight.

I moved the large pot in front of me.  I won another hand in the ten minutes we had left, and by the time the hour was up, I had close to three hundred pennies in front of me.

Eddie tapped me on the shoulder after the poker games finished.  “Greg?  Can you come help me figure out the winner?”

“Sure,” I replied.  I felt honored to be included.

Eddie and I went to his bedroom, where he showed me a sheet of paper listing all of the twenty-three participants and their scores for the three events.  “Usually, we just rank each person first, second, third, and so on for each event, then we add the total of what places they finished, and the Man of Steel is whoever has the lowest total.  If there’s a tie, then we can look at other things.”

“Sounds good,” I said.  Eddie began ranking the disc golf scores, and I ranked the taco scores. I finished before Eddie did, so I did the poker rankings next.  I was particularly interested in my own scores; I was in first place in taco eating and third place in poker.  Not bad.  I looked over at Eddie’s score sheet for disc golf; my tenth place was solidly in the middle of the pack.  Definitely an improvement from last year.

Eddie and I began adding everyone’s three places to see who had the best total.  “It’s kind of different this year,” Eddie remarked, “because there’s no one who did well in all three events.”

“I see that,” I said.  “Randy got third in disc golf, seventh in eating, and first in poker.  That’s a total of eleven.  Did anyone do better than that?”

After Eddie finished adding the last few people, he said, “Eleven? No, no one has a total lower than eleven.  So Randy is our new Man of Steel.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a freshman win before.  Where did everyone else finish?  Who is the runner-up?”

Eddie and I looked at our scratch work, then looked up at each other, the realization coming to us at exactly the same moment.  I looked back at the paper, unable to believe what I was seeing, but there it was, plain as day.  The numbers did not lie.  “Greg!” Eddie said.  “You’re in second place!  You’re the runner-up Man of Steel!”

“I know!” I replied.  “How did I do that?”

“Good job!” Eddie exclaimed, patting me on the back.

“I guess since no one was really strong in all three events, the top prizes this year went to people who were strong in two events and not horrible in the third,” I said.  “And I had a good poker game and improved my disc golf.”

Eddie and I went back to the living room, where the others awaited our announcement.  “In second place,” Eddie said, “Greg Dennison!”  I smiled as everyone cheered for me.

“It was fixed!” Lars called out.  “Greg was counting the scores!”

“I can show you the numbers,” I said.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you.  Congratulations, Greg.”

“And in first place,” Eddie continued, “your 1998 Man of Steel, the first freshman to win in as long as any of us can remember: Randy Smith!”  Everyone cheered more loudly as Randy pumped his fist and gave a celebratory yell.  Eddie then said, “And since I’m graduating, Randy, Blake, Tim, and 3 will be taking over next year as the hosts of Man of Steel.  They’ll be roommates in Pine Grove Apartments.”  Everyone cheered again.

I would participate in two more Man of Steel competitions, the official one at Pine Grove the following year, and an unofficial one which served as Eddie’s bachelor party in 2001.  Randy, Blake, Tim, and 3 were great hosts, but I never came closer to winning than my second-place finish in 1998.  The torch was passing, and my Man of Steel career would come to an end soon.

I was back at the De Anza house the following night for the Jeromeville Christian Fellowship senior banquet, proudly wearing my Man of Steel shirt.  In previous years, Man of Steel participants received a t-shirt, but this year, we decided to be more fancy.  Eddie and his housemates had ordered polo shirts, blue-gray in color, with the words “Man of Steel” stitched into the right chest.  Several people who had not been there asked how the competition went, and I smiled and shared that I came in second.

During that senior banquet, Janet McAllen from the JCF staff team said, “I remember, back when you guys were freshmen, I was thinking that it’ll be bittersweet when you graduate.  So many of you from your class were so active in this fellowship, and so active in doing work for the Kingdom of God.  But the good news is that I feel the same way about this year’s freshman class.  So I know that you will be passing the torch and leaving the fellowship in good hands.”

It was time to pass the torch.  I had another year at the University of Jeromeville, with my student teaching coming up next year, and I would continue to attend JCF when I could.  But I would have other priorities next year.  All of us at that senior banquet were growing up, going out into the real world, and others were coming to take our place leading this fellowship.  I was not sure exactly what the future would hold, but the time I had spent in JCF was preparing me for the future spiritually, and I had made some of the best friendships of my life during that time. 

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Readers: Tell me about a time you did better in a competition than you expected to.

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