This past Labor Day weekend, I made my second consecutive appearance at the Elite National Championship, this time in unfamiliar territory of New Orleans, Louisiana.
In Japanese, thunder and lightning are combined into one fancy word called "kaminari." I haven't figured out which is more scary: lightning or thunder. One is visible, I guess, and the other is audible, but both wouldn't be as scary without the other. The sheer energy that is contained within that lightning bolt striking down to the earth is enough to make a grown man shudder, but following that the deep, baritone rumble of thunder just causes anyone to take notice and briefly, just briefly, wonder if the sky is going to collapse and the world come to an end. At least, for a guy who's gotten used to the friendly confines of Southern California for the last several years. I was fascinated by the thunder, probably the same feeling as a kid experiencing their first thunderstorm or the reason so many fantasy games have lightning/electricity as well of the attacks/elements/types of pokemon in their games, due to the elemental power of lightning that is easily contrasted with the other elementals of water and fire (and conveniently, the yellow varies nicely with the other blue and red hues)
Speaking of fantasy games, I always wondered what type of Pokemon/warrior I would be if I had a "type," and I've always felt it would be water: I drink a lot of water, I can swim, I feel pretty natural in water (other than being completely seasick when in choppy waters), and I am still a little afraid of electricity, even as a grown man (kind of like Thunder Buddies in the comedy Ted). That's why when i was wading in the pool at the Hilton Garden Inn in New Orleans this weekend and suddenly heard thunder in the distance, I got out immediately. Nothing like a little thunderstorm to halt a swim: my local swimming pool in Darien, IL back when I was a kid would always whistle everything to a halt and have everybody go into the clubhouse for some other games to wait out the storm, or if it was really bad just send everybody home, so I've never been an avid supporter of thunder/lightning. There is a certain charm and mystique about it, though, that I will readily admit, but I'd like to just stay as far away from it as possible. Even when driving through a thunderstorm sometimes I wonder, "what's stopping lightning from hitting my car and electrocuting me through the steel?"
Thunder can be accurately analogized to the sheer force of a pinched 8.5 dodgeball. Yes, in addition to normal dodgeball in a gym, trampoline dodgeball played on a trampoline court, and large rubber ball dodgeball (played with a 8.5 inch rubber dodgeball that stings- there's a reason why no-sting balls have their name, because they don't sting like these 8.5 inch balls), there is something called a "pinch 8.5" dodgeball that until recently I scoffed as just another variation, but now I revere with respect those who have the audacity to step onto a dodgeball court with 8.5 balls and pinch in play. 8.5 balls normally sting if one hits your body like a brick thrown softly bouncing off your chest, but because they can't be flung TOO hard the force is mitigated. However, with pinch, that brick in a player's hand turns into a certified hammer flung at 70 MPH at one's body, and it doesn't like being stopped by human flesh. The explosion of hitting one's flesh is borderline criminal, more than taking one's breath away, it leaves the skin numb to the touch for awhile, and more than a couple times I doubled over in pain after getting hit by one, in addition to the emotional pain of being out of the game. It is not for the faint of heart, and wading into a 8.5 pinch court really takes as much gall (or recklessness/ stupidity, depending on who you ask) as swimming outside when seeing lightning/hearing thunder.
Fantasize on,
Robert Yan
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