Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Beckhamania

The last day of competition in the Ballbusting Olympics started with a bang.

My cameraman Chad and I were going through some notes in the central control room.

The audience was taking their seats. We had sold more than 150 tickets, and we were very happy with that. About two thirds of the people had taken their seats. The audience comprised mostly young men in their twenties. I recognized some of the guys’ faces and I assumed that many of them had watched most if not all of our past contests.

I was starting to tell that to Chad but before I could open my mouth, something happened that made the audience whisper and point at the door.

Chad had noticed, too, and both of us turned our heads to see what they were pointing at.

Chad whispered to me: “Is that---“

“David Beckham”, I said slowly.

“Is it him?”

“I--- I don’t know… He looks like him.”

“But is it really---“

“Chad, I don’t know!”

“I just---“

“I don’t know, Chad!”

Chad shrugged.

We watched the guy who stood at the entrance. He was talking to someone and was completely oblivious to the commotion that was going on in the audience.

Chad tapped my shoulder. “Why don’t you ask him?“



I shot him an annoyed glance and he shut up.

The I looked to the entrance again and watched the guy. He sure looked like David Beckham. He was quite tall, around 6’, he seemed to have the right age, around 30, he had haircut and the clothing, but most of all he had the attitude that I expected a star like David Beckham to display in a situation like this. He obviously couldn’t care less whether people recognized him or pointed at him – either it was him or a very talented impostor.

Chad tapped my shoulder again. “Could you---”

“I’m not going to ask him whether he is David Beckham!”

Chad was silent.

Suddenly Kev came running towards us. He was already dressed for the competition, i.e. he was naked except for a pair of skimpy boxer briefs.

He was breathless and pointed at the door. “Is that---“

“We don’t know”, Chad mumbled. “And he’s not going to ask him…”

Kev looked at me and shook his head. “But---“

I groaned. “I’m not going to ask him!”

The three of us watched the David-Beckham-ish guy sign some autographs.

“He is signing autographs”, Kev observed cleverly.

I rolled my eyes. “We’ll start in a few minutes, so could everybody please do what they’re supposed to be doing?!”

Kev and Chad didn’t move.

The door to the locker rooms opened and the three heads of the skaterboys appeared.

They looked in the direction of the crowd that was forming around the presumed celebrity. Then they looked at us and started walking towards us.

“Great”, I groaned.

Leo, Sammy and Tristan had big smiles on their faces.

Leo was the one to ask the obvious question. “Hi guys, is that---“

I glanced at him. “Listen, I don’t know! We’ll just have to wait and see what---“

Suddenly we heard a dull thud and a miserable groan followed by deafening cheers and applause.

We looked at the crowd and saw one of the members of the audience clutching his crotch and grimacing in pain.

Another one was standing in front of the David-Beckham-guy with his legs spread. He was in his late teens, blond and attractive, smiling and encouraging the soccer player (lookalike) to kick his balls, while one of his friends taped everything with his camera phone.

The David-Beckham-guy shrugged and grinned. Then he took a step back and brought his leg up into the waiting boy’s groin.

The blond cutie let out a shrill squeak and collapsed on the floor.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

“It’s him!” Kev said.

“We still don’t know if---“

A blood-curdling scream echoed through the gym as another guy’s testicles were kicked by the undoubtedly strong legs of the Becks-man.

“Okay, I’m convinced”, I said.

Some ten or twelve guys were lining up to get their balls kicked by the English soccer star.

He looked like he was enjoying himself. He was laughing and joking and signing autographs in between kicks.

He had a very effective way of sending the guys to the ground and within a matter of minutes he had scored a dozen match-winning kicks and wrecked two dozen young, juicy balls.

Twelve guys were lying on the ground, nursing their battered genitals and moaning in pain, while the crowd that surrounded them was clapping and cheering.

One of the guys on the ground, a handsome black-haired jock, slowly got up and went for seconds. He opened the fly of his jeans and got his nuts out. He grimaced in pain. Then he grinned and talked to the soccer player.

David Beckham grinned and nodded. He grabbed his marker with his right hand and the boy’s balls with his left. Then he signed his name on the boy’s nuts and laughed.

The boy was beaming with pride and stood in front of the soccer player. His signed nuts were hanging out of the fly of his jeans, slightly red and definitely vulnerable.

David shook his head in disbelief. The crowd edged him on and he took a step back. With a running start, he kicked the happy boy’s balls and sent him to the ground howling in pain, while the crowd cheered and clapped and patted Beckham’s shoulders.

The English star laughed and shook a few hands before he went to the exit and left the gym, leaving behind one hundred happy spectators and a few crunched nuts.

“Incredible”, I said slowly.

The skaters, Kev and Chad nodded.

Phil came through the door and walked towards us.

“Hi”, he grinned.

“You won’t believe who’s been here just a minute ago!” Kev said with unconcealed excitement in his voice.
Phil looked around and spotted the moaning guys that were writhing on the ground and cupping their balls.

“David Beckham?” he asked.

We were speechless.

“We met for tea”, Phil continued. “I told him about the Olympics, and he said he would like to meet you. Did he say hello?”

“Well”, I said slowly. “I guess he was busy.”

Phil shrugged. “Oh, well, perhaps some other time…”

He walked to the locker rooms.

Chad tapped my shoulder. “If you’d gone over and asked him---“

“Shut up, Chad”, I said. “We’ve got five minutes before the competition starts!"

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