Two Questions By Mike Freeman

 Two Questions

By Mike Freeman

Is life fair? Are our laws always just? In one day, I discovered the answers to these critical questions.

My high school water polo team attends a tournament in Visalia, California. Both varsity and junior varsity teams are playing. Our long, hot, summer drive concludes with a team meeting in an air-conditioned hotel room.

Towards the end of the meeting, our coach turns to me and says, "I have good news and bad news for you."

Everyone looks at me. They know this is a setup. I am a sophomore trying to make the varsity team. I cannot show nervousness or fear to my upperclassman teammates.

With fake bravado, I respond, "What's the good news?"

Our coach says,"You are the starting varsity goalie for the entire tournament."

"That's great," I say with shaky confidence.

"What's the bad news?"

"You are the starting goalie for the junior varsity team for the entire tournament," he replies.

None of my fellow goalies are on this trip. All canceled at the last minute. One is sick. Another is on a two-week family vacation. A "mystery" injury claims another. The injury occurs when my goalie teammate finds out his girlfriend's parents are out of town during the tournament weekend.

It is common for a water polo team to play two games in a day during tournaments, sometimes three.

I look at the tournament schedule for both teams with trepidation. I begin to comprehend the upcoming nightmare of playing five water polo games on the first day. I will emerge from the pool a human prune wearing a Speedo! Between warm-ups and games, there will be no breaks the entire day.

The entire team is laughing. I am not.

"You always wanted more playing time," the coach chuckles.

My team is giggling with him. I am not.

The tournament starts the next day. We win the first varsity and junior varsity games. Visalia has a semi-arid climate. Our coach tells us to stay in the shade as much as possible. The temperature is in the mid-to-high 90s. After a game, everyone immediately scampers for shade. I don't. I go to the warm-ups for the next game.

"How does it feel to be such a water polo stud?" one of my underclassmen teammates yells at me in mock sympathy.

"Something you will never know!" I reply. Many upperclassmen laugh. Managing team banter is important.

By the end of the third game, I am starving. I cannot eat and stay out of the pool for the 30 to 60 minutes afterwards to avoid stomach cramps. So I starve. I feel like a living skeleton wrapped in wrinkled skin.

Many of my teammates have time for lunch. They eat in the shade while some shout encouragement to me.

"Come up on deck and have a hamburger," they say. They know I can't.

One of the junior varsity players yells, "I will share my French fries with you!"

I calculate if I have enough time before the next game to climb out of the pool and start shoving French fries up his nostrils. The game buzzer saves him.

Sun exposure is becoming another issue for me. It takes a toll living a  shade-free life and looking into sun-reflecting water. I have to drink water to stay hydrated while playing in water. How ironic is this?

I can't wear sunglasses. An opponent's shot might hit me in the face resulting in a bloody mess. My arms and face are starting to show sunburn. The invention of sunscreen is a decade away. A little zinc oxide on the nose might help but that only protects the nose. It makes me look like a scarecrow.

Our opponents for the fourth game are finishing their warm-ups. I notice their goalie is wearing a baseball catcher's mask. This is not good. It sends a strong message to my team that he is afraid of being hit in the face with the ball. Not a good fear for a goalie.

Some of my team members notice the goalie and mask. There is mumbling and some giggling. Nothing coherent is said. Everybody understands what needs to be done. By halftime, we have a dominating lead. Now the fun begins.

There is significant halftime betting on which of our players will cause the goalie's mask to come off with a shot. The goalie might as well put a bull's-eye target on his face. The pounding is immediate and relentless. Finally, the goalie rips the mask off his face and throws it out of the pool. This is the first intelligent thing he does the entire game. My teammates relent.

This entertaining game temporarily distracts me from my misery. I have one game to go. Exhausted, wrinkled, starving, and with sun-crinkled skin, I survive it. Time to eat!

The rest of the team thinks they are starving. I know I am. Our coach reads our minds and takes us to Sir George's "All you can eat!" Smorgasbord. I salivate for the upcoming 8,000-calorie mega-meal.

The team sits down in a long line of tables. We get up to fill our plates. I build a mountain of roast beef on top of mashed potatoes and gravy, sprinkled with vegetables, and crowned with a roll. I am more interested in quantity than quality. My first plate of food disappears. I don't remember tasting it. My belly says I ate it.

I fill up my second plate with food that I didn't get on my first plate. I remember tasting it more. It starts to take the edge off my stomach pains. The rest of the team joins me in feasting.

The rest of the team, appetites satiated, starts choosing from the dessert table. Two to three desserts per person is common.

"The restaurant owner is losing money tonight." I think.

With the third plate of food, I become more thoughtful about choices. I select items I enjoy the most in massive quantities. I enjoy eating this food immensely.

I get up for my fourth plate of food. A man appears over my shoulder.

"Excuse me, I am the restaurant manager."

"Good food," I say while walking towards the buffet.

He stops me.

"I am sorry. You have had enough food," he says.

"The sign says all you can eat," I reply.

"That doesn't mean you can make a pig of yourself."

The entire team is watching now. A few customers join them.

I turn to the manager saying, "Your sign says all you can eat and that is what I'm going to do!"

"Sir, you need to pay your bill and leave. Now."

My teammates are finishing their desserts and refreshing their sodas in anticipation of the upcoming entertainment. There is a sputter of laughing and murmuration along our team bench. More customers are paying attention.

"I will not pay my bill until I have eaten all I want. Just like the sign says." I am escalating my voice to ensure his customers witness his actions.

The manager retorts saying, "Pay your bill now and leave. Or I will have Mabel call the police."

I turn to look at Mabel. She is an elderly woman with gray hair and glasses. She is approximately 300 pounds of feminine fury piled on top of a barstool by the cash register.

"I'd pay the bill, son," Mabel advises me.

I am done with this day and all of its aggravation. I have no more patience. I only want to attend to my hunger.

"Shut up, Mabel, and call the police!" I say with self-righteous volume and tone.

My teammates are aghast. They are getting much more entertainment than anticipated.

Some of them back me up, exclaiming, "He's right!"

A few customers sitting around our team bench agree. New restaurant patrons walk in during our argument, turn around, and leave. The manager is now losing the crowd and money.

Mabel calls the police. They arrive in a few minutes.

The manager and I tell our stories. People gather around to watch and share opinions. I am confident I am right. This is clearly false advertising. I half hope they handcuff the manager and lead him away as his clientele throws food at him. Maybe they bring a forklift and take Mabel too!

The two policemen turn to me and say," You have to pay your bill and leave."

I am appalled. My teammates in the crowd join me. How can this be fair? It's clearly false advertising. How can this be happening?

I go up to Mabel and pay my bill. My teammates and several customers follow me out to the parking lot.

"We will never eat here again!" they say.

Several adults in the parking lot encourage me, saying, "Son, you were right to do what you did."

The police look at me explaining, "A business manager has the right to refuse service to anyone. We are sorry. We know it does not seem fair but it is the law. That restaurant manager is a fool. He lost more money arguing with you than he would've letting you eat."

The police get in their car and leave. My team piles into cars returning to our hotel. The crowd in the parking lot dissipates, never returning to that restaurant again.

I learned two important facts that day. The world is not fair. Our laws do not always result in justice. Why did I ever think otherwise?