Advice From a Famous Opium Dealer

-Chung Mee
Volunteers

Back in his fighting days, The Whaler once beat up a man because his first name was Jesse.

Jesse!

Can you believe it? The guy was named Jesse?!?

As The Whaler's knuckles were carving divots into Jesse's swollen face, Jesse cried out through the soupy solution of blood and saliva that was curdling in his throat, "Why are you doing this to me? Please. Stop.”

To which The Whaler responded in rhythm with his punches, "Because I'm trying to beat that God-awful name out of you!"

A day later in a conference with his court-appointed lawyer, The Whaler was advised that his case might be helped a bit if only he would claim that he'd mistakenly assaulted the wrong man. "Tell the judge you thought he was The Shrimper,” the lawyer suggested.

The Whaler cocked an eyebrow and laughed proudly and dismissively. "A case of mistaken identity? Hah! I beat up that man because his name was Jesse.”

Three weeks later at a pre-trial hearing and to everyone's surprise, Jesse dropped all charges against The Whaler. Jesse had decided that The Whaler was right, that the name Jesse is for weenies. Seems Jesse's girlfriend had dumped him two days prior. She'd told him she could no longer stand to date a man named Jesse.

Seeing that the prosecution no longer had a case, the judge banged his gavel against his bench and declared The Whaler a free man. The Whaler threw a straightened arm up into the air, his fist clenched tightly. "I am vindicated!” he shouted. His lawyer hugged him and wept.

You wonder why I'm telling you this story, why I'm revealing to the world my history as a brute. I'm telling you about Jesse because I'm trying to avoid what's on everyone's mind: The GoldenPalace.com Grilled Cheese Bowl on February 1st in New York City. I don't want to write about it because reading about it's not good for Eater X's state of mind. He's already nervous enough; he hasn't trained in forever, his grilled cheese record is history, and his swagger is completely gone. When I watch him when I'm visiting, and when I talk to his city friends who see him more often than I do, I worry about him. Eater X sleeps with a grilled cheese sandwich packed underneath his pillow. He walks the streets of New York City with a grilled cheese sandwich tucked into the triangle formed by his forearm, torso and hand, daring everyone he passes to try to knock it free. If you're foolish enough to accept his challenge, he'll stiff-arm your face, juke to the right, run 20 yards behind an invisible blocker and then spike his sandwich on the ground before picking it up and continuing on. At first I brushed off his behavior as his typical eccentricities, until this morning, when I stopped by his apartment early and caught him lovingly cleaning the burnt crumbs from his grilled cheese with the dull edge of a butter knife. He was softly reciting these words:

This is my sandwich. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My sandwich is my best friend. It is my life. I must master my sandwich as I must master my life. My sandwich without me is useless. Without my sandwich, I am useless…Thus I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories…We will become part of each other. Before God I swear this creed.

I have never witnessed that exact moment when whatever holds a man together snaps, but I wonder now if for Eater X perhaps that moment is near. If Eater X challenges the field for first place next month, I'll know that he was focused and fine and that I was overreacting. But if that starting bell rings and the eaters start eating and Eater X just stares at his food and wets himself, I'll know for sure that something was terribly wrong. For now, because I've just watched Volunteers, I'll give Eater X the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, as Chung Mee explained, he's just doing what he must do. But I'll be keeping a close eye on him anyway, and if he steps out of line any farther, does anything else that even makes me wonder about his sanity, I'll have two good fists ready to knock some sense into him, just like I did with Jesse.