I’m not shaming fat people.
Hell, I used to be one myself.
When I was working as a French chef, I weighed 280 pounds.
And I wasn’t any taller.
I got my fat honestly from being a raging alcoholic and eating French delicacies day and night. And any reasonable person might think I would be thinner what with all the cocaine I stuffed up my nose.
Fat does not mean you cannot be athletic.
Charles Barkley was an NBA All-Star and member of the basketball Hall of Fame.
He was fat.
One of his nicknames was “The Round Mound of Rebound.”
But man could he ball.
When I lived in Japan as a small boy I would go to the sumo wrestling matches against my parents’ wishes. They objected to me going because it was filled with seedy characters and prostitutes. What they did not know (along with a BUNCH of other stuff), is that I was friends with all the seedy characters and prostitutes due to all the trips to the whorehouses my brother would take me along to.
Talk about athletic.
These guys, some weighing in the four-hundred pound range are fast and strong. In a match, when they start, the meet in the center of the ring. The collision is violent. Sometimes you can hear their heads hit and it sounds like coconuts, but there’s nothing funny about the action.
I grew to love the sport and even followed my own wrestlers vying to be named a Grand Champion, or Yokozuna.
I was safe there, what with all the crazy motherfuckers smoking, screaming and waving their wager slips, and the working girls bringing me sodas. There was a four-foot cloud of cigarette smoke hanging from the ceiling in the small arena.
Bottles of Akadama wine were being passed around and I even got a couple swigs. Maybe Mom didn’t want her seven-year old son to be drinking with the whores at a sumo match.
I wonder if that’s why she did not want me going there.
You have to remember that we did not live on the Air Force base when we first moved to Japan. My mother always insisted we assimilate as much culture from our host countries, so instead, we lived about eighty miles away (by train) in a tiny farming community. My brother and I were the very first Americans that any of the townsfolk had ever seen. It was pretty cool, because our celebrity status did come with “perks” as Gordon Gecko might say. No, not in the form of a blond hooker in a limousine (that would come later), but the small, close-knit town welcomed us with open arms.
I got free sno-cones, bubble gum, and yummy yakitori sticks from my new friends. My money was no good with these awesome people, and I still retain fond memories of my very first girlfriend and the kindness extended me by her family.