The guys at this school are overly macho. Well at least some of them are.
If I had nickel for every time I saw a guy on campus with a cut-off tee or for that matter without a shirt altogether I wouldn’t be on a strict Odwalla Bar diet due to insufficient Caf funds. The feeling whispers of a silent competition to be the tannest best volleyball-playing six-packed “bro” on dorm row. And yes that did rhyme.
My suitemate Ryan Axelrod is convinced he can beat me up and wants to prove it. You’re probably asking yourself “Wow I wonder how Ben backed him into such a dire situation that full-blown assault became his only option?” I’d be thinking the same thing. But the truth of the situation is that I didn’t do anything. Nothing. Zilch.
Well actually that’s a little white lie. In jest I surmised that I could defeat his video game likeness (from “EA Sports MMA” Xbox game) in a fight a sentence that when looked at closely isn’t farfetched. Of course in the event that I somehow were able to fight his Xbox avatar I most certainly would win since it’s a non-sentient being made up entirely of 1s and 0s.
This inevitably sent him into a fit of rage that would have made Phillip Wellman look tame (YouTube it). Upon hearing my accusation Ryan paused the game and took his shirt off which caused me quite a bit of discomfort. But nonetheless he did not put the disembodied shirt back on his torso. After a few minutes of various muscle flexes obscure exercises and not-so-discreet verbal jabs I was exasperated. But then again I can’t say I wasn’t surprised with the outcome; after all I had questioned his manhood.
If there is one thing sacred at Pepperdine besides the whole Church of Christ thing it’s the idea that you don’t inquire about a guy’s masculinity. The ambiguity allows us all to walk around campus knowing in our heads that we are the Alpha Male (despite this being a blatant contradiction of the term’s definition). What I’m trying to say today though is that every guy here needs to just exhale and calm down a little. Because when it gets down to tacks guys never really find themselves in a situation that demands their manliness be tested and in light of that fact this whole act we keep performing is pointless.
I could totally take Ryan Axelrod. In the heat of our argument with Ryan standing right up in my grill amidst the effervescent glows of his “World of Warcraft” game emanating from his laptop I decided the whole idea of actually wrestling or punching each other to answer our debate was asinine and ultimately immature. So I did what anyone would do: I scurried back to my room made sure the door was locked called my mother to tell her I was OK and then meditated on what a fight between us would look like in theory.
And it didn’t end up very well for Ryan Axelrod. Some guy somewhere — I think it might have been an owner of a large utensil distribution factory — said “The pen is mightier than the sword.” I couldn’t agree more which is why I developed a list of reasons why I would defeat Ryan Axelrod in the situation that we engaged in a pugilistic affair. These are strictly objective facts:
1. Ryan weighs 130 pounds holding two 25-pound dumbbells in either hand having just exited a swimming pool wearing one of those infantile swimsuits with the weights attached to them to encourage buoyancy. I on the other hand am 165 pounds of cut steel shirtless standing in the middle of the Mojave Desert.
2. The California State Athletic Commission wouldn’t even sanction our fight because of the differing weight classes. That means professional judges commissioners and doctors view it unlawful for a man of my size to attack a man of his stature in an organized fashion. The only way we could fight would be if he gained 20 to 30 pounds and the amount of training that would require would surely drain his cardio resulting in a grueling three-round decision victory for myself.
3. Ryan “claims” he joined an MMA gym in Los Angeles recently which is a bigger joke than Philip Wellman (seriously if you haven’t YouTubed it yet you’re missing out). Regardless of his questionable membership I received a white belt in Ka-ra-te during my 18 months of training in the gritty streets of Taipei Taiwan. Granted I was seven but the way of the warrior never leaves you.
4. My fighting nickname “The Quiet White Storm (I couldn’t decide between that and something related to my paleness, so I just combined the two) is infinitely more creative than his Most Dangerous Man Alive” moniker which he shares with literally every other boxer in the world.
5. Let’s get real. We’re talking about Ry-Dog. I’d pick him up slam him into the ground and then rain down punches in his general direction until he questioned his faith in the Lord Almighty. At this point he’d give up put his shirt back on and go back to fighting with his Xbox.
Hardly any of us males on campus have ever been in a fight — although dude this one time I was so close to dropping this punk that called me a wuss at this party — or ever will though it’s safe to say we’re all ready for when that moment comes. I’m never going to fight Ryan Axelrod but on paper (this paper) at least the evidence points to my victory and that’s good enough for me.
