2019 tummy ache disaster

I was at my weekly BeyBlade meet up in the local children's park when my life got turned flipside.  We were huddled around the pit, where our machines of mayhem and destruction would fight to the death in a twisted mash of metal and speed, ready to throw down, when the question as to what music we should listen to…

I was at my weekly BeyBlade meet up in the local children's park when my life got turned flipside.  We were huddled around the pit, where our machines of mayhem and destruction would fight to the death in a twisted mash of metal and speed, ready to throw down, when the question as to what music we should listen to during the battle came up.

Steven "GraveDigger" Thomas requested that we blast ‘Slayer - raining blood’ but he always says that and everyone goes a little quiet until somebody has a better suggestion.

"All star by Smashmouth."  I say "For our fallen brother."  We all do the sign of the cross and I see Sweaty Pete pour a little of his soda on the ground.  And so the music plays and the beys blade...

I whip my custom rig into a frenzy, my opponent of the last 10 years still hasn't worked out the subtle pieces of aluminum I've soldered to my blade to weigh it in such a fashion that he hasn't a chance.  Every week we do the same dance and every week he leaves crying.  He's 34 years old now and still cries every week in the park with me.  I've tried to rationalize why a grown ass man who still lives with his mother would humiliate himself over and over again so consistently and the only explanation I can come to is that he does this as a form of penance for something he posted on the internet that week.  This is his flagellation, I am his torturer and redeemer.  I smile a smug smile as his pathetic beyblade is shattered in the ring and spins out of the bowl as mine dances in the middle, a gladiator of modern times reveling in carnage.

And like clockwork, he's picking up the damaged parts of his probably wish dot com beyblade pieces from the arena blubbering that he'll get me next time.  I look around at the group triumphantly but they all look at me like I should have let him win for once.  Erm.. No.

Smash mouth ends and we are all feeling a little sad.  "Guess your tool wasn't the sharpest in the shed huh?" I quip and I receive a punch in the arm for my gallows humor.  DJ Arduino asks what song are we gonna play for the next battle and Grave Digger Thomas requests 'Superman by goldfinger' as he loved that track on the Tony Hawks Soundtrack.

"The what?" I ask, confused, is he drunk?

"The Tony Hawks pro skater soundtrack."  He re-iterates to me sternly.

"No you idiot, its Gnomey Hawks Pro Skater" I tell him, looking at everyone else like the guys a fucking idiot.

"No. You are wrong, it's TONY HAWKS" He says.

I pull out my phone and google Gnomey Hawks, the game I've probably put a thousand hours into when I was a kid and it keeps auto correcting to Tony Hawks.  I'm getting a little panicked.  I remember vividly playing a tiny skateboarding gnome doing mad tricks like Gnome Air and grinding around the back garden level.  But there's nothing.  Everything is 'Tony Hawk', like thats a real fucking name.

I'm sweating a little but everyone is staring at me intensely and the peer pressure gets under my skin.

"Oh yeah TONY Hawks, sorry I was err confused for a second there.  Too much adrenaline from the last battle I guess..."

Everyone has a little laugh and goldfinger plays as the next two warriors enter the bey blade arena.  I'm trying to concentrate on their dance of death but my mind is elsewhere, thinking back to when I was 14 playing Gnomey Hawk on my chipped playstation.  Remembering buying the game from the guy at the car boot on an unmarked disc.  Has my whole life been a lie?