Once upon a time, I profiled a good friend of mine who is a source of endless comedy: Nate Sweet. By no means do I want to do that again. His ego is still deflating. However, I am interested in him nonetheless. Nate is a newfound NARP (non-athletic regular person). From a long career of breakdancing and exposure to high-kicking form of martial arts during his time abroad, Nate ruined his hips: he just absolutely pillaged the lining of his hip capsule. Because of this, he had to go under the knife to have them repaired.
So now, Nate is a medically necessary NARP. Unlike his former teammates and tentative friends, Nate was able to go to Winterfest, the scourge of hotel workers and bouncers at Crested Butte. Winterfest has always been like Narnia for me; I’ve never been but I know there is some snow involved and everyone is dressed like a creature. I’m pretty sure there is more alcohol at Winterfest than in Narnia but it’s been awhile since I’ve read the books.
I asked Nate about his experience at Winterfest. It had minor journalistic value, but, realistically, I needed some vicarious thrills. I asked first for a quick overview, just some sights and sounds.
“Well you know … I saw a lot of quads from the soccer guys. I saw the hockey guys get naked with or without being asked,” he said. “I saw some unbelievable livers. Like, impervious. Future Super Bowl champion Johnny Manzel would have been impressed.”
Although it wasn’t what I immediately had in mind, this response was not surprising. For those of you who missed it, hockey once again won the Dougie Cup with a steamy dance in less clothing than was reasonable. There are obvious jokes in here about them repeating the act, and it being a cheap crowd pleaser, and all those things. But really, it is hard to argue when they looked so damn good.
Speaking of hockey dudes, Nate is sometimes referred to as an off-brand Mason Bergh, which brings me back to him: lonely-looking and hoping for his big break in The Catalyst, like a small Scandinavian boy hoping to get some new furs.
While he was terrorizing mountain towns, his former teammates were in the armpit of Los Angeles county playing lacrosse. I asked him where he would rather be; “Honestly, the damage that the sun would have done to my skin might have offset the irreparable damage I did to my reputation and dignity,” he said. “So maybe going with you guys would have been the smartest choice.”
As far as I am concerned, there is little difference between Winterfest and a lacrosse trip. I assume there are similar amounts of athleticism on display. They both include people being louder than you would like. I probed Nate’s thoughts on this: “First off, great question. You really have a great mind,” he said. (I am paraphrasing here from implied clues.) “But to answer, I would say that one had a lot less rules … but that CC definitely won both.”
And with that, he left me, off to explore his newfound NARP-hood. He can now be found haunting local bars, talking about when he used to be an athlete, crying into a vodka soda.