M@: Redneck Shuffleboard [7.8.11]

Redneck Shuffleboard
(Published in the Springville Independent News)

I can't claim to have played much traditional shuffleboard myself, but it seems like ascots, khakis and cruise ship decks are usually required. The Centre, Ala.-brand of shuffleboard is a bit less stuffy, as are most 'Bama-based activities (shoe-wearin', teeth-havin', etc.).

It started with the slip-'n'-slide my cousins built by laying old carpet, plastic sheets and Dawn dish soap — in that order — onto my grandparents' lakeside dock. There are only so many ways one can slide off a dock and into water, so it soon became a challenge of how close one could scoot to the edge without falling off. Naturally, this begat collisions — any fool perched at the end of a dock with nothing but greased runway between him and his 6-foot-4, 260-pound cousin is pretty much begging to be obliterated.

Now, if you think the same brains that willingly (and happily) endured these spine-warping, fresh-meadow-scented thumps would be incapable of developing a full set of rules for this new activity, your intuition is spot on. However, sometimes pure inspiration fills even the unlikeliest vessels. “How about we divide up into teams of four, and alternate slides?” “And you have to lift your feet to allow a clean hit to opposing teams?” “And no steering or grabbing with your arms!”

Suddenly, organically, beautifully — Redneck Shuffleboard was born.

It’s equal parts chess match and YouTube fodder, with enough meaty hits to fill a dozen highlight reels, but all delicately woven within a latticework of nuanced strategy and teamwork.You think you can just glide down there willy-nilly and find the edge? Tell me, Kasparov, what happens if Uncle Keith sets up a roadblock in the middle, then Dave scoots next to him at a diagonal slant, and Ryan’s camped in the far corner? Ain’t no bustin’ that logjam. No, that’s when you call Todd’s number — that sardine could slip between three hippos in an elevator, and he’ll find a lane to the end of that dock if it kills him (and it might).

Until you’ve slid to the razor’s edge of that last wood plank, gripping the tarp with your soapy stomach, not even exhaling for fear of losing purchase, and then watched helplessly as your bull-shouldered cousin barrels down the dock with the single aim of knocking you into oblivion — well, you just haven’t lived.

After three days of play, the blue team had the clear edge (we had blue and red headbands for uniforms, which spared spectators the pasty horror of team-colored Speedos, our first idea) and we all felt like, and resembled, bags of old tomatoes. But it was a good hurt.

Sponsors, commence the wooing. Redneck Shuffleboard is ready for the mainstream.