The day I tackled Billy the Kid

A couple people have asked me about #74 on my list of 100 below, so here is the brief, can’t do it justice in words but completely true, version of what happened.
At Pepperdine, my dorm was located right above the track and soccer field. To get to my classes which I attended from time to time between pick up games, you could either curve around “dorm road” down to the main campus or you could cut down a steep hill that was never made for pedestrian traffic and cut across the track and the field and shave enough time off the trip to only be “cold stare from the teacher “ late instead of “why even bother at this point” late.

The track was never empty and as far as I know Pepperdine did not have a track team. It was filled constantly with female students trying to work off that second trip to the cafeteria soft-serve machine, male students trying to attract those female students and, occasionally, TV, music and movie stars who would come up from Malibu to the campus to work out, not wanting to throw away their millions on a membership at 24 Hour Fitness.

Madonna ran the stairs and would happily shove you down them if you had the nerve to be in her way. Woody Harelson would play pick up basketball and yell at you every time you shot even though he was a major ball-hog and besides I was just a better shooter and if he had spent less time running his mouth and more time playing some defense then,…oh wait…I’m getting off track….sorry about that.

And it was not unusual to see Luke Skywalker, Sandra D, or Potsie taking advantage of Pepperdine’s outstanding campus. Of all the “stars” who worked out there, however, none were more consistent than Emilio Estevez. Mostly in a grey sweatsuit and flanked by guys who reminisced about the times when they were younger and could not even tear a city bus in two with their bare hands, everyone’s favorite young gun ran on the track nearly every day. Mysteriously, the number of coeds running at those times increased nearly as much as the fabric of their workout clothes decreased. Strange phenomenon.

Anyway, one day I was particularly late for class. Not only was I late, but I was laden with a backpack full of books by Sartre and Kant that weighed a combined 250 pounds. I truly believe Sartre had a deal with his publisher where he got paid by the weight of his books. I sprang out of my dorm (back then, I “sprang” places) and on to dorm road. For a split second I thought about taking the civilized path to “why bother” tardiness around the curves of the road. But I have never been one to avoid an opportunity to run down a steep hill with no discernable path.

So I launched myself over the crest and down the loose dirt of the sun dried hillside leading to the track. As if the monstrous books in my pack sprang to life only to shove me harder down the hill I picked up speed until my legs were a mere cartoon like blur and provided approximately zero hope of being able to slow my descent.

As fate would have it, the Breakfast Club jock re-enters our story as he entered the path of a running, flailing college student racing down an impossibly steep hillside. I took one step onto the track and hit Estevez at full speed with the sort of bone jarring tackle that would make Ray Lewis wince. I wrapped him up and drove him into the grass of the soccer field. As I laid there contemplating what kind of world it would be with no hope of a Mighty Ducks sequel, I was suddenly snatched into the air by one of Mr. Estevez’ gargantuan “work out partners.” I immediately started apologizing and pleading for my life.

Thankfully, “Two-Bit” (as he was known to Pony Boy and Johnny and them), turned out to be a very nice guy and I was spared being torn limb from limb. We had an awkward exchange and laughed a bit about it before I decided to leave in advance of the gathering mob of angry (because they hadn’t thought of it first) female runners turning violent.

Of course, by that time I was too late to bother with class, so I went back to my room and popped in my well-worn copy of St. Elmos Fire.

Good times.