Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN - a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER SIX: LET THE GAMES BEGIN

Previously: Alex has boarded a ship in Fort Lauderdale for a trip around the world as part of the National Little Big Man contest. Once on board, however, he finds some things irritating. He has no cell phone, contestants are sometimes confined to their cabins, and they are required to wear special headbands with a digital display of their state names. They also must refer to each other only by the names of their states. Alex ('Wisconsin') and his pal Matti ('Minnesota'), who first met as competitive divers and then became good friends, have acquired their first new friend, Alabama. We know, though they do not, that the contest is a ruse perpetrated by four Russians.

It is Sunday morning, and the contestants have just been informed by one of the Russians' assistants, DeJuan Brooks, that the contest was about to begin; when someone asked where the judges were, they were told that "there are no judges".

ALEX: SUNDAY JUNE 5, MORNING - OFF THE COAST OF FLORIDA

• (DeJuan Brooks) Well, not any outside judges. And the format will be completely different – no Tuxedo, Academic, Speedo, or Q&A round. The directors want to have a little fun with you, and they've got some things up their sleeve that will surprise and even startle you. You'll engage in a series of competitions. Some will be knowledge-based. Some will pit you against another, mano a mano. Some will require strategic thinking, and some may even have random elements beyond your control.

That sounds like a lot of contests. And why are they changing the format, exactly?

• One more thing. The event has already begun. We instructed you twice – last night and this morning – not to be late. Those of you who were – you've lost points.

• (a voice) How many?

• We're not telling you, Florida.

• (Florida) That's fucked, man. How are we supposed to regain them?

• Win competitions.

Florida was distinguishing himself as one of the most outspoken contestants, pushing back more than once against the way they had set this up. Was that wise, I wondered.

• (Brooks) Here's the first surprise. The first big competition will begin this afternoon. But the preliminary events begin now.

Now? At breakfast?

• Meet in the gymnasium at 8:45. You'll find what you need for this competition waiting for you in your cabins.

In my cabin, the monitor displayed a message: REPORT TO THE GYMNASIUM WEARING SNEAKERS, SOCKS, AND THE CLOTHING ON YOUR BED. The clothing on my bed consisted of a pair of white gym shorts and a jockstrap. Period.

First thought: they want us to show off our bodies, like the Speedo round. Second thought: this was an athletic competition. Well, I'd find out soon enough. I changed quickly, and palmed the door open to check the hallway clock (it was damned inconvenient not having one in the room). 8:36. Plenty of time.

As I was exiting my room, a door opened and `Texas', a stocky redhead, rushed out of the room and nearly knocked me over. And then snarled, "Hey, watch where you're going, asshole."

Yeah, HE said that. As if I was the one who had brushed past HIM like he wasn't there! I watched him stride down the hall, arrogant as the stereotypical Texan. (I hate it when stereotypes are confirmed.)

I stopped by Matti's room, but he must have gone up already. A couple of guys came out of their rooms – South Dakota (Native American?), and Arkansas (blond like me). The three of us scurried up the two flights to the Sea Deck and found the gym, which was filled with contestants, but no one else.

I spotted Matti but kept my distance. It might be best if they didn't realize we were always together, especially during competitions. Although, with no judges – well, how that was going to work still confused me, which I guess was part of the point.

The gym floor was entirely covered by a series of mats, except for a recess in the corner where the floor and walls were tiled, presumably leading to showers. A section in another corner had been walled off with a partition. There were way fewer nautilus machines and treadmills than I expected. Instead, there were vaulting horses, high bars, pommel horses. Gymnastics? Really? We weren't trained gymnasts.

But none of that was what everyone was talking about. It was the stocks. That's right, stocks. Four traditional Puritan-era stocks, set at just over waist height, lined up a few feet from the wall opposite the pommel horses.

• (Arkansas) You think they're going to put us in those?

• (South Dakota) They're going to put somebody in those. Maybe the losers.

His words proved prophetic.

At 8:45 precisely, Joey, Nelson, and a procession of over twenty maroon-clad men entered the room, all big and solidly built, like bouncers in a strip club in a really bad neighborhood. Mentally I named them `maroons'.

DMITRI: We call them `enforcers'. DeJuan had recruited most of them. And while we trusted his judgment, we interviewed each candidate ourselves so that we were comfortable with what we were getting and so that they knew exactly what was expected. If they were tough enough and relished the idea, they were hired. Most were ex-cons who needed jobs – and all were of the right sexual persuasion.

ALEX: Joey stepped forward to run the show while a few others disappeared behind the mysterious partition.

• (Joey) We're going to have three rounds of competition this morning. The losers of each round, not the winners, will move on to the next round. We'll start off with a race. You'll begin from a position in front of the stocks – you're all wondering about those stocks, aren't you?

Yep.

• You'll race to the opposite end, touch a pommel horse, and return. Down and back, one time.

I surveyed the area. The gymnasium was big. Even with the nautilus equipment at one end, there were still maybe thirty yards between the stocks and the pommel horses. I was fast, but so, undoubtedly, were most of my competitors.

• Oh, and you'll be wearing these.

As Joey was speaking, four maroons emerged from behind the partition carrying a pile of metal which turned out to be . . .

Handcuffs and shackles. There was a collective groan mixed with a few rueful chuckles. This could actually be fun.

They drew ping-pong balls again. The first group consisted of Ohio, Massachusetts, Maine, and one of my breakfast companions, Colorado. They looked amused as the handcuffs and shackles were attached. The handcuffs were attached at the front, not behind the back – if you fell, you could still use your hands to help you get upright.

Joey announced that twenty-four of us would `advance' to the second game – the losers of each race and the eleven next-slowest times.

His phone beeped and they were off. The shackles were tight, barely a foot long, so the racers could not proceed very fast. Four maroons, eyes glued to their phones, were apparently tracking their times.

Everyone fell over at least once except for Colorado, who won the race. Maine finished last and was "congratulated" on advancing to the next round; he had to remove his shoes and socks, as the next round would be conducted barefoot. Massachusetts and Ohio were told to wait to see if they had one of the slowest eleven times that would send them on to the second competition.

After Iowa won the next round, it was my turn, up against Michigan, Arizona and Kentucky. Kentucky, a redhead of the short-and-stocky variety, fell twice in the first five yards. He was no competition. Michigan was. He took the early lead, with Arizona right behind him, but I didn't panic. Iowa and Colorado were the only guys who had not fallen, and they had won. Slow and steady did indeed win the race.

Sure enough, Arizona fell halfway down to the pommel horses, and Michigan tripped shortly after that. I was still behind Michigan at the halfway point, but he saw me in the lane next to him and tried to quicken his pace, which was his undoing. He fell twice more and I won by almost ten feet.

Matti unfortunately came in third in his heat and `qualified' to move on, as did our new friend Alabama. I happily took my seat on the sidelines to see what the next competition was about.

It was about wrestling: three sets of four simultaneous matches. The object was to pants your opponent. If the match ended with both fully dressed, the winner would be decided by a vote among seven judges, all non-participating contestants. I, being one of these, was assigned to judge a match in each round.

First, I was assigned to Pennsylvania vs. Kansas. Kansas, with hair so dark it was nearly black, had eyes to match; Pennsylvania was a light-skinned black. Kansas had a powerful body, but Pennsylvania had spirit, and held his own against the muscular man from the Sunflower State. Three minutes later, they both still wore shorts. I gave my vote to Pennsylvania to salute his tenacity, a symbolic gesture; the decision went to Kansas, five to two. Pennsylvania had to stand there while Kansas was given the honor of pulling down his shorts, exposing the Easterner's trim coffee-colored buttocks outlined by the white straps of his jock.

And that jock, he was informed, was all he would wear in the third competition.

Matti's match was in the second set and I was hoping to be a judge so I could throw him my vote. Instead, I got Mississippi vs. Utah, not much of a contest. Their styles – and abilities – were as dissimilar as the skin on their bodies. Mississippi was as dark as a Hershey bar and Utah was – well, from Utah: white, blond, and looking like he saw the sun less often than Dracula. Mississippi settled it quickly; after pinning him, he yanked the gym shorts off Utah – confirming that Utah didn't spend much time in the sun. His butt was no lighter than the rest of him.

Meanwhile, Matti won his match, 4-3, against Arkansas. I watched from a distance, pretending disinterest, as Matti had the `honor' of exposing Arkansas's jock-framed rump.

My last match as a `judge' involved Alabama, up against Rhode Island, another one of those brawny types. Both brunets, Alabama was smooth as a swimmer while sparrows could have nested in Rhode Island's chest hair.

The Easterner made short work of Alabama, pinning him face down in less than thirty seconds. He looked apologetic as he stripped my friend down to his jock. Alabama looked utterly humiliated. I gave him a hey-it's-only-a-game smile and he nodded awkwardly. I remember how embarrassed he was to be `nekkid' during his physical.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Texas – the rude sonuvabitch who had nearly knocked me down earlier – grinning at Alabama's embarrassment. Asshole.

The wrestling over, I wandered around and "randomly" found a spot against the wall that "happened" to be next to Matti, so we could watch the finale together. The maroons unrolled large pieces of plastic sheeting and placed them on the floor underneath the stocks – and put down more at the other end of the room. Apparently they needed to protect the flooring. Hmmm.

• Sorry for Alabama, but glad it wasn't you, Minnesota.

• I'm glad, too. What's your name again? Oh, yeah, Wuss-con-sin.

• Wuss?

• If you hadn't gotten lucky in the first round, you'd be showing your ass to the world, my friend.

• Lucky, huh? I managed to stay on my feet the whole time, that's how lucky I was.

• Exactly. I had defective shackles.

• Oh, I see. Defective shackles. Why do you think you had defective shackles?

• Anti-Finnish bias, it's obvious.

• Ah. Hadn't thought of that.

• It's the truth. Most of them were defective. You got the good pair.

• You lie, Minnesota.

• No, if I were lying I'd be horizontal.

• Your favorite position, I know. Obvious, as you wound up that way during the race. So what do you think's up next?

• Gotta involve the stocks.

• Gotta involve the stocks, I agree. But as punishment for the losers or does everyone go into them at the start?

• What kind of competition could there be if they start out in the stocks?

• You're right, gotta be a punishment. Look, they're getting the high bars out.

• What, they're going to make them go loop-the-loop over the high bar?

• More likely a chin-up competition?

• Ooh, glad I'm not in that.

They had indeed set up three high bars at the other end of the room, where the pommel horses had been. But then they confused us by suspending a pair of ropes from each bar. Curious.

There were twelve jock-strap-clad guys left. Joey called out Pennsylvania, California, New Mexico and Tennessee, and to our utter surprise put them immediately into the stocks. This action was greeted with the hoots, cheers, and rude remarks that you'd expect from a rowdy bunch of guys enormously relieved that this was happening to someone else and not them. There-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-I is not a sentiment widely shared among young men of college age.

DMITRI: It would be, later.

ALEX: Maroons brought out four card tables and set them thirty feet from the stocks. Other maroons brought out four large cardboard boxes, heavy enough that it took two to carry them, and placed one on each table. No clue what was in them.

Ominously, the maroons formed lines six-deep behind the tables, while Joey explained the rules.

• This, you might be surprised to learn, is an academic competition. I'm going to read five multiple choice questions. You will signal your answer by extending one, two, three, or four fingers on your right hand. After five questions, the competitor with the lowest score will surrender his jock and go the full Monty.

Hoots of approval from the pitiless spectators.

• By the way, every time you answer incorrectly, each of us is going to throw a tomato at you.

Which explained the boxes, the lines of maroons, and the plastic sheeting. Shock and dismay on the faces of the heads confined in the stocks, and robust guffaws from everyone else.

• The first question: Which constitutional amendment guards against the quartering of soldiers in citizens' homes? Is it (1) the first, (2) the third, (3) the sixth, or (4) the ninth?

Oh, Jesus, I didn't even know that one. I saw Pennsylvania extend two fingers, California three, Tennessee four and New Mexico two.

• The correct answer is the third amendment. Congratulations, Pennsylvania and New Mexico. California, and Tennessee, you might want to close your eyes.

Maroons eagerly opened the cardboard boxes opposite California and Tennessee and pulled out big ripe tomatoes. The first was hurled at California and hit the stocks about three inches to the right of his head. The second landed squarely on Tennessee's left cheekbone. Then each of the other maroons in line took their shot. Four of them hit their mark on Tennessee and two on California.

After five rounds, Tennessee had missed four questions, more than anyone else. The three others were released from their stocks and allowed to shower themselves clean, while Tennessee had no choice but to stand there as Joey ceremoniously took a pair of scissors and snipped off his jockstrap, leaving him completely naked as they released him from the stocks.

I expected him to go shower, too, but instead two maroons took him to the opposite end of the room, positioned him under a high bar and wrapped the dangling ropes around his wrists, tying them so that his arms were extended over his head. He was now fully exposed to all of us, his humiliation complete. And he had to remain there while the remaining competitions played out.

More tomatoes were fired at more confined heads. Washington and, alas, my friend Alabama, wound up as losers and joined Tennessee tied to a high bar.

Matti and I watched in fascination as the losers' feet were placed into a kind of restraint. Joey referred to them as `spreaders'. And that's what they did. They spread the men's feet, so that, combined with the overhead ropes to which their arms were tied, their nude bodies were now displayed in the form of an X. Making their genitals front and center.

Joey brought out a can of shaving cream, which elicited raucous protests from the helpless men, until Joey burst out laughing.

• Just kidding, guys. We aren't going to shave you. (mischievously) Not now, anyway.

He waited until the other competitors had returned from the showers and slipped into their gym shorts.

• Now this is a competition for everyone. Each of you will throw a tomato at our three targets. You earn ten points if you hit him in the face. Two points for a chest shot. Fifteen points for a leg above the knees, five points below it. Thirty points for pubes. Fifty points for a direct hit on the crown jewels. And if you miss him altogether, you lose twenty points.

The maroons brought out more tomatoes and we formed a line. The victims were only about fifteen feet away, so it was hard to miss them altogether. On my first attempt, I hit Tennessee in the abdomen, clearly hitting the pubes but missing the target by inches. Nevertheless, thirty points for me. (Sorry, Tennessee.) Alabama was next and I wanted to miss him but had to make it look good. I caught him on the thigh. Washington I got right on the cock. I had accumulated 95 points, good but not the best.

I realized we were throwing with some degree of force, and as more and more tomatoes were hitting the mark, I started to hear vocalizations from the targets. I guess even tomatoes can hurt if they hit you in the wrong place. Everyone wanted points, so guys were trying hard to connect with the cock and balls. And you couldn't throw too softly or gravity would take hold and you'd wind up missing low, and losing points.

Alabama looked like he was getting the worst of it, but when Texas finished firing at him, it was over. Only it wasn't, according to Joey.

• Looks like we've still got some tomatoes left. Can't let them go to waste.

And then the maroons physically picked up the high bars – contestants still attached – and turned them 180 degrees. Those maroons are mad strong.

And they pelted the hapless losers from behind, aiming squarely for the ass, and hitting their target more often than not. When they finally ran out of tomatoes, the three guys were allowed to slink off into the showers and try to regain their dignity.

It was 11:30 by then. We returned to our cabins and instructed to drop our gym shorts and jocks in a laundry basket left inside our front doors. And to stay there until called for lunch.

DMITRI: We watched the proceedings from the Control Room on the bridge level. I would have attended in person but we wanted to keep a low profile until things got serious. We had cameras all over the gymnasium, though, so we got a good view of the morning entertainment. Anything involving male nudity – especially if forced – is well worth watching.

We had cameras most places except in the cabins. We didn't need to see the boys to know when they were in their cabins, thanks to the tracking device in their headbands. One wall of the Control Room displayed a diagram of the ship, with little lights corresponding to each contestant. You could click on a monitor with the same diagram and identify which contestant belonged to each light. If a boy was supposed to be in his cabin and wasn't, we could spot it immediately and send an enforcer to correct the situation.

ALEX: SUNDAY, JUNE 5, AFTERNOON - OFF THE COAST OF FLORIDA

After my big breakfast, I did not want much for lunch, and was glad to see that Little Big Man had thought similarly. They gave us vegetable soup, salad, a roll, and fruit for dessert. That was plenty for me, and I skipped the roll and ate only half of the salad.

But lunch was not about food. It was about finding out gaining information. We found out less than we wanted – but what we did find out was, well, surprising.

• (DeJuan Brooks) While this morning was designed to get you into the competitive spirit of things – and I hope it was also fun for most of you – I confess that we misled you a little.

Oh?

• Actually, we totally lied. The competition hasn't started yet – no points have been awarded at all. But the next round of competitions WILL count. Thirteen of you will be called to a competition this afternoon, and thirteen more tonight. The rest of you will face your first round of serious competition tomorrow. In each competition, the stakes will be high, with six winners and six losers. If you are good at math, you will notice that six plus six makes twelve, but there are thirteen in each competition. What happens to the thirteenth man? He's out of the competition.

• (someone) Does he get thrown overboard?

• (Brooks, laughing) No, hardly that. But by Tuesday, there will only be 48 of you playing this game, and those of you who win today or tomorrow will have a distinct advantage.

Shit. I'd expected the whole thing to be over by Tuesday. How long was this `game' going to last? I hope they won't continue to confine us to quarters. This is supposed to be a fun trip, guys.

• It is time now to select the thirteen contestants who will participate this afternoon. In this tub are fifty-two ping-pong balls with your names on them. I'll call on our directors to draw out thirteen names for the first event this afternoon.

One of the big shots – Thomas – selected the first ball. "Missouri," Brooks announced. Then Peter chose California, and I waited to hear my name or Matti's – and didn't. A few guys I recognized – South Dakota, Kentucky, Colorado, Arkansas – but no Wisconsin, no Minnesota.

We were dismissed and locked in our cabins until the afternoon event was over. Shit. The morning's competition had been fun, in a silly male-bonding kind of way, but being locked in was ridiculous. Sure, they wanted to keep us in suspense, but a little of that goes a long way.

The period of confinement seemed like forever. Finally, the monitor beeped and a voice pronounced.

• IT IS FIVE O'CLOCK. YOU ARE NOW FREE TO MOVE ABOUT THE SHIP FOR ONE HOUR. WHEN YOU HEAR THE HORN, YOU MUST RETURN TO YOUR CABIN IMMEDIATELY. IF YOU INTERACT WITH OTHER CONTESTANTS, REMEMBER TO REFER TO THEM BY STATE NAME ONLY. THERE ARE SUBSTANTIAL PENALTIES FOR NON-COMPLIANCE.

Yeah, and how the hell would they know? Did they have the rooms bugged? Was there some kind of transmitter in my headband? (Which was now cemented so firmly to my forehead I didn't think I could remove it with a hammer and chisel.) This was bush league. Maybe that feeling of Kafkaesque oppression was more than just a feeling.

Alex, keep it positive. They're letting you out. Matti awaits. I pressed my palm against the pad and, overcoming my cynical suspicions, it opened. I headed straight for Matti's room.

• Hello, MIN. NEH. SO. TAH.

• Hey there, WISS. KAHN. SINN. (Grin.)

• (Grin.) Silly isn't it.

• Absurd.

• I can't fathom it. Why on earth don't they want us to know each other's names?

DMITRI: The reason was simple. They would see each other as real people, as human beings, instead of obstacles to be overcome. We needed them to think of each other as entities like 'New Hampshire' and not a guy like 'Josh.' As for Alex's suspicion that we were listening in? We had microphones in the dining room and the lounge, but not the cabins. Putting a transmitter in the headband is a good idea, though. Next year.

ALEX:

• Beats me, Wiss. Con. Sin.

• This is starting to freak me out, Min. Ne. So. Ta. I mean, who gives a shit about winning this freakin' thing?

• You don't care about a quarter of a million dollars?

• I have no chance of winning that.

• That's what you said before the state contest.

• I still don't know how that happened, Mat – Minnesota.

• Ah, you almost slipped up there, Al- . . . I mean, Alabama. Oh, wait, you're Wisconsin, not Alabama. Alabama was that guy who was tawkin' `bout bein' nekkid in front of the dock tore.

• Speaking of which, wasn't it weird seeing Dr. Haddad again?

• What's weird is that they have three doctors.

• And an operating room. Minnesota, there is something definitely not right here.

• You worry too much. They're just poking at us.

• I think it's more than that.

• Like what? They're going to sell us to Arab slavers?

• Could be. Dr. Haddad is an Arab. In fact, all the doctors are Arabs.

• As is, let's see, uh – absolutely nobody else.

• So maybe not Arab slavers.

• Well, no, nothing that dramatic. But why they're keeping us under lock and key the whole time –

• We're not under lock and key now.

• True.

• So why don't we take the time and go check out the ship. I have yet to see the pool, for instance.

• There's not enough time for a swim. If that horn sounds –

• We don't need a swim. We're going around the world, we'll have lots of time for swimming. Let's just see what it looks like.

We explored the ship, or as much of it as we were allowed to. Our deck contained a beautiful lounge with glass walls that gave a 180 degree view of the ocean. Along the back was a large wall full of books to borrow. I selected two, an Agatha Christie mystery and The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman, which I'd always meant to read but never had. There was also a recreation room, with pool and ping-pong tables, a basketball backboard and even six holes of miniature golf. On the third deck was the Dining Hall and, at the bow of the ship, a sunning area. On the fourth, or Sea Deck – we found the swimming pool, as well as the lifeboats and other shippy things.

There was a guy in the pool, swimming without benefit of trunks. I commented on it to Matti, who pointed to a sign that said, "Swimsuits forbidden. Skinny-dipping only."

Weird rule. But I did remember that swimming trunks weren't among the items they said to pack.

• (Matti, suddenly) Want to?

• (not really) Do we have time?

• (Matti, checking a conveniently located clock) A good twenty-five minutes. Time for a quick dip.

I was about to give a counterargument but before I knew it Matti had pulled off his shoes and socks and was peeling off his shirt. Before I knew it, Matti's magnificent body was on full display. I had marveled at it when he was standing on the edge of the diving platform in nothing but a Speedo, but now, without even that, he was – well, you could have chiseled him in marble. I knew I had a `cute butt' but HIS was –

His was plunging into the water and racing toward the other end of the pool. Shrugging, I stripped off and followed. We met up at the other end and decided to race, nearly colliding with the pool's other occupant.

• Hey, sorry, dude. Hi, I'm Wisconsin and this is my friend Minnesota.

• (the guy, smiling) Oh, you're playing that game? Well, my name is Ben, but my close friends call me Delaware.

• (Matti) Nice to meet ya, Delaware.

Ben, or Delaware, was Asian (Korean?) with a body so hairless I wondered if he was a competitive swimmer, unable to resist the lure of the pool, just as it was a siren call for us. The three of us sported about a bit, splashing each other like we were ten years old and then doing a quick three-way race, which, to my surprise, Ben won.

A quick glance at the clock showed fifteen minutes left in the hour they had promised us. So we hauled our asses out of the pool, dried ourselves with the towels conveniently nearby, and dressed. It felt vaguely naughty swimming in the nude, as if I was breaking a rule, even though it was actually complying with the rule. But it was liberating, I felt refreshed, and I didn't resent the confinement to the cabin nearly so much.

ALEX: SUNDAY, JUNE 5, EVENING – ATLANTIC OCEAN

Dinner, at 6:30, was both delicious and healthful. LBMF was avoiding the mistake most cruise lines made of having so much food you ate yourself silly and ended a week-long cruise ten pounds heavier. I had to maintain my shape, as did all of us, and they wanted to keep us trim and fit. Good on them.

One peculiar thing, though: the room seemed emptier than lunch had been. Matti and I ate with Ben/Delaware, his friend Pennsylvania (whose wrestling match I had judged), and Alabama. I was going to invite Colorado to join us but –

• Colorado's not here.

• (Matti) He was in the competition this afternoon. Maybe they're still going.

• (Pennsylvania) How could they still be going? They started at two. Can it possibly last four and a half hours?

• But look, there's probably thirteen guys missing and that's how many were in the competition.

• (Ben/Delaware) New York's not here, and I don't see California – I noticed him because he's Asian. Sorry for the ethnic bias, but hey, there's only like four of us.

• (Alabama) Maybe they got supper in their rooms.

• (Matti) Or maybe they've all been tossed overboard.

We agreed this was the most likely solution and enjoyed the rest of the meal together, until we were banished back to the isolation chambers known as our cabins.

It was nearly nine when the second announcement came. This selection was done over the monitor, which showed a full list of the fifty-two state names (including Puerto Rico and D.C.), with thirteen names crossed off. The Big Shots – Peter, Richard, John, and Thomas – came forward to do the selections. I burst out laughing. It suddenly hit me that "John Thomas" was a famous literary nickname for the penis, and so was Peter, and so was Dick, which was short for Richard. You have four guys sponsoring a kind of beauty contest for guys – and their names are all penis-names? What were the chances of that?

DMITRI: Oh, you clever one, you figured it out. It was not chance at all, we chose those names precisely because they were nicknames for the penis. It was our little inside joke.

ALEX: I was actually laughing so hard that when the first name was called, I didn't hear it clearly. It sounded vaguely like "orzo" – must have been Georgia. Pennsylvania was called, but no one else that I had spent much time with. Half of the group of fifty-two had had their competition today, and I wondered what the hell it was. Whatever it was, I'd find out tomorrow – as would Matti.

DMITRI: SUNDAY, 5 JUNE, LATE EVENING – ATLANTIC OCEAN

The evening round of competitions went well, although two of the matches went into overtime due to some initial reluctance. But we had six successful confrontations, six glorious victors, six vanquished foes, and, sadly, one Big Loser.

Well, sadly for him.