An Open And Honest Assesment Of My Performance As A Hypothetical Contenstant On American Gladiators

If you're as big a fan of head-to-head athletics, gratuitous amounts of Spandex, and unfortunate hairstyles as I am, then no doubt you tuned in last night to the big, two-hour premier of NBC's relaunched American Gladiators. In case you missed it, let me try to sum up the experience as succinctly as I can: Okay, you remember the original American Gladiators that we all used to watch as kids of the late-80's, early-90's? It was pretty much exactly like that, except it seemed like they had about half of the studio lights turned off, there was a lot more of the elements represented (water and fire, specifically), and while the Gladiators themselves were quite huge, they weren't as... for lack of a better word... "steroid-y." Otherwise, it was essentially the same show. Which is a good thing; awesome is awesome, no matter the decade.

Watching the program last night got me to thinking... how would I, C-dog, King of All That Is Fatty, High-Proof, and Generally Bad For You, fare in this particular realm of competition? The immediate answer that springs to mind is: Badly, and I'd probably end up in a wheelchair, pissing into a bag for the rest of my life as fragments of my shattered spine speed through my circulatory system like theme park-goers on a log flume. After all, I'm out of shape, lazy, and usually either drunk or hungover... none of which are states conducive to tangling with a large man who is trying to take my head and remove it from my neck in as timely and efficient a manner as possible. And while this answer is entirely accurate (I bruise like old fruit when people brush against me in the subways), I've decided to map out my performance as a contestant on American Gladiators anyway, for your enjoyment; consider it an exercise in the realm of hypothetical absurdity:

C-dog's American Gladiator Experience, or, "Please, Jesus, Make The Bad Man Stop Hitting Me!!!"

NOTE: It'd be best for everyone if you wouldn't imagine me wearing one of those tight-fitting unitards. Lets just pretend that they allowed me to go about my business in sweats.

Okay, so the show opens, flashy graphics everywhere, and then I'm standing along side Hulk "The Messy Divorce-inator" Hogan and Laila "My Dad Could Beat Up Your Dad (Well, Not Currently)" Ali. They ask me some softball questions; why I'm on the show, who's rooting for me, and don't I think it'd be a good idea to put down the cheeseburger and wipe the mustard off my hands? I answer with some pithy comments, I'm denied my request to stroke Hogan's bizarrely blond mustache, and then I'm introduced to my competition, Reggie. Reggie is a former all-star running back, a personal trainer, and while he's being interviewed, he does two hundred push ups, "just to get warmed up." When he smiles, it's like the whole world is dancing on a moonbeam made of Pixie Stix and hugs from your grandparents. Before we start the first event, Laila Ali takes me aside and tells me that if I want to leave, it'd be fine by her. I tell her no, I've started this and I want to finish it. She punches me in the back of the head as I walk away, which I think is just totally unnecessary.

And we're on to our first event...

The Joust - I'm standing on the platform with the big, padded Q-tippy thing in one hand as I desperately attempt to wipe mustard off of the other. The Gladiator opposite me, Mayhem, looks very, very angry. I try to ask him if he's alright, but a whistle blows and then it feels like someone has accidentally run over my skull with a city bus. I snap back to consciousness under water, and I swim upwards until I break the surface with a shriek that causes a thirteen-year-old girl in the crowd to call me a "pretty, pretty lady." Reggie follows with his turn at The Joust, and soon Mayhem joins me in the pool, looking if possible even angrier. I offer him my hand to help him out of the water, but he only uses it as leverage to punch me in the back of the head. The audience cheers for Reggie as we move on to our second event...

Power Ball - The idea is to place the balls into the "scoring pods," but I've somehow missed these simple instructions (and I now regret wearing my iPod during the pre-game explanation of the rules). Instead, I'm attempting to peg the Gladiators in the head, dodgeball-style, and this only gets them riled up. At one point, I'm swung around the playing field by my left leg, and then they take turns trampling on my stomach until time runs out. After I'm hauled off, Reggie is up. He sets an American Gladiator record for most points scored, most handsomely, ever in the history of the show. All the Gladiators shake his hand as one of the show's producers punches me in the back of the head. I attempt to slink off into a dark corner of the studio, but Hulk Hogan suddenly appears, pissed off at that crack I made earlier about his divorce. He frog-marches me back to the starting point of our third event...

Hang Tough - I swing out on to the rings, my arms quivering like Ichabod Crane. Titan, the Gladiator that I'm now facing, advances upon me. Right before I let go of the ring and fall to the pool below, the audience is treated to the sight of a thin stream of urine dribbling from my pants leg. They boo me and Titan, while still hanging from the rings, defecates into the pool, mostly missing me. The audience cheers. The water is changed, I'm severely reprimanded by the show's staff, and then Reggie and Titan square off. Reggie wins handily, swinging from ring to ring like he was born legless, and when he's finished, he, being a classy guy, offers me his hand so we can shake as competitors and men. I accept his handshake, but it turns out that this was merely meant as a distraction so a couple of the Gladiators can get behind me and give me an on-camera pantsing. There's no time to wish that I'd put underwear on when I got dressed this morning, as it's time for our fourth event...

Assault - Having played paintball before, I'm easily able to dodge the blasts from the large cannon as I leap from hiding place to hiding place, timing my own shots just right to maximize my hits on the target. Or at least, that's probably what would have happened, had I not tripped over an electric cable on my way across the studio, unplugging all the lights and breaking my nose on a Gladiator's foot. In the darkness, so many people punch me so many times in the back of the head, I begin to hallucinate. These hallucinations also begin punching me in the back of the head. Once the power is restored, Reggie tackles the Assault course with the precision and aim of a skilled marksman (which he is). I ask if I can please just go home, but I'm instead given a shot by a man in a white lab coat that makes my heart speed up to about 300bpm and my brain begin to leak out my nose. I ask what's in the shot, but the doctor(?) doesn't seem to speak any English. Besides, it's time for our final event...

The Eliminator - Due to his impressive lead in the points (56 to my even zero), Reggie gets a three and a half minute head start. When the whistle blows, signaling that I'm to begin the obstacle course, I take three steps, vomit, and Reggie, whom has now completed the Eliminator twice just for grins, is declared the winner. I'm asked to leave by the back exit, and to drop some bags of trash in the dumpster on my way out the door. My parting gifts? A punch in the back of the head and a lifetime supply of Turtle Wax.