When I signed up to write this thing, the boss man said it had to be about sports. Well, OK then. I'm going on record as saying lumberjacking is a sport. Don't believe me?
You've probably seen those shows where guys with razor sharp axes and souped up chain saws compete to see which one can chop and saw the fastest through logs in various ways. They can strap those climbing spikes around their ankles and go up a tree as fast as a scared squirrel -- with all their gear, to boot. It probably doesn't rank up there with the Super Bowl when it comes to popularity, but it's amazing in it's own way.
That said, I hereby announce the inaugural Wrath of John lumberjacking contest. Burgers, dogs, pop, beer, KFC, pizza, salads, and anything else the contestants want to eat and drink will be provided. The details of TV and/or newspaper coverage have yet to be ironed out, but many appreciative spectators are guaranteed.
The rules are simple. Different contestants will be assigned to different cottonwood trees in my neighborhood, and whichever one completely obliterates their tree first wins however much money I can scrape together in the next few days. Further, all contestants must finish their tree or no refreshments for them.
Those things have got to be one of God's worst creations of all time. Pools, ponds and AC units get clogged up. The stuff blows in garages, sticks to screens, gets in cars, and when I let my Yorkies out, they come back in covered with the stuff. These trees serve no useful purpose. They're just nasty.
So hear ye, hear ye, lumberjacks. I've thrown down the gauntlet. However, this competition is only open to the elite amongst you. The top pros. The fastest guys with the best equipment. Amateurs need not apply. Why? Because once the competition starts, you'll only have a few minutes to complete your assignment.
There's a reason for this. By the time the homeowners realize what's happening to their trees, you need to be done and gone.
Finding me is easy. Just cruise through Waterford with your windows down, radio off, any sort of fast-food take-out in a bag on your seat, and listen carefully. My 4-legged kids will pick up that scent when you get within a few miles and guide you in with their yapping.
See you in the backyard. Will that be Coke or Pepsi? Bud or Miller? Macaroni or potato salad? Double cheese or italian sausage? Original recipe or extra crispy?
Doesn't matter. Bring it on. I'll handle it, and I'm ready when you are.