Editor’s note: Please welcome Mr. David Ogle to LAS. His heart beats for wearing the Pink Woozle ‘W’ each year, and over the coming weeks he will help each of us release our inner Woozle with an ‘in-depth’ preparation guide for Tahoe, celebration of all things righteous, and uninteresting facts about his life.
I wake up every morning like any other semi-washed up, post-collegiate, après-laxing, prefix abusing, mid-twenties male. I pound water because research shows my body becomes dehydrated during the minimal amount of sleep I get. I finish dinner from last night for breakfast, more often than not the remnants of leftover pizza which may have found its beginning as a meal during lunch the previous day- I like to keep my zen about me, you know, Samkara, the cycle of re-lunch, Karma, Bodhipizza; Buddhist stuff.
News flash: I woke up this morning and did NOT do that. Why, you ask? The logical answer would be that I got a girlfriend, and she decided that my outfit of choice (practice jersey, LAS shorts and flannel shirt) was not actually something any respectable human would wear. But that would be an incorrect answer. No, my friends, I got something WAY better than a girlfriend. Here is a hint: it rhymes with Schmoozles, and it throws back to my days of watching Winnie-the-Pooh while eating Cheerios.
Woozles. Instead of pizza, today I mashed excellence for breakfast, while basking in the ephemeral glory of the newest addition to the Woozle arsenal- a Silver Pro7. Shiny and righteous, check. White chin strap radiating cosmic joy, check. +29 agility & x2 XP, check. Nothing gets me out of bed faster than the simple joy of putting my new bucket on and brushing my teeth (you would do the same). Now, keeping in touch with my zen, it really isn’t the helmet that is creating my joy (shame on you for calling me materialistic); it is the annual rebirth of my inner Woozle.
It is every father’s dream to see his son grow up, excel in sports, go to a good school, and generally ‘succeed’ in life. It is not his expectation to see his son join a team called the Woozles and spend a significant amount of the year planning new ways to look awesome in pink while playing lacrosse. Sometimes I wonder if my dad feels like Prince’s (the artist formerly known as prince, , etc.); he has the gift of a rad son, but maybe does not entirely understand the genius of his son’s ‘swagger.’
Ok, so we wear pink. And we call ourselves the Woozles. But for one weekend a year I get to celebrate something better than a holiday- I get to celebrate everything that I love in life: lacrosse, friends, shorts that are a size too big, sunshine, and lacrosse. In July, Woozles from all over the US reunite in Tahoe to appreciate each other’s flows, celebrate the notion of being Woozley, and wear those tank tops and shorts that probably have a larger impact than I would like to admit on my status as single. And if a Pro7 takes the place of flowers or something ‘mature’ on my living room table for the next two months, I am OK with that. Come August, I know that Woozle withdrawal will set in again, and one of the finest groups of guys that I have had the privilege to play with will disperse for another year, until next June hits and we find even better ways to make pink the new black.
About the author: David appreciates the beauty of a vicious wrap check on a sunny day. Living in the Pacific Northwest, he currently thrives on a healthy dose of coffee, mountains, plenty of rain, and sports teams that always promise to let you down. His heart beats for wearing the Pink Woozle ‘W’ each year, and over the coming weeks he will help each of us release our inner Woozle with an ‘in-depth’ preparation guide for Tahoe, celebration of all things righteous, and uninteresting facts about his life.