A Chat with the Champ

HBT, a modest champion

The 2013 First Tournament, the inaugural event of the 1^st & 4^th Subbuteo Club season, featured a first-time champion, HBT. (If you were thinking Firewrists, then I suggest you go back to the beginning of this blog and review the archives.) Your correspondent caught up with the champ at an authentic New York coffee shop, Starbucks.

T-Dexxx: Thank you for joining me today on your lunch break.

HBT: I’m sorry I’m late, there’s one of these places, like, right across the street, so I didn’t know which one … What’s that you’re drinking?

They call it a latte. You know, coffee and foamy milk—not too foamy though. 

Oh, so that’s a latte. I think I saw one of those on TV once. Do they have anything on tap here?

Um, no, it's just coffee and tea and stuff.

Huh. How about that … New York’s gone soft. Damn tourists. Well, I got us covered. You like single malt? {He produces a water bottle with a Cameroon logo, takes a swig, then returns it to his jacket pocket.}

Do you take that everywhere?

Not gonna lie: I sucked playing as Celtic. They're a fine club, can't deny them that, but I didn't do them justice. And ever since I switched back to Cameroon look what happened: boom—championship.

Yes, it was a surprising turnaround from your performance in the 2012 Beach Shield for Aquatic Mammalian Prolapsed Blowhole Awareness League.

I did come in sixth there.

Out of six participants.

Someone had to come in last. And, honestly, I was competing against the best guys in the Club that week, the cream of the crop. And to be last of the cream … well, I’m not really sure there’s a dairy term for that, but I sure as shit ain’t no whey.

Whoa, kids are gonna read this. I guess we’ll just have that censor that in the transcript. [Editor’s note: I forget to edit that out of the transcript. My bad.] Moving on … You snubbed the invitation to the Advent Day of Craft Tournament for the Awareness of P.E.T.S. (Post-prostate Examination Trauma Syndrome), a cause particularly close the President. Why was that?  

Um, let the record show that I was detained by an un-reconcilable incompatibility between the train schedule and my social calendar.

You really want the record to show that?

It’s better than saying I overslept.

And yet, despite nearly five months away from the pitch, you arrived just in time for the kick-off for First Tournament and put in your best showing ever. How do you account for that?

Well, my longtime motto has been “Dope to win,” and whatever Firewrists was on that night got the job done. I mean, there’s no science or methodology to, I’m no Armstrong. But it got results.

So you attribute your success primarily to your partner, who scored the majority—no, wait … all—of the goals for your team?

In any tournament, a strong partnership usually leads to success. Especially if that team includes a multi-champion, a former MVP, a potential first-ballot Hall of Fame-er, or one of the biggest scoring threats in the game. And especially if that happens to all be the same player. But, and this is never appreciated enough, it’s not because Chico Stache included Firewrists that we won—it’s that we never had to play against Firewrists that we won. See what I mean?

That’s a fascinating theory.

Thanks, I got dozens. You know, on things like … Dutch’s rotating girlfriends, the mystery of The Blur, the merits of a shaggy pitch versus smooth, what’s the deal with the Millersville Chimney Creature, et cetera. If you ever need an article idea for your little blog, hit me up. {He takes another swig from his flask, er, bottle.}

Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Now about that name: do you feel your mustache contributed to your victory?

You mean like the slipstream that gave Mark Spitz the edge in the pool at the ’72 Olympics? Because I don’t think the physics of Subbuteo work like that.

I meant more in terms of confidence—or mojo, if you will.

The compliments have been nice, although there have been a fair share of nervous stares. But it really hasn't affected my life as much as I expected.

And what did you expect?

Oh, just ... waking up one day with a sweet flat in Brooklyn, a tatooed cheesemonger chick on my arm, and my own company that sells vintage kitchen gadgets, but only ironically.

Wow, that's really specific and ... odd.

Yeah, dreams usually are.

Deckers, while eschewing the smaller tourneys and "fagging out" in league play, have been co-champions in the last two major tournaments. What are your thoughts on your family's transition from always being a bridesmaid to finally being the bride, as it were?

Well, I'll tell you this much: the dress will be sleeveless, but retain more traditional elements elsewhere. There will be a live band, and the menu will be vegan-friendly--except for desserts. I mean, have you ever had carob?

I didn't mean for you to take that literally ... it's a metaphor.

Ah. Well played, my friend. 

And with that, I think we're just about done here.

Sure, sure. I guess I should be getting back to the ol' music factory. That Philharmonic ain't gonna conduct itself.

Thanks again for joining me for, uh, coffee today, Maestro.

Yeah, yeah. Just watch yourself out there--this city ain't quiet little Millersville. Here, you might get hugged four or five times on the subway.
  
I'll be careful. See you at the next 1st & 4th event?

Will there be an open bar?