Perhaps you noticed the giant plexiglass cube in the foyer of Grand Central the past few days. Indeed, the annual squash tournament gets going today. Tournament of Champions brings the best squashers from all around the world to Grand Central for the week-long event.
As I mentioned around this time last year, I actually covered the event in 2004, when I was doing a little offbeat sports reporting for a now-defunct rag.
Much like the loud cellphone shouter on the 6:13 to Mamaroneck last night, my day at the Grand Central squash tourney featured an interaction with a Rude Mobile Guy during the final, which pitted an Aussie against an Englishman.
Nicol takes the first game 15-10, and the crowd hustles to the makeshift Guinness bar for more booze. The drunk behind me fails to return; as game two begins, his seat is occupied by the Biggest Jackass in the World.
“Hey Dad!” the Jackass yells into his cell phone, completely oblivious to the fact that no one else is talking above a whisper, much less shouting into their cell phone. “Here’s something you’d enjoy…I’m watching PROFESSIONAL SQUASH. At GRAND CENTRAL STATION!”
People shoot glares his way, but the BJITW is oblivious. Seconds later, he’s on the Motorola again.
“Hey baby,” he coos. “Guess where I am…watching a PROFESSIONAL SQUASH MATCH at GRAND CENTRAL STATION!”
Nicol goes on a run and is up 9-5, as the Jackass tells his squeeze about his job interview, something about “swapping an option on a currency.” Unhappy with another call, Nicol glares at the ref and then, to the delight of the crowd, puts a hand on the court’s door, as if threatening to step outside and throttle the judge.
Jackass dials again.
“Yo. I’m watching squash in GRAND CENTRAL STATION,” he says. “It’s awesome. Hold on a second…Hello?”
Cell phone call-waiting. I had no idea. [Editor’s Note: Gimme a break, it was 2004.]
“Grand Central Station,” he says as the circle of perturbed people around him grows. “Watching a squash tournament. A PROFESSIONAL SQUASH TOURNAMENT.”
Finally, a neighbor leans over and, with stunning diplomacy, tells the clod to can it.
“Oh! I didn’t know!” he bellows. “Just like golf!”
The Jackass then clomps heavily down the aluminum stairs, before an usher stops him and instructs him to wait until the point is over
[image daylife.com]