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A couple weeks ago we were at a pool party in Glendale to kick the summer off. The backyard was packed with people.

As the afternoon progressed, a handful of guys climbed up on the roof of the house, positioned just a jump away from the deep end of the pool. First one guy went for it, then two, then three. Cannonballs ensued.

The stunt quickly became the center of the entire party’s attention. People cleared the pool, sitting on the edge, encouraging other dudes to ball up and take the plunge from the roof. One guy even did a flip.

A few minutes into the situation, a particularly dry guy got dragged up to the roof. He stepped to the edge, staring at the pool, silently calculating the jump. Reluctant.

The crowd cheered and jeered.

“Go for it!”

“Do a cannonball!”

“Do a bellyflop!”

“Don’t be such a pussy! Go!”


At this point, I couldn’t help from identifying the situation as a perfect opportunity to do a most epic version what we used to call a “watermelon”. A watermelon is a sort of an upside-down cannonball; you begin the dive as you would a swan dive, head first, then just before hitting the water, you tuck yourself up into a ball, achieving the kind of splash you would with a conventional cannonball.

So I yelled, at the top of my lungs:


No answer. Again, top of my lungs:


Crowd went silent. The guy just stared at the pool.

After a few long seconds, he finally jumped in, feet first.

Moments later, my buddy came up to me, shaking his head. Leaning over, he whispered:

“Hey, bro, did really you have to go and say that to the only black guy at the party?”

One of life’s more embarrassing moments.

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