Wipeout (and Albert Trotter's Big Balls)

Albert Trotter stood at the top of the course, staring at the Big Balls that stood between him and the object of his fantasies. His wild, chest-length devil-spawned salt and pepper beard was already covered with foam, even though he had yet to fall into the churning surf below.

I think it was foam, anyway.

I was still in shock that we were even here, though I helped Albert fill out the application, had personally smoothed things out with the game show staff and even traveled to California with him to help him fulfill his dream.

The Mall Monster was where he said he would be all along: on the Wipeout obstacle course, with just those big balls and assorted other obstacles separating him from his (as yet unrequited) love – Jill Wagoner.

***

Albert always had strange tastes in women. Indiscriminate, but strange nonetheless.

The fact that he had any luck with the ladies at all came as a surprise to the other guys in the shop, but not to me. He was in pretty good shape for a drunk and in the seedy bars he frequented, he was probably quite a catch. The fact that he would have sex with any woman who said yes, no matter what they looked like or what state of coherency they enjoyed at that moment, certainly helped increase his odds.

But whenever we met one of his ‘friends’ – he would bring them to his cot in the back of the shop on occasion, much to the horror of the early arrivals in the morning – they would always appear to be shining examples of barflies gone bad. Really, really bad.

So when he announced one morning that he wanted to appear on the Wipeout television show just so he could meet Jill Wagoner, the very beautiful co-host of the show, we laughed.

He ignored us and insisted he was going to do it.

“She won’t have anything to do with you,” I told him. “She’s holding out for me,” said another. “She’s gorgeous, you’re ugly,” said another. (It might have been me, but this was a few years ago.)

He continued to ignore us.

I watched the show – a big hit in my family – so I knew all about it. I knew about Jill, too, and could completely understand Albert’s infatuation, but seriously, here. We’re talking about Albert. He may have the gift for the, um …ladies of his neighbourhood, but this is Jill Wagner. This is the big time.

And this is Albert here. Six-foot three with that insane Bad Santa beard. A crooked grin – more of a leer, actually – that remained perpetually on his face whether he was happy, angry (almost never) or sad. The man also showed an unhealthy aversion to bathing and considered jeans to be sub-standard if they couldn’t withstand the rigours of picking up garbage for at least two weeks.

The latter two traits gave Albert a certain pungency that at the very least always let us know when he was around.

So, no, I didn’t fancy his chances with Wagner, who earned a number 90 ranking on the Maxim magazine Hot 100 Women of 2004 list, a sure-fire reliable measure of sexiness as exists in this world.

But Albert was determined, so I figured I should help him by doing a little research on the show. I ^[had read something about Wipeout, and I seem to recall that you had to be American and – if I remember right – a California resident as well.

Last time I checked Albert was Canadian, with no U.S. ties that I knew about, and that he lived with his aging mother in a trailer park sandwiched between a super highway and train tracks, thirty miles east of the shop.

“Not true,” he mumbled when I informed him of these facts.” “You don’t know everything about me.”

That’s true, I agreed, remembering visits – quarterly, like clockwork – that the local police made, usually at his home but sometimes at the shop. Awkward questions, mumbled answers. 

“It’s best for both of us that you keep some stuff to yourself,” I said.

Albert insisted he qualified, saying he had a brother in California – in the movie business, he boasted – as well as a couple of his children who had moved out there. As he claimed some dozen or so kids and didn’t have a relationship with any of them (as he said himself), his explanation wasn't resonating too well with me.

Albert persisted. “My brother will vouch for me; say I live there. I’m gonna do it.”

The boys laughed when they heard this and kept on howling after I told them that Albert was serious. The only one who stopped laughing was Eddie, who (after he wiped the tears from his eyes), looked at me and said: “Fifty bucks says he doesn’t even make it to Toronto.”

I thought about Eddie’s offer for about two seconds. And looked at Albert, who was watching us with the same crooked grin he always had, but with a crazy-ass look in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.

“You’re on,” I told Eddie.

It’s on.