SNL at 50: A deep dive into one superstar athlete's appearance
Or why Jeff Gordon is also known as Rickye Funck (and Cougar)
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In this newsletter:
A deep dive into Jeff Gordon’s appearance on Saturday Night Live as that show celebrates its 50th birthday
An interview with a MABA participant who is going to attempt to break a burpee world record
And this year’s winner of the Where’s Waldo competition.
The final burpee total for this year’s MABA is 3,292,687.
You should celebrate and buy a t-shirt.
Or maybe a hat (these are new and look awesome!)?
Saturday Night Live turns 50 this week. NASCAR Hall of Famer Jeff Gordon hosted the show in 2003. As his retirement neared in 2015, I watched the episode with him in the trophy room of his house. I reprint the story below.
Live, from New York, it’s Jeff Gordon!
Jeff Gordon dances across the Saturday Night Live stage. He’s wearing a fake handlebar mustache, a mullet wig and a t-shirt that says 1 Tequila, 2 Tequila, 3 Tequila, Floor. He strums on an air guitar, punctuates his speech with karate chops and flits around as “Abracadabra” by Steve Miller Band plays.
That Jeff Gordon—the one on the screen—somehow keeps a straight face. This Jeff Gordon—the one standing next to the bar in the trophy room in his house—cracks up as he watches his appearance on SNL.
The difference between that Gordon and this Gordon is so striking it appears that perhaps the shirt accurately reports how much tequila Gordon drank before this skit, the final one of the show. (He had one drink before the show, but it had vodka in it, not tequila.) Even Gordon himself has a hard time reconciling the two Gordons. “I look at that,” he says, “And I’m like, ‘Who is that person? It cannot possibly be me.’”
Gordon hosted the show in 2003, and this skit, in which he plays an expressive and exuberant Olan Mills photographer named Rickye Funck, is the most memorable. Gordon’s racing team owner, Rick Hendrick, says when Gordon came bounding out as Funck, he thought to himself, “oh shit,” and wondered what Gordon had gotten himself into. But Hendrick loved it and told Gordon so in a call afterward. Gordon’s PR man, Jon Edwards, who was there with Gordon that night and is here in Gordon’s house as he re-watches it, has Gordon’s number listed as Rickye Funck on his phone.
Cast member Chris Parnell co-wrote the skit and appeared in it with Gordon. “He seemed to feel at home being that crazy guy,” Parnell says. “He was really gung-ho for it. He really sold it. It was fantastic.”
Throughout rehearsals, the crew at Saturday Night Live pushed Gordon to take the character to the edge and beyond. The mustache, wig and clothes gave him the freedom to do so. For every other skit, he still looked like Jeff Gordon and therefore felt bound to him. But because as Funck he looked like someone else, Gordon felt free to become someone else.
“The final one I did was by far the furthest that I went,” Gordon says now, his eyes dancing at the memory. “I said, ‘Screw it, I’m going all out.’”
In that comment, the Gordon on the screen and the one leaning against his bar connect. His “screw it, I’m going all out” attitude on the racetrack made him the most important and influential NASCAR driver of this generation, if not ever.
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Gordon, who will run in his final NASCAR race on Sunday, walks around a poker table and into the seating area of his trophy room, which is on the lower level of his home in Charlotte. Grey flecks pepper the sides of his dark brown hair. He’s wearing blue jeans and a gray Under Armour t-shirt. His feet are bare. To his right is an L-shaped sectional couch with coffee tables in front of it. A chessboard sits on one of them.
The mementos in his trophy room—the only racing items in the house—represent the most important events of his career. Three Daytona 500 trophies, four Winston Cups, the trophy from his first Cup win at Charlotte and two Brickyard 400 trophies are displayed on one wall. Two racing helmets, one with the Dupont paint scheme, one with the AARP Drive to End Hunger paint scheme, bookend the trophies. Under the helmets are gold cars, which the season champion always receives in addition to the championship trophy. Hendrick and Ray Evernham, the crew chief for three of Gordon’s four championships, have the other two from Gordon’s total of four championships.
The adjacent wall has a flat screen TV and shelves. On the shelves rest hardcover books by F. Scott Fitzgerald and Jane Austen, a San Francisco 49ers helmet and one more trophy, which Gordon grabs. It came from what Gordon, 44, calls the biggest win of his career—the 1994 Brickyard 400, the first NASCAR race at Indianapolis Motorspeedway.
It was the most anticipated race in NASCAR history, and yet the trophy is woefully unimpressive. It’s a metal brick on a stand and a fraction of the size of the rest of his trophies. And it’s even worse than it looks. Gordon plunks it with his finger. It echoes like he plunked an empty soup can.
“When we got this,” he says, still holding it, “I called Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and said, ‘Hey, you know that really big, nice trophy you’ve got in the museum?’ Can I get a replica or a scaled-down replica? Because that trophy’s awesome.’”
The answer was no. Gordon motions at his other Brickyard trophies, enormous by comparison. “It’s obviously gotten better.”
As impressive as that collection of trophies is, it represents only a fraction of Gordon’s haul in his Sprint Cup career. He has won 93 races, the third most all-time behind only Richard Petty (200) and David Pearson (105).
The 93rd win came on November 1, 2015, just three weeks from the end of his career. He howled in delight in victory lane at Martinsville, as his wife, Ingrid, and children, Ella and Leo, congratulated him. It was one of the most emotional celebrations of his career, and for good reason. Fear of failing in his final season followed him for months, and at last that fear buckled and pure joy came rushing out of him.
Gordon struggled through the first 26 races (NASCAR’s regular season.) At midseason, Gordon wondered if he’d even make the NASCAR’s 10-race postseason, known as the Chase. If missed it, it would have been a disastrous way to go out, like Willie Mays stumbling around in center field for the Mets when Gordon desperately longed to be Ted Williams homering in his final at bat.
But Gordon qualified 12th in the 16-team Chase field, and in the postseason, the team showed resolve borne of the early season struggles. Gordon strung together his best stretch of the season–seven straight races of finishing 14th or better, surviving when the Chase field was cut from 16 to 12 and from 12 to 8. Then, in Round 3 of NASCAR’s postseason, he won at Martinsville, which automatically made him one of the four men who will compete for the championship on Sunday. If he finishes ahead of the other three, he will win his elusive fifth title. He still seems surprised that in one day his season went from mediocre to magnificent.
“I was having a conversation this morning with Ingrid and the kids about, how often in life do you get an opportunity where you wish for something so bad, you want something so bad, and it actually comes true?” Gordon says. “Just making it there as a final four is that wish and dream that I had going into this season. But man, how cool would that be (to win the championship)?”
Gordon believes in energy and momentum and fate. He believes in Rickye Funck as a metaphor—that the regular season was a rehearsal in which he learned how far he must push himself to generate a memorable final performance. If he pushes himself to the edge one more time and nails his final race, he will go out as a champion.
And he’s not the only one who believes that. “When you show Jeff Gordon a trophy, and it’s just one more deal, you’ve got to cinch it up one more time—man, they better look out,” Hendrick says.
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Gordon won his fourth (and final, to date) championship in 2001. At the post-season banquet, a high-ranking NBC executive handed him an envelope. It contained a letter inviting Gordon to host Saturday Night Live. He turned it down flat. He was too conservative, the show was too edgy, and he was, to be honest, too chicken. “I just didn’t have the guts,” he says.
At the 2002 post-season banquet, Gordon received another envelope. He put it in the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Later that night, he went out for dinner with friends and pulled out the envelope. According to Gordon, the conversation went something like this:
Friend: What’s that?
Gordon: An invitation to do Saturday Night Live.
Friend: What do you mean, do?
Gordon: It asks me to host. But I’m not going to do it.
Friend: Are you freaking kidding me? I don’t care if you fail miserably, just to say you did it is worth it.
Entire table of friends: You HAVE to do it.
Gordon relented, and few weeks later, he walked into a conference room at 30 Rockefeller Center carrying a three-inch stack of scripts prepared by the SNL writers for proposed sketches for that weekend’s show. The cast and writers crowded around a table. There probably weren’t many NASCAR fans in the room, but everyone knew who Gordon was.
“He was everywhere at that time and had really kind of crossed over,” says Michael Schur, one of the show’s writers who went on to Internet fame as Ken Tremendous of the blog “Fire Joe Morgan.” Schur also wrote for The Office and co-created Parks and Rec and Brooklyn 99. “In fact his very appearance on SNL meant he had crossed over, marketing wise. It’s a good litmus test for one’s place in the culture.”
Schur, Parnell and the rest clapped as Gordon was introduced. Gordon looked around the room and saw only one empty seat—next to producer Lorne Michaels. Gordon sat in it, and thus started the “table read,” at which SNL cast and writers present 40 or so sketches; only 12 would make the show.
Someone said “go,” Gordon looked down, and the first line of the first skit was his. He didn’t know what to do. Someone told him to read it, which was easy enough. But his next line called for him to howl like a wolf.
Standing near the bar, Gordon re-enacts the scene. He alternates between howling halfheartedly, like he did at the table read, because he had no idea what was going on, and howling crazily, like the cast and writers did, because they had attended dozens of table reads.
As the meeting went on, it was like shaking down a new racecar. Gordon needed a few laps to get up to speed, and soon he was driving hard into the corner. Alas, Gordon’s comfort came too late to save the wolf skit. It got cut.
Gordon jokes now that if the wolf skit had been later in the table read, he might have done a better job howling, and thus a better job selling the idea. And maybe instead of talking about Rickye Funck we’d be talking about the time he howled like a wolf on SNL.
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Gordon owns a DVD of the show, which aired January 11, 2003, but he hasn’t watched it in years and can’t remember where he put it. That’s why he watches the skits via links on a 13-inch MacBook Pro, which is perched on his bar. The bar has four coasters on it, with a bottle of water set on each one.
Gordon’s hand-eye coordination and ability to drive a car on the edge of wrecking for hours at a time made the trophy room possible. But it was his ease in front of TV cameras that made him the first NASCAR star to transcend NASCAR into the greater pop culture world.
Just as he spent years honing his driving ability, he spent years working on being a TV star. The first time Gordon appeared in front of a television camera he did not say a word. He was 7, already a racing prodigy, and painfully shy. His stepfather, John Bickford, groomed him to be a star and wanted him to be comfortable on camera. “They’d sit and watch post-race interviews, then talk about who was boring, who was interesting, and what made the difference,” writes Liz Clarke in One Helluva Ride: How NASCAR Swept The Nation.
Gordon says he was “terrified” as he walked out to give the SNL monologue, but there is no evidence of that on the screen. He was a veteran of hundreds of television interviews, talk shows, sports shows, radio shows and award shows.
More than any NASCAR driver before him, Gordon used television to take NASCAR and his own brand to audiences outside of the Southeast. Through the mid-1990s, Gordon, with a few others, invented the modern driver. His post-race interviews were crisp and distinct. He gave energetic answers about racing and enthusiastic endorsements of his sponsors, all while making eye contact and speaking in complete (and accent-free) sentences.
Soon other sponsors and teams “demanded” their drivers copy Gordon’s style, says Max Muhleman, a marketing consultant who worked with Hendrick in launching Hendrick Motorsports, as well as with the owners who started the Carolina Panthers and the original Charlotte Hornets.
“He blazed a whole new path right down the center of southern, old, classic stock-car racing in every way—in the winning but more particularly in changing the culture,” Muhleman says.
TV producers wanted Gordon on their shows initially because he won all the time and thus brought with him a recognizable name and face. They kept asking him to come back because he worked hard to give them what they needed, gave good answers and is a genuinely nice person who is easy to deal with.
“Even more than that being true, it comes off on the air, and that’s very important,” says Michael Gelman, the executive producer of the syndicated daytime talk franchise LIVE. Gordon has appeared on LIVE 27 times, dating to when the program was called Live! With Regis & Kathie Lee, through Live With Regis and Kelly and most recently LIVE with Kelly and Michael. Gordon has guest co-hosted the show 11 times. Says Gelman: “He’s one of those guys who’s great off camera, but that appeal continues on camera.”
Gordon’s youth and good looks helped, too. On Saturday Night Live, one of the writers saw Gordon’s high cheekbones, crisp jaw line and steady poise and thought, he looks like a fighter pilot. That yielded a sketch in which Gordon plays Captain Jack “Cougar” Kelly, an Air Force pilot who visits an elementary school on career day. Cast member Seth Meyers plays a carpet salesman, who is also there for career day and gets lost in the vast shadow Cougar casts.
As Gordon prepared to play Cougar, he thought about the military bases in North Carolina. He gave Cougar a Southern accent, the irony being the lack of a Southern accent in his real life has long been used to explain the crossover appeal that helped him land on SNL in the first place.
The Cougar skit features Gordon’s best line of the show. When the kids groan about how boring carpet is, Cougar says, “Let’s focus up here. Carpet’s important. I’ll never forget the time I walked down that long red carpet and met the president.”
As the Gordon on TV says “president,” the Gordon leaning against his bar claps his hands and pounds on the bar in delight. Timing is everything on SNL, and he’s proud of how he delivered that line. His wife is, too. She emailed a link to the sketch to their son’s teacher and told her to call Gordon “Cougar” when he showed up for career day.
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The Jeff Gordon on the laptop is playing a waiter in a spoof of a reality show in which a woman (Rachel Dratch), wins a date with Gary Busey (Jeff Richards). One thing leads to another and soon Gordon drags Busey out of his seat and beats him up. Gordon’s TV appearances always cast him as an All-American, clean-cut, goody-goody corporate spokesman, but this skit reveals a truth those who have raced against Gordon know intimately: He is ruthless on the track.
Gordon has had on- and off-track altercations with Jeff Burton, Matt Kenseth, Tony Stewart, Brad Keselowski, Clint Bowyer and more. Yet because he won so often for so long and seemed so polite in doing so, Gordon’s reputation remained sparkling. The reality is both are true. He is an All-American, clean-cut, goody-goody corporate spokesman … and a down-and-dirty, cutthroat competitor who relishes using his bumper to move opponents out of his way.
“He has a mean streak about him,” says Burton, now a commentator on NBC. “I’m not in any way saying Jeff Gordon is a bad guy. I’m saying he has so much passion for the sport that when you couple that with his fiery personality, which most people don’t think about with him, you have those moments in time where he finds himself in situations you wouldn’t think he would get himself in.”
Gordon has never hidden his emotions—joy, anger, elation. He cried in victory lane after his first Sprint Cup win, he cried after he won his first championship, and he’ll almost certainly cry again Sunday.
As Gordon punches Busey, an ever-so faint smile crosses his face. It is the closest Gordon comes to breaking character, and in truth it’s not close at all. “I’m the type of person that, when I’m performing, I want to be as flawless as I can be, whether it be on the track or in a commercial or whatever. I’m going to stick to the script and do what I said I’ll do,” Gordon says. “Looking back, I would have liked to just crack. Because on the inside, I was cracking up.”
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The show, like his driving career, has come to an end. Gordon is back on stage, thanking the audience, waving goodbye, like he did at every track this season. Every track gave him a gift. From SNL, he took one—he kept the leather jacket he wore in the opening monologue, though he has never worn it again.
Gordon announced his retirement from driving in January. The questions about whether he was having second thoughts started immediately and won’t stop now that he’s ending his career on a high note. His answer remains the same: No. This was not a sudden decision. Though he didn’t always have an end date in mind, Gordon had been preparing to stop driving for at least five years.
He met in late 2009 or early 2010 with Zak Brown, executive chairman of Just Marketing Inc. Gordon knew that the end of his driving career was near, and he wanted to hire an agency to manage business ventures that would go beyond a patch on his shoulder or a sticker on his car.
Brown has worked in motorsports marketing for more than 20 years. Going into the meeting, which started at Gordon’s apartment in Manhattan and continued in a restaurant downstairs, Brown felt a blend of intimidation and awe.
He soon realized Gordon knew nearly as much about him as he knew about Gordon. “He was very knowledgeable on what we had accomplished, in detail—my background, the agency’s background, the various relationships we had around the world,” Brown says. “Preparation—that’s his secret.”
What’s next for Gordon is slowly being revealed. He will continue his charity work—the Jeff Gordon Foundation has raised more than $15 million to fight children’s cancer. He will work in the Fox broadcast booth for NASCAR races next year. Brown, whom Gordon hired a few months after that meeting, will look for “commercial slash business” opportunities for Gordon in the United States and abroad.
But before all of that, Gordon will “cinch it up one more time,” as Hendrick put it, to try to add another trophy to his collection. Gordon walks through the trophy room again and stops to look at the wall. Conspicuously absent is a Sprint Cup trophy. All of his championships came when Winston was the title sponsor. When Gordon built this house five years ago, he designed the shelves in this room to be able to handle the weight and size of a Sprint Cup trophy. Right now, there’s no room for one.
“We’ll make a spot for it,” Gordon says. “Right there in the middle. At the top.”
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From meh about burpees to attempting a world record in less than a month
MABA, as you well know, is Make America Burpee Again, the annual challenge in January in which participants complete 100 burpees a day every day. This was Year 5, and the final tally (I think, anyway) is 3,292,487. That's the most ever. I suppose I should remind you to log your burpees from January but if you haven’t by now, I’m not sure what would persuade you to.
And now an interview with Scott “KP” Bouma. He started MABA doing the minimum, exploded for 2,000 burpees in a day soon thereafter, and ended it with a public proclamation that he was going to attempt to set a world record for burpees in an hour. He has hired a trainer, set a training schedule, and there's no looking back now. So I had to ask him what happened to make him do that.
Name: Scott Bouma, 48
F3 Name (and brief if possible explanation)/time in F3: KP/since July 2023. Stands for "Kiwi Pi". I was a math teacher in New Zealand for four years in my early 20s, so Kiwi (New Zealand) and Pi (math).
F3 region: Tornado Alley (Oklahoma)
Married? Yep! 23 years. She completes me for sure; but F3 has finally convinced me (and her) that I’m a better husband when I'm surrounded by other HIM pursuing our mission/purpose/principles together.
Kids? 2 boys, 2 girls. Oldest is 22, youngest is 13. My favorite quote from the Q Source is in Q1.7: "A man who is inattentive to his children will quickly confront their need for his sacrifice no matter how hard he might try to ignore it."
Profession? Software/Data/Research. Master's in Computer Science; currently doing AI R&D for Paycom as a Data Scientist.
You did 2,000 in a day. That didn’t suck bad enough, now you have to do something way worse, apparently. Why are you doing this?
"Why" is a tough question. Can I start with a quick story? I promise to bring it back around quickly...
In high school I hit a patch of ice and rolled my truck. It was a defining moment in my life, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about why it happened. I usually say the patch of ice is "why." But the more I think about it, the less satisfying that seems. Yes, there was a patch of ice, but some older friends drove that same stretch an hour earlier and didn't roll (even though they slipped on it).
So I'm sure my lack of driving experience was a big part of the "why" as well. Then too, I was driving a heavy old rear-wheel drive Ford with a torque-y engine. If I'd been driving a front-wheel drive Honda Accord, I probably would not have rolled. So the vehicle was a big part of the "why" as well. You see where I'm going here.
To bring it back to burpees, the best single answer I have right now is "because I want to." Of course that just begs the question "Why do I want to?" As far as I can know myself, here are some of the main factors:
1) a recent prayer that my friend prayed (more details below)
2) probably a bit of midlife-malaise-induced "what have I really accomplished in life?" thinking
3) I do believe deep down in my soul that I have a real shot at achieving it (as opposed to, say, the record number of hot dogs eaten in 10 minutes, at which I would have no shot)
4) every January I spend time reflecting, praying, and planning priorities for the new year; this came up at a time when I was looking for something to accomplish in 2025
5) MABA is a huge factor; without MABA I seriously doubt I would have ever considered this goal
6) the "snowball" factor: from "I think I can do 100 burpees a day for a month" to "I want to attempt 1,000 burpees in one day" to "Wow, I just did 2,000 in one day!" 1,200 burpees in an hour seems like a scary-but-within-reach next step.
Like I said, "why" is a tough question, but I do feel very motivated at the moment. I recognize, though, that motivation fades; so I'm hoping that by sharing publicly, hiring a trainer, and getting a training plan in place, that "strong, motivated, present KP" can get the jump on "lazy, tired, mediocre future KP" and maybe make this thing happen!
Early on, you were just doing the bare minimum 100 a day. What happened to turn you into a burpee maniac?
I blame this whole thing on my fellow PAX, "Downtown." He led a COT about mediocrity (see below). I was convicted, so Downtown prayed for me to "escape mediocrity." As a Jesus follower, I believe in the power of prayer, but truthfully I did not expect the change it would unleash deep inside of me.
A desire to do my very best at something started growing inside, and MABA provided a natural outlet. Within two weeks I decided to attempt 1,000 burpees in a single day. Deep down I thought I could probably do it, although it scared me to think how hard it would be. Surprisingly, on the day I blew past 1,000 easily, and hit 2,000 with more left in the tank. I learned a lot about myself that day; among other things, that I could comfortably do 500 burpees in an hour.
Around that time, someone posted in Slack about Brian Reyelt's 24-hour burpee record. An hour of idle web surfing led me to Tommy Vu's recent world record of 1,027 burpees in one hour. "1,027?!", I thought. "That's achievable!" A seed of inspiration sprouted inside, although it took me several more days to consciously admit to myself that I really wanted to attempt a challenge of that record. Even now, it's still scary to write, because I have a lot of imposter syndrome about the whole thing. But I also know that deep in my soul I feel a divine urging to give it my best shot. So I'm gonna try.
Your region crushed MABA in terms of burpees per person. How did you guys do it?
Truthfully, it was a snowball with a lot of factors. For one, we had an influx of amazing FNGs join F3 Tornado Alley in the second half of 2024, so we came into MABA with a lot of fresh blood and energy.
For another, we got off to an early good start on the regional leaderboard due to a couple of beasts like Downtown and McConaughey putting up hundreds a day. Seeing "Tornado Alley" on the leaderboard inspired the rest of us to pitch in a little more anytime other regions start creeping up on us.
Another factor is our very active #csaup Slack channel. Lots of PAX posting their daily totals, inspiring others, and generally creating enthusiasm.
One last factor is our shared experimentation on the "least hard" way to do burpees. Lots of us have picked up on the "burpees every 30 seconds" method. Three burpees every 30 seconds equals 200 burpees in just over half an hour. Most F3 guys can do that.
Best guess (or actual fact if you already know), in an hour, how many can you do right now?
Four days ago I did 600 burpees in an hour at about 80 percent intensity. This week I will attempt 660, which I feel confident about. Beyond that I have beliefs and goals but no hard proof.
When are you going to attempt it, and how are you going to train between now and then?
Great question. My current plan is a six-month push, with three key components:
1) Personal trainer: I've hired a personal trainer who made his own world record pullup attempt last year (he didn't break the record but he did achieve over 2000 pullups in 4 hours). I need his help to manage my nutrition and hydration, to hold me accountable, and to help me get my mind right.
2) Data-driven training: David Roche and his scientific approach to his recent Leadville 100 win is a huge inspiration to me. So I'm starting with a mix of high-intensity "burpee sprints" and hour-long medium-intensity sessions. I'm tracking date, burpees, total time and heart rate for each session. Over the next month this will give me some great data on my current abilities at different intensity levels and also hopefully some up-and-to-the-right trendlines showing my rate of progression.
I know training isn't linear, but I am hoping these trendlines will give me some good milestone goals along the journey, and an estimate for when I'll be able to schedule my official attempt at the record.
3) Spiritual intensity: working out has always been a spiritual activity for me. In the words of Eric Liddell, "When I run, I feel God's pleasure." I do believe I'm on this journey in answer to Downtown's prayer, so in the words of Step 11 of AA, I intend to use my burpee training sessions to "improve our conscious contact with God as we understand him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out."
What’s the hardest physical thing you’ve ever done, and what did you get out of it?
It doesn't sound like much as I write it, but the hardest physical thing I've ever done is run a marathon on a whim, with no intentional training. The furthest I had ever run before in a stretch was 8 miles. You can imagine the result: I ran for 22 miles, hobbled the last four, and hurt the next day like never before (or since). But that day I learned that under the right circumstances, I can push my body a lot further than I might think.
Where’s Waldo winner: John “Tugboat” Gina
Every year MABA runs a competition to see who can submit video or photo proof of themselves doing burpees in the most unusual places. Entries in previous years include whatever you call the rink you play curling on, an operating room, too many beaches, mountains and planes to count, the roof of a house, the cherrypicker of a firetruck and much more.
This year’s winner, John “Tugboat” Gina, a 12-year-old 7th grader in the Suncoast region, took time out of his day DURING ORCHESTRA CLASS to not only do burpees, but film himself doing burpees. I love this kid, and this is all I know of him. This video is priceless — the shooing away of the other kid, the surreptitious glance MID-BURPEE!! at the teacher, the sheer audacity of doing it at all.
Pro tip: Raise kids like that.
As the official Q of MABA, I declare that every burpee on this video counts double, and if he got even a whiff of trouble, triple. Years from now, when Tugboat is inaugurated as president, I hope he does burpees during his speech.