How To Play Championship Air Hockey

By Dick "Tiger Eyes" Barlow, City Champion '91-'92

Back in ’83, when I was just getting started, I asked one of the older players, a wheelchair-bound old curmudgeon named Lefty, “Lefty, how’d you get so good at air hockey?”
   
Old Lefty shifted in his chair and looked at me. “I’ll tell you what Ragsdale told me,” he said. “Italians are not to be trusted.”
  
Later, I found out that Ragsdale was Lefty’s bloodhound. Legendary as he was around the circuit, I sometimes can’t help but wonder if Lefty was a little crazy.
   
The point is that anyone can play championship air hockey. (Except, according to Lefty, Norwegians.) If you have the right mental attitude, discipline, and a physique that will allow you to enter most door frames (and are not Norwegian), you too can achieve air hockey greatness.
   
When you’re just starting out, you’ll want to build up some confidence by playing small children and the elderly. Unfortunately, very few nursing homes have air hockey tables in them, so it’s best to hang out in Chuck E. Cheese a lot. I remember when I was in that stage at my career, Chuck E. himself and I were on a first name basis. Of course, when you so thoroughly dominate your competition in any given sport, someone’s going to try to blackball you at some point--the media, the owners, a large rodent. So one day in '96, I was sternly asked to leave. They said it was because I was cheating at skee-ball, which I was. But we all know the real reason: I got too good. Too dominant. But if you want to be a great air hockey player, you have to be persistent in the face of adversity.

After the mouse and his teenage henchman told me to leave, I noticed a costume shop across the street. Persistent as I am, I told the guy at the counter that the candy bar in my pocket was a gun, and asked for his uniform.
   
The guys at the arcade didn’t buy my costume store employee costume, so I gave up and went home. I still think that’s a pretty good example of persistence, though. Oh, that and Wile E. Coyote, but I’m not sure if he plays air hockey.
   
Then there are those kids who come in and think they’re so good, just because they take a 6-0 lead. Things are looking grim, sure, but that brings us to another key to success: mental fortitude. You can’t just flail your arms and curse, and give that know-it-all ten-year-old the finger. You have to stay focused on the game, and grab the puck off the table. That way, he can’t hit it and embarrass you in front of everyone. Once you have the puck, run to the other side and overpower your opponent. When he’s on the ground or running away to tell on you, slide the puck in the goal six times. Bam, tie ballgame. Now, if you want, you can flail and curse and gesture at your opponent, or his angry parent.
   
Of course, they’re probably already on their way, asking what’s wrong with you and doing their own little flailing-cursing-gesturing thing. Run away at this point, unless the parents look smaller or weaker or more handicapped than you.
   
Hey, here’s a handy trick: I like to keep a pocket full of salt when I play, which is good for throwing at opponents. If you find yourself in a pinch, you could use Parmesan cheese, pepper, or hot butter.
   
To this point, you might be asking yourself, is playing championship air hockey just throwing condiments and accosting children? That other stuff is crucial, sure, but the answer is no.
   
More important than how many games you win, or how many children you attack is how you conduct yourself off the floor near the rink thing--do you act like a champion?
   
We’re not talking about helping old ladies across the street here (though you could, if you were in need of an opponent and on the other side of the street was an arcade). Dress so people know you’re a great air hockey player. I suggest tee-shirts with funny slogans on them. My favorite shirt says, “It’s not a bald spot, it’s a solar panel for a sex machine.” Ha! Pretty good, right? Coupled with my wristbands and paddle--a custom MacKay Gold Series, which stays constantly tethered to my wrist--there’s no doubt that I’m the cock of the walk, at least as far as hitting a plastic puck across the little air rink thing is concerned. Plus, in this example, girls might think I’m good at sex.
  
Once you’re pretty good, you’ll want to invest in a tattoo that reads something like “Air Hockey Master” or, “Go puck yourself.” Mine says, “Suck it, slow hands,” because it extends beyond air hockey, to antagonize sluggish barbers and Asian bathhouse employees. These tattoos let everyone know that you’re really serious about air hockey. “Whoa,” you’ll hear people say, “That guy’s like, really into air hockey.”
   
When in public, it's always a good idea to steer the conversation toward air hockey. At a PTA meeting the other day, some guy was talking about how his dog or his son or something was run over by a car. “Speaking of sad things,” I interrupted, “this guy I was playing today--oh, I’m a revered air hockey player--his game was just sad.” Then, after a thoughtful pause, “Skunked his bitch ass.”
   
I could tell the guy wanted to hear more, the way his mouth hung agape, his eyes sullen and worried that I might not continue. But a championship air hockey player always leaves them wanting more.