July 31: Beirut

It was the winter of 2008. I had just received word that I had been hired as an intern for a baseball statistics company 3,000 miles away from home. I would soon be driving across the country by myself to a location in which I had never been to work with people I had never met. The thought was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. Before I could partake in my adventure, though, I had to find a place to call home for the next eight months.

The first logical step was to scour Craig's List every day and hope to stumble upon an affordable yet safe abode. I was looking for everything from one bedrooms to studios to guests houses to rooms to rent in strangers' homes. I didn't know what the standard of living on the East Coast was. The last time I had been was in the eighth grade and finding a place to live wasn't exactly at the top of my to-do list.

I emailed a few people before finding something promising that sounded fairly close to the office I would be working out of and wasn't out of my planned budget. If things fell into plan, I would be living in the basement of a home that housed two guys who were similar in age to me. We exchanged a few emails and I explained my situation.

When he determined that I wasn't a complete nut, we arranged a time to speak on the phone and work out the details of our situation. When the day of the call arrived, I was nervous because time was running out and I desperately needed a place to drive to from my parents' home in CA. I anxiously paced around my living room as he described the house I would be calling home and which of his belongings I would be sharing the basement with.

My nervousness turned to pure adrenaline when he mentioned the ping pong table. I quickly let him know that he didn't stand a chance against me and he was free to challenge me whenever he liked. We joked around a bit before getting back on subject, but all I could think of from then on was that ping pong table.

To make this already long story a bit shorter, things didn't work out. I ended up connecting with two other interns and forming a threesome in which to live which happened to be much closer to the office. The new situation was much better than the basement, but I still yearned to play some ping pong.

About two months into the internship, I received an e-vite from the owner of the home I was supposed to live in inviting me to take part in his annual Beirut tournament. I didn't have a clue what a Beirut tournament was, but in the invitation he had given a breakdown of the night's events. An hour before the tournament was to begin, "players would be allowed to practice on one of the many tables provided." In my mind (and because we had spent so much time talking about table tennis), that meant a Beirut tournament was a giant ping pong tournament. I immediately RSVPed my response as I will be attending.

When the day came, I dragged one of my new friends (Steve) from the internship along. After all, this would be the first time I would meet my would-be roommates in person. It would just be silly to go alone. I grabbed my personal ping pong paddle (complete with padded, protective case) and hit the road.

As the GPS navigated us to the party, I grew more and more excited at the idea of a room full of simultaneous ping pong games but something deep in me kept asking, what if it's not a ping pong tournament. What if it's something completely different?

There was no turning back. I parked my truck and Steve and I made our way up the sidewalk toward the house. "Maybe you should tuck the paddle in the back of your jeans' waistline just in case it isn't a ping pong tournament," Steve suggested as we were about to push open the front door. "Then you won't look like the idiot with the only paddle at the party." Best. Advice. Ever.

A Beirut tournament is nothing more than a Beer Pong tournament; and this was one heck of a set up. There were at least ten tables all supporting triangles of red cups of beer and at least fifty people waiting to throw ping pong balls into said cups. Music was blaring and laughter was rampant as I introduced myself to the hosts and signed up as if I knew what I was getting into the whole time. Before the tournament began, I quickly ducked out to dispose of my embarrassing paddle in my truck. I arrived in time for the National Anthem and the ceremoniously delivered speech that the host presented to kick off the evening.

Steve and I were ironically paired up with the hosts for our first round and we held our own for most of it. In the end, however, they came back and slammed the door on our dreams of winning it all in our glorious anonymity. I never did play ping pong with my would-be roommates, but going into the Beirut tournament expecting a basement of table tennis nerds was one of my highlights of 2009.