I have been witness/participant to a fair amount of wagering.  There were, of course, the "Bet You Can't Eat/Drink That" challenges.  There was a bet that resolved at what time of year daylight savings falls which left "Biggie" McDermott bald.   Four weeks prior to a trip to a Las Vegas, the "Get Laid Before Vegas" bet was made among the unattached of the clan.  The terms - pretty self-explanatory. The payout - once foot was placed on Vegas soil, he who "got some" received fifty bucks from all who "got none".  (As long as there are no follow up questions, we all "got lots".)  But nothing could prepare me for the seemingly impossible wager placed about this time last year.

The proposition came about, like many before it, during long night of drinking. The discussion's focus was what rocks and what does not when , Joe dropped the bomb that set off the spit take chain heard around the world:  "Mimes rock."

Through the yelling, laughing and the cleaning of spat beer, Joe explained his respect for the unspoken art.  "It takes a lot of concentration, physical agility and creativity to perform as a mime.   I mean, there's 'Walkin' In The Wind' and then there's 'Leanin' Forward While You Pretend To Walk'.  A mime, a great mime, mind you, can express just as much as if he were to speak."

Seeing an interesting opportunity present itself, Mark "Mr. Swifty" Renz pushed the issue, "Even in day-to-day living?"

"Sure. It might take longer and a little more patience, but, yeah, it could be done."

"You're telling me that everything you've done today, even the conversation we're having right now, you could express without speaking?"

"Me?  No, but a great mime, yes."  Joe thought it over for a few moments longer.  "I take that back. I could do it. No problem."

"For a whole month?" Mr. Swifty pressed.

"Oh, I don't know.   That's a little long"

"If you could do it for a day, you can do it for thirty," the country of McDermott chimed.

Suddenly, the room filled up with an assortment of "Yeah!"s, "Come on!"s and "What are you? Chicken?"s.

Joe drained the last drop from his can of Milwaukee's Best Ice.  "Sure.  What the heck.  What are the terms."

Colin wailed in a panic, "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!".  He pushed his hand in the air, hoping he could send the words back.  "Wait a second, Joe.  We've got shows booked for the next three weeks.  You've got to be able to sing."

"No way," Renz cut in.   "Joe said he could express himself exclusively through a mime discipline.   Mimes don't sing."

"He's got a point, Colin," Joe conceded.  "So, we'll play a modified set and I'll let my bass and super-phat duds do the talking."

"I know all the words to 'Blitzkrieg Pop'," Dave added.  (Little did we know that Dave's performance of the classic Ramones song would catapult him into the Gwen Stefani-like spotlight.)

"See, Colin," Joe said in a reassuring tone, "We'll just come up with other bits to rock their face and tell people that I'm sick."

For the next hour and fifteen beers the conditions and payout were established.  RULE 1: Joe cannot speak, sing, or write a single word, syllable, or symbol for thirty (30) days.  The only exception being his signature for bill paying and credit/debit card purposes.  For safety reasons, the allowance for "I'm on fire. Please put me out.", "I have accidentally ingested a copious amount of poisonous intoxicants.  Please take me to Hospital." and the word "Tuesday" has also been made.  PAYOUT: If Joe breaks any part of Rule 1 within the thirty (30) day period, he will enter The Thunderdome to take on the pack of wild dogs that live next door to him.  If Joe abides by Rule 1, he will receive a pizza party, chauffeur service for a month provided by those who bet against him, and 450 cash dollars (American).

We all knew this could go either way.  We knew Joe wouldn't break in the first couple weeks.  The true test was going to come in Week Three and Four.  We allowed Joe to settle into the world that mime built with little to no temptation to speak.  Our surveillance techniques ranged from the obvious (sitting in his living room and staring at him) to spy-school slick (bugging his favorite napping place just in case he talked in his sleep).  Then, with two weeks to go, we unleashed "Operation: Torment Joe".

The object of "TJ" was to irritate him to the point of producing a vocal outburst.  My personal favorite was to follow him around while saying his name over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over.  Initially, there was poking involved, but there are only so many times I can have my finger pulled back.  There was the "Call His Answering Machine Every Five Minutes" trick until he changed his phone number and didn't give anybody the new one.  There was also the "I Didn't Order That" trick.  When Joe was home alone, we'd order a pizza to the Oestreich residence, hide in the bushes, and await his explanation that he had not ordered any pizza.  Once the pizza joints refused to deliver to the house, we moved on to Cafe Courier.  We even moved all of his clocks ahead an hour in order to trip him up on Day Thirty.

Joe's term of silence ended without a peep emitting from his word hole.  His claim that he could express himself without speaking remains to be seen, though.  None of us could understand what he was trying to say.  (Flying barons trapped dervishes on Mt. L'laine?  Still makes no sense.)  But, since understanding him wasn't a stipulation, to the victor go the spoils.

And let me tell you, those next thirty days were definitely spoiled for me.  2 AM trips to the store, aimless strip mall hopping, and I hadn't been to Amish country that many times since my grandma died.   I will never understand Joe's fascination with "hook and eye" britches.