What happens in the GaGa pit, stays in the GaGa pit

So unfortunately I can't tell you the rest of this story.

But, I will tell you that as we approached the DuNord GaGa pit during a brief break in the Memorial Day work weekend, we encountered a group of young boys already engaged.  They didn't look like they wanted us to jump in, and I'm sure we didn't look like we wanted to share.  Luckily my friend Amy bridged the gap in true Amy fashion.  She invited us in to the ring, which they grudginly accepted.  She then got everyone's attention, and introduced me as the 'Beserker' and then announced that everyone else would be getting a GaGa pit name before the first round was done.  And name them we did.  Every kid got a new name.  It created instant comeraderie at the same time that we tried to kill each other with the playground ball.  There was Zeroni, Double Whammy, The Screamer, Dr. Hoot, Slenderman, and The Hammer, to name a few.  It was delightful to watch the kids smile as a name was bestowed, and then to call each other by their "pit names".  As we saw each other around camp we called out to each other by our new names.  None of the boys we had been playing with had parents at the GaGa Pit, so as we passed by at dinner, gave their kid a high five and yelled out, "Nice playing Sock Man!" I'm sure they wondered.  As they should have.

What I can't reveal is why I am the Beserker.  It was well-earned, I assure you.

The rest of the work-weekend passed in a gnatty-fog.  But the sun was out, it was in the 80s, we were hanging with good friends, and there was a 230 degree Finnish Sauna available to wash off the grime from both setting up cabin tents and the detrimus from the gaga pit.  And a 40 degree lake.  Wowee.