UMass Boston swim team member, Margaret Iduha, is another member of the team who’s able to communicate with animals. The dolphin is always happy to see her.
Do you want to know a magic trick the swim team used to do? Every year, prior to the fall semester beginning, members of the swim team would play the infamous “elevator game” in McCormack and make themselves disappear.
The UMass Boston swimming pool used to be on the roof of McCormack, and the Beacons’ swim team was the most dominant sport at UMass Boston, winning every home game and Little East Conference Championship via forfeit. Most opponents were terrified of the extremely slanted pool deck and the water’s intense wind-caused currents.
But then again, it wasn’t just the infrastructure that caused issues, it was the missing person reports of opponents. As a result, the school fell into debt and made the business decision to relocate the pool to Clark. Clark’s swimming pool wasn’t nearly as aesthetically pleasing as the one on top of McCormack, mostly because of the falling debris.
Compared to the snow flurries that used to rain down on McCormack’s pool in October, meets held in Clark saw students dive into piles of broken ceiling tiles, cockroaches and worst of all, asbestos. People would even frequently hear athletes scream “Oh s—, a rat!” after jumping off the 20-meter diving board. It honestly would’ve been better to hold diving competitions in an empty pool at that point, and that’s exactly what the team did before the pool closed for good.
Now, with the pool long gone, students grew tired of practicing in their bathtub and waterboarding themselves to maintain a good lung capacity, ultimately choosing to go where no person had gone before. The gang began practicing in Boston Harbor, and frankly, it’s the best decision they ever made—especially now that the team has become nationally recognized with their new scientific breakthroughs and superpowers. Many members of the team developed new powers, including captain Mikey Felipes, who developed the ability to fly.
“It’s f—— awesome, I fly up to the roof of the Pru every weekend now during both golden hour and rush hour. Sometimes when it’s really clear, you can see the bumper-to-bumper traffic extend all the way from the split down to the Sagamore. The constant beeping and road rage is music to my ears!”
If you happen to take the highway to hell, also known as Route 3, down to the Cape and listen to “Tom’s townie tunes” on the way there, crossing either the Sagamore or that bridge in Bourne, you may run into another member of the team, Kevin Lock. Lock developed the ability of mind reading and can communicate with animals, as well as breathe underwater. After his dog started to make sarcastic remarks about his newly developed superiority complex, he began to shift his focus toward aquatic species.
Kev spent his summer days at Lighthouse Beach in Chatham, the town that dons the nickname “Massachusetts’ broken elbow,” because people don’t care about the place. Well, Bobby the Beacon does; the beach is where Bobby spends his summers frozen like a “Night at the Museum” statue. Actually, Bobby was the one who brought Lock to the beach, and I was able to conduct an interview with UMass Boston’s favorite narcissist.
At first, Lock wasn’t too bad. He let me know what some of the great whites had to say, along with a couple of other species.
“The great white wanted me to relay the message that even though fish are friends and not food, not even Bobby could save you.” Bobby let out a shrug when he heard Lock’s comments. As for Kevin, he’s preserving his body by staying in a cage after learning the hard way that, like his pet chihuahua, sharks are also ankle biters.
As for the sea turtles and dolphins found in the ocean, Kev let me know that “Crush and Squirt made their way over from Australia and said that the trip was totally pissah, dude.” Just as much as they both hate plastic in the ocean, the dolphins feel the same. He wanted to emphasize that “the dolphins want to thank the CIA for making the ocean more acidic during MK ultra.”
After passing on the dolphin’s comment, Lock went off the deep end and began boasting about his abilities out of nowhere.
“Are you done with this bulls–t? I don’t have time for you, I’m a f—— God among people. I can read people’s minds and manipulate their ways of thinking. My rizz is top notch, because I use their likes and dislikes to my advantage. And guess what? I know your every move so don’t pull any crazy s— now, a—–e. You wish you had my abilities.” Everyone has a majority of your abilities Kev; it’s called intuition.
Bobby had to stun Kevin with his “headlight” after he tried grabbing me, and from what I can disclose, Bobby called his bluff about his predictability skills. Besides, he deserved the beatdown anyway, the guy’s a bigger gaslighter than Bobby would be if he had a flame on his head and a propane tank in his stomach. I mean, congrats buddy, you knew I was going to kick your feet—well, foot—out from under you.
As for the remaining members of the team, they weren’t nearly as self-absorbed and developed other skills, like telekinesis, super strength and speaking in tongues, aka Latin. Another member developed the ability of improv, but they were ostracized and exiled from the university. Their skills can produce wear and tear on the body, which means the team has to frequently rest and recover from sudden illness.
Since the program began practicing in the ocean during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, they resorted to using leeches found in Boston harbor and got help the old-fashioned way. As a result, the Beacons haven’t stopped winning after swimmers reported to have hickeys and Hepatitis B, causing opponents to forfeit like they did in years prior. It’s also known that leeches can help reattach severed limbs, so maybe Kev can end up pulling a Happy Gilmore and get his foot ba—never mind.
For UMass Boston’s swim team, the goal is to always to stay a step ahead of everyone else. Practicing in the waters of Massachusetts has been really beneficial in helping the team grow both their game and the severity of their health conditions. After all, there’s no use in competing if you already know you’re better than everyone else and have total immunity toward fatal health complications.
Plus, the LEC knows there’s no foul play, so they don’t care if other teams forfeit anyway. Let’s just hope they don’t move up to Division I anytime soon, because then they’d have to start competing with teams who practice in the LA and Cleveland Rivers.