- Jan 31, 2021
- 503
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“The Great Pirate Pommel Horse Showdown”
by Nobody In Particular
It was a dark but also sunny day on the high seas when Captain Barnaclebeard, the fiercest pirate of the Mostly Uncharted Ocean, decided to host the First Annual Pommel Horse Championship aboard his wobbly but enthusiastic ship, The Sweaty Seagull. No one knew why. “Because,” he said with a wink that was more like a blink, “gymnastics builds core strength for plundering.”
The crew, made up of peg-legged gymnasts, scurvy sailors, and one man who only said “Arrgh” but with different intonations, prepared the deck. They dragged out the pommel horse they stole from a merchant ship transporting Olympic equipment to Tortuga, which was a gymnastic hub now for reasons never fully explained.
“Alright ye barnacled bilge rats!” shouted Barnaclebeard, whose beard indeed had barnacles and one hermit crab living in it rent-free. “We be holdin’ the biggest, baddest, most horizontal rotationin’ competition in all the seas! Winner gets… this slightly bent golden sword I found in a barrel.”
“Ooooh,” said the crew in unison, except for One-Eyed Jill who coughed dramatically because she wanted attention.
The first competitor was Swashbucklin’ Sam, known for his daring dismounts and inability to count past seven. He mounted the pommel horse with the grace of a tipsy octopus. “Watch this, lads!” he yelled, spinning his legs around in big circles. Unfortunately, he forgot that the deck was tilted. Halfway through a Magyar travel, the horse lurched left and Sam was thrown into the sea. A shark applauded politely.
Next up was Pegleg Pete, whose pommel routine was infamous because he only had one leg. “He’s innovative,” whispered First Mate Pigeonfoot, who had actual pigeon feet for reasons nobody questioned anymore. Pete hopped onto the horse, swung his one leg around with wild enthusiasm, and shouted “LOOK MA, NO LEGS—oh wait.” He spun so fast he created a small cyclone that blew three hats into the horizon. The judges (Barnaclebeard and a parrot named Nigel) gave him 6.4, with a -0.5 deduction for shouting mid-routine.
“Next,” Barnaclebeard bellowed, dramatically adjusting his coat, which had seventeen unnecessary buttons, “we’ve got the newcomer: Little Timmy the Cabin Boy.”
Timmy was only twelve but had the spirit of a man who’d been forced to swab decks since birth. He nervously approached the horse. “I don’t know, Cap’n,” he squeaked. “I’ve only ever done circles on barrels!”
“Barrels, pommel horse, what’s the difference?” said Nigel the parrot. “Polly want a stick grip.”
Timmy took a deep breath, mounted the horse, and started doing the cleanest single leg circles anyone on the Sweaty Seagull had ever seen. His flares were surprisingly sharp. “By Davy Jones’ calluses,” whispered Pigeonfoot, “the lad’s got talent.”
Halfway through, though, a cannonball from a rival ship The Flipping Buccaneer crashed into the railing. “WHAT’S THIS THEN?” yelled Captain Gymbeard, who was wearing chalk instead of beard oil. “WE DEMAND ENTRY TO THE COMPETITION!”
“Arrr, ye can’t just enter halfway!” said Barnaclebeard.
“Yes we can, this is pirate rules,” Gymbeard smirked, revealing a mouthful of molar-sized gold teeth. “Besides, I brought my star athlete—Jean-Pierre Le Pommel, the French pirate gymnast.”
The crew gasped. Jean-Pierre was famous from the 1704 Tortuga Invitational, where he scored a perfect 10.3 before the code of points changed for no reason.
Jean-Pierre stepped onto the deck wearing sparkly breeches and a sash that read “Le Pirate Magnifique.” He saluted dramatically to no one in particular. The wind blew. Somewhere, a violin played.
His routine was… breathtaking, but also confusing. He mounted the horse like a ballet dancer who’d been at sea too long, started swinging with impossible precision, doing Russians, flares, spindles, and travels with perfect toe point. Even Nigel the parrot stopped squawking. Barnaclebeard wiped away a single tear, though it might have been seawater.
When Jean-Pierre stuck his dismount (onto a barrel of rum), the crew exploded into applause. Someone fired a celebratory cannonball that sank a passing fishing boat. “Oops,” they said.
“Top that, Timmy!” shouted Gymbeard.
Timmy gulped. He looked at the pommel horse. It looked back. Or maybe that was the crab under it. Either way, he knew what he had to do. He climbed up and started spinning with pure determination. His flares improved, his travels smoothed out, and he attempted a Wu Guonian, which no pirate had ever done sober. He almost made it—almost. But then a gull flew into his face.
He fell off with a splat. The crew gasped. “NOOOO!” shouted Pigeonfoot. Nigel squawked, “Execution deduction!”
Barnaclebeard dramatically raised his rusty cutlass. “The judges will now confer!” He whispered to Nigel for about five seconds. “We give Timmy… 8.4! Jean-Pierre… 8.5!”
The Flipping Buccaneer crew erupted in cheers. Gymbeard laughed menacingly. “Looks like we get the bent golden sword.”
But Timmy stood up, face covered in gull feathers, and shouted, “WAIT! I CHALLENGE YE TO A Dismount Duel!” No one knew what that was, but everyone cheered anyway.
They both climbed the horse simultaneously, which was structurally unsound. The ship tilted. Barnaclebeard yelled “Duel!” and fired a pistol in the air for dramatic effect.
Jean-Pierre attempted a triple Russian dismount, but midair he was struck by the same gull, now very confused. He landed on Nigel. Nigel bit him.
Timmy, meanwhile, did the cleanest single circle, rose to handstand, and fell onto the rum barrel perfectly. The barrel exploded, launching him back onto the deck like a gymnast cannonball. It wasn’t technically legal, but it was awesome.
The judges, overwhelmed by the chaos, gave Timmy a 9.9, deducting 0.1 for excessive bird involvement.
Barnaclebeard declared, “THE WINNER OF THE FIRST ANNUAL PIRATE POMMEL HORSE CHAMPIONSHIP IS… LITTLE TIMMY THE CABIN BOY!” The crew cheered, someone fainted, and the gull was promoted to assistant coach.
Jean-Pierre bowed dramatically. “Zut alors,” he said. “I have been defeated… by a child.”
Gymbeard growled, “We’ll be back… next year… with chalk buckets.” Then he sailed away into the fog, which appeared for this line only.
Timmy held up the bent golden sword triumphantly. “Does this mean I get extra rations?”
“No,” said Barnaclebeard. “But ye do get to swab the deck twice as fast with yer improved core strength.”
And thus ended the greatest, worst, most unregulated pommel horse competition in all pirate history. The crew went back to pirating. The horse was lashed to the mast. The gull retired.
