Dow Denies Involvement
By: Datzit Indaruf, Flem Cup Correspondent
MYRTLE BEACH, Nov 14, 2001 – In a bizarre twist to this seemingly never-ending drama that is the aftermath of The Flem Cup, Team England golfer Swampy “1-3/4 Points” Trowbridge has leveled charges against Team U.S. Co-Captain Scott Dow that Dow tried to kill Trowbridge, Captain Ian Jennings and perhaps others by poisoning them – twice. Trowbridge, of course, was one of three Team England golfers (Greg Matthews and Dave Richmond were the others) to have virtually comatose rounds on Day 3 – the morning after the now infamous karaoke night at Bummz during which Dow bribed local women to buy Team England golfers shots of different liquors. Trowbridge, after mailing in the day’s round, immediately went for a nap upon returning to the hotel. Swampy considers that to have been the first attempt on his life by Dow – poisoning by alcohol. Having failed that, Swampy is now charging that the very next day, Dow tried again in what has become known as the “Hot Sauce Incident”, a truly heinous incident during which parts of Swampy’s mouth (and large swaths of his digestive system) were simply melted with pure, concentrated habenero sauce. During an interview with FlemCup.com, Swampy laid out his charges.
FlemCup.com: Stuart, this incident occurred on Sunday, November 4th – on the eve of the all-important singles matches. Tell us, in your own words, what happened leading up to the incident.
Poor Swampy Trowbridge: BummZ was fairly busy for that time of late afternoon and a few Team Englanders had congregated, eagerly awaiting the announcement of the singles pairings for the final day of the Flem Cup. In fact the only team member absent from the early bar grouping was yours truly. Close to physical exhaustion from the overzealous consumption of illicitly supplied alcohol the previous night (when Captain Dow first attempted to assasinate me and others), I was taking an afternoon nap to recover, making me the last member of the team to get to BummZ. Interestingly, on my way to BummZ, I met Dow, who was loitering furtively around the entrance to the bar. My suspicions of foul play were immediately aroused as he started to speak: “Ian won’t give me the Team England pairings until he’s spoken to you so I’ve just come to find you and wake you up – in a nice way.” It is well known amongst my teammates that trouble follows closely behind and sometimes in front of Dow (more on that later). Anyway, I entered, sat down and began enjoying the company of my teammates Milo (then future Stableford champion), Greg and my Captain, Ian. Being the leader of men that he is, he wanted to discuss the last day pairings with me before going public.
FC.com Wow, that’s a riveting tale so far, Swampy. What all did you talk about?
Poor Swampy: I don’t really remember. I mean, the details of that discussion are not relevant to this report. What is relevant is that I ordered food shortly after this discussion during which time Dow had been allowed to return to the table from the comfort of the bar where he had been busy chatting up our waitress. As is my want, I ordered hot chicken wings and cream cheese poppers and I recall this selection was of special interest to Dow. The whole team – except Ray, I think, was at the table and although I have to admit that the following sequence of events is a little bit sketchy, I would also suggest that is probably due to the intense trauma of the incident. Anyway, here goes.
- Waitress takes my food order.
- Dow’s first visit to bar, during which he speaks at length to our waitress.
- Dow returns from bar to get our pairings during which he first refused our offer of a beer but then changed his mind.
- Dow’s second visit to bar, during which he again speaks at length to our waitress. He later claimed this was to his “no thank you” on the beer to a “yes, please.”
- Dow leaves Bummz.
- Our food order arrives.
- I (We) nearly die.
I had three dips with my wings. To be honest, I don’t know why they serve dips with those things ’cause you can’t taste them anyway. Two I recognized as blue cheese and another mayonnaise based dip but the third which was new to me. Instantly I grabbed a chicken wing and stirred it around in the alien dip, coating half of the wing. One vacuum-like suck later and the helpless wing was sucked clean, sauce and all. I remember immediately thinking “this ain’t right” as my teeth seemingly began to melt from the spicy heat in the dip. “Wow that’s hot” I said to Jennings as he looked on admiringly. Both Ian and I have a liking for hot n’ spicy food so it didn’t put him off in the least. “Do you mind if I . . . . ” he said, gesturing toward the sauce. By then, my larynx was paralyzed due to the shock of the unexpectedly hot dip so all I could do was shake my head – NO. Unfortunately, he must have taken my signal as No, I don’t mind because he dove right in. At this point, my eyes were running, my nose was running, my brow was sweating and I was having trouble breathing, putting me very close to a state of panic – things were getting serious.
Well, Ian, having more respect than I did, dipped only the end of his wing into the “hot bastard”, wiping a little off around the side of the dip bowl before popping the high explosive into his mouth. Although my senses were still in complete confusion my natural instinct to protect my Co-Captains health – only I could no longer speak. Luckily, Joe had been watching me and blurted out “Ian! That’s way too much”. But it was too late.
“F***ing hell that’s hot. F***ing hell that’s HOT. F***ING hell that’s HOT, F***ING hell that’s really F***ING seriously F***ING HOT” I heard him say, noticing he had a similarly panicked look to the one I imagined I was wearing. I knew he was really in trouble since I knew the heat index for this “dip” did not reach max for at least another couple of minutes. As Greg looked on with the concerned expression of a fellow team mate helpless to assist, his anxiety boiled over into hysterical laughter. Ian, who had mysteriously started emptying sachets of sugar onto his tongue, was also rapidly losing the battle to control his bodily functions as the contractions caused by the ‘death dip’ (later found to be a concentrated form of the worlds hottest chili pepper: the habanero) was forcing him into massive passing of gas, a la the “Spinkhill Special” he is known for back home. When he ran out at our table, he wildly slid his chair across to another table where an old couple was sitting. Aside from scaring them half to death, the exertion evidently caused a hike in his blood pressure so that he started to hemorrhage from his nose (a phenomena now known as the “Jennings Effect”). Before I knew it, we were alone in the bar. If a cop had come in right then he would have been looking around for a severed limb, I jest not. Slowly, Ian’s bleeding abated and the feeling of holding molten lava in my mouth changed to that of merely boiling water.
Eventually, we quizzed the waitress at length about the fiery dip she but could not explain why this stuff was on my plate. She did say that the chef used special gloves when handling the stuff: “Its called Da’ Bomb and he only mixes a tiny, tiny bit to make hot sauce for the wings”. Ian then made what is now simply known as “The Call” to Dow, starting and ending with the immortal line: “I’ve just shit meself and me nose is bleeding, get down here now”.
In seconds, it seemed, Dow was in Bummz. Was that a subtle nod to the waitress I saw on his re-arrival? Who knows? It took a while for clarity of thought to return and Greg was recounting the story to anyone who would listen.
FC.com: How terrible! Since so many people witnessed it, there is no doubt that it is an accurate recounting. Questions must have filled your mind. What were some of them?
Poor Swampy: Well, in no particular order, my most pressing questions were:
- How did such a vile substance get on my plate?
- Who would be stupid enough to serve that up as food?
- Did anyone have a motive to poison me and Ian?
- What was Dow doing at the bar shortly before leaving and shortly before my food arrived?
- Has anyone seen my tongue? and, most pressingly
- What will my sphincter feel like tomorrow?
When FlemCup.com caught up to Captain Dow, he offered his own version of the story:
FC.com: Captain Dow, how do you respond to Swampy’s serious allegations?
Captain Dow: To pick the story up where poor Swampy started, and I DO hope he is recovering well, I was anxious to get the Team England pairings for the singles matches since they were crucial to our chances. I got tired of waiting for poor Swampy to show up, and knowing he had a massive hangover from his over-indulgence the night before, I left to go back to my room to meditate and find my spiritual center for the next day’s match. By pure chance, I met poor Swampy on the road and returned with him to Bummz to get the pairings. After being relegated to the bar because they didn’t want me privy to their silly little strategy meeting for about 10 minutes, they signaled me to return.
FC.com: So far, all that jibes with what poor Swampy claims happened. What happened next?
Dow: Once I had the pairings, I was keen to speak to my teammates – particularly Jack Jr – about setting the match-ups and I set off for the hotel. “Oh, but we’ve ordered you a beer”, they all chimed in but I was determined to stand strong, getting up and going over to the waitress stand to tell the young lady to cancel the order. When I returned to the table to say I’m off anyway, I was bombarded with schoolboy comments about drinking like a man and such. Sensing they were keen to show their appreciation for all I’d done for them the previous night, I agreed to have a single beer before finding Jack so I went back to the waitress stand to re-order the beer (since I noticed they had already opened the bottle). I drank it and set off. Next thing I know, I’m sitting in my room with Jack and Lou talking about the matchups when I got “The Call”. Its not often you pick the phone up and hear “I’ve just shit me self and me nose is bleeding, get down here now!” It was like something I could see Batman saying to Robin or Lois Lane saying to Superman – well, sort of. Anyway, we immediately bolted to Bummz to investigate – that is the extent of my involvement.“
FC.com: Despite your denials, stories abound that you are up to your ears in these shenanigans – did you do it?
Dow: I will categorically deny, here and now, that I didn’t have nothing to do with the serving of the sauces. I mean, why would I do something like that? I think the Brits were just covering themselves in the event of a repeat of their pathetically bad play that day. In fact, I don’t think it is any more far-fetched to think Jennings set the whole thing up solely to focus suspicion on me and take the heat off of him. The way I see it, he arranged it, let Poor Swampy take the big hit, dipped a little on a piece of celery for show, had some fake blood to spew out his nostrils and began passing massive amounts of gas (not too tough for a man of his talents) to cause confusion and hysteria. Now, Poor Swampy is running around with half a tongue and all the heat, so to speak, is off of Jennings. My question is, how low will he sink to win?
So this incident has become the latest in a series of “He Did / He Didn’t” allegations being thrown back and forth by both teams. Attempted murder, poisoning, gambling scams, bribery, corruption – what’s next to come out of these pathetic camps? Is this a golf tournament or a week in the life of a Mafioso? Stay tuned . . .