Punto Pong: The Event, The Movie

The greatest sporting event to ever hit Santiago was 21 November 2009. Punto Pong brought together athletes from almost every continent (a.k.a. residents from El Punto) and pit them against one another to see, once and for all, who is the best fucking Ping Pong player in the world. Invites were exclusive, only those living in El Punto at the time were allowed to partake. Everyone had to pay to enter to cover the cost of equipment, killer t-shirts, my excessive printing bill and of course, and unholy amount of alcohol. And out of sheer necessity, I featured in the hero image again. It's a photo of me playing with my old army mates (Infantry) at the Warradale Army Barracks. I was Active Serviceman Recreational (Champion) Man Of The Year all three years it ran. The guys around the barracks used to call me PP Chilli Grip a.k.a Def Army Beat Dawg, or, my personal favourite, Ping Flash a.k.a Ice Knuckles.

Once again I have pilfered photos from various people. If my memory serves me correctly; Camille of France, Marco of Germany, Flaviana of Brazil and Someone of Somewhere Else (who didn't name their folder and hence I have forgotten). So thanks peeps.


And of course there was other paraphernalia to get to people charged. Not having access to a printer in Chile (let alone a non-shit one) has proved a massive headache for me. But we got there in the end and it was worth it!


Here is a digital recreation of the final draw. I wanted to take a photo of the final sheet that was used (by me, the Organiser Man) throughout the day but it got lost or most likely destroyed in the chaos that is Competitive Sport And Drinking.


But first let us view the prize winning Punto Pong Movie. I think you'll agree that the days spent making it were not in vain. It is tough at times being Creative Editing Actor Director (so many balls in the air at once), but I truly believe I have paid an accurate homage to the epoch defining event known as Punto Pong. Because it contains Spanish titles, this movie is classed as, and can be found in, the video library section labeled Foreign Art-house. Please also bare in mind I have no idea whatsoever how to compress and downsave videos.


The Arena was constructed in the garden out of necessity but proved to be a wise choice indeed. The live-in caretaker, Jaime (not pronounced like that), even had the table repainted! What a man (that's after he gave me a shellacking for not asking for permission to put The Event on).


The table in all its glory. The ground was even resurfaced to accommodate my requirements of a perfectly even playing surface.



The spectator stadium. All t-shirts were white except for that red one hanging in the tree that was destined for the Champion.



There was even a little attempted Mexican Wave action. Poor Felix of Germany doesn't quite get how it works.


The tournament draw was totally and completely done at random, picked out of a hand-knitted desert beanie by Paul (who insisted on doing it). But spat out some interesting match ups, for example: German Vs German...


...Girlfriend Vs Boyfriend...


...and Mr Convers Vs Anyone (as you can probably tell by his amateurish posture he lost. And he lost bad).


But all in all no love was lost. Here, we see Camille of France after he beat down Marta of Cataluña.


And here we have Marielle of The Netherlands destroyed by Mama Jane of Basque Country.


Martin of Germany crushed Taissa of Brazil without restraint.


It was decided after each round that there would be photos taken of the winners and losers. A good idea I thought, however, with at least 15 different people taking photos and no official photographer I have no fucking idea where they all are and probably never will. Here you'll find the winners of Round 1.


And here you'll find the losers of Round 1 (including, of course, Mr Convers).


Even Jaime, the live-in caretaker, had a quick knock about on the table. Notice his crazy South American grip!? He'll never be a Champion.


Try as I might-ed-ed, holding back on the bevies during the afternoon was hard (and not achieved), as being the President, Organiser, Promoter, Treasurer, Judging Panel, Art Director, and highly seeded Competitor, a certain level of professionalism was expected of me. And I didn't want to be asleep by the time the Grand Final came around as I had strong expectations of being IN it.


Perhaps the biggest winner of the day, besides me, were the hideously successful t-shirts. Punto Pong was screened printed on the front and textas were handed out to customise them in whatever way wanted. I took the lead and handed all the t-shirts out a few nights previously wearing my amazingly Australianised attire, many grabbed textas and followed suit.


T-shirts. Also documented in the Offical Punto Pong Movie seen previously, I thought we could recap. Here is my tantalizing little number. So Australian, reinforced by the other Australian tradition: Taking Bananas Whilst Drinking The Cheapest Of All The Working Class Beers And Having A Glass But Not Using It.


From the rear. And yes, that is a ninja down the bottom.


Felix of Germany required assistance with his shirt, or with something, now that is a suspicious grin on his face. Perhaps this next angle can clarify exactly what is going on...


Or maybe I have seen enough. Those ping pong balls aren't cheap you know.


Camille of France chose packing tape (and Evil by the looks of it) over the textas.


Ariel of Chile.


Max/Maximo/Maxi-Pad of Germany.


Mr Convers of Colombia. The only person to have a fully decked out t-shirt of which he personally added nothing.


A very cheeky Martin of Germany.


Gabby of Slovakia.


The extremely dodgy Johann of Germany chose to use his t-shirt as a vehicle for inciting violence.


Some interesting Ping Pong Techniques were unveiled (or reared their ugly heads). This is Felix of Germany demonstrating his Number Two's Backhand.


Helcio of Brazil doing something. Looks more like he's swatting drunkenly (with another dodgy South American grip) at a non existent midget wizard on the table after taking one too many beverages.


Joris of France (Grand Finalist) prefers to play sans shoes.


Mr Convers prefers not to play at all. This is him executing his consistently Standard-One-Size-Fits-All-Million-Dollar-I'm-A-Harris-Scarf-Model-Smile.


And most did get their drink on. Flaviana of Brazil assisted by fellow countryman Ivan. That tub houses (for all El Punto parties) Calimocho, called Joda in Chile; an equal mix of Coca Cola and cheap, nasty red wine. I'm a fan. We went through multiple tub loads this day.


Juan of Spain/Argentina (the derelict man on the left) is also a fan of the beverage (pictured here with a more subdued Camille of France). I think he takes the medal for First Person Completely Shit Faced for the afternoon.


Ok, let's get serious. All other competitors got eaten alive by myself and this crafty bastard, Joris of France. A man of no remorse (he actually wrote the names of all his victims on his shirt) has an unbelievable/unplayable forehand and an unimpressive but useful backhand splice. The Grand Final was Best Of Three Games, five serves each, until twenty-one. I was actually very fucking nervous even though I was slightly drunk. I organised this tournament, I ensured no rigging of the day by slightly adjusting playoffs, it was my last Saturday night in Santiago and afterwards we would kick on in Honour Of My Departure. For me to lose this Grand Final would be a kick in the purse I don't think I could get over. And Joris isn't the kind of guy to throw a tournament for someone else's sake. Joris won Game 1 (very close might I add). I thought I was done for, I had vicious flashbacks to the Deathbat Grand Final where Nicholas King of England stole what was supposed to be mine. We swapped sides of the table and began Game 2. It was neck and neck all the way but I just managed to get over the line!



That leaves one final match to decide the winner. Joris of France consulted with Felix of Germany for a few minutes, which involved nothing more that a Man On Man Massage. I consulted with a pack of Spanish Ladies who rubbed down my forearms, forced beer upon me and chanted favourable slogans. But don't worry my friends, I had a game plan. If you hit to Joris' forehand you may as well go get another drink and sit down, because you're dead meat. So I payed crafty. Every shot possible, and I mean every fucking shot possible, I knocked over to his less vicious backhand and wore him down like an African Cape Hunting Dog. There was only a point or two in the final game...


But I fucking won it man! Now I know how Federer feels when he wins a Gran Slam Tournament!


More celebrating. This is the moment where I get beer spilt all over my sensational and unwashable-due-to-non-permanent-textas iconic Australian t-shirt. I still have it in my oversized backpack but I can never wear it again because it looks like someone urinated on it.


Finalists get in the pool! And that pool is fucking cold. If you spend more than 10 minutes in that thing you don't get out, you get fished out with a net DEAD the next day.




Whilst I remained in the pool, slowly dying, everyone ran inside and out on to the balconies overlooking the pool. They hit some music and started singing and dancing. All the way through I was a little unsure of what was going on as it seemed a little too organised for a Nick Won Celebration. I mean, did they have another one for Joris if he won or would they hack out the same thing for him? But what it turned out to be was a Going Away Because It Is Your Last Weekend Nick Gift, which makes more sense. A lovely (drunken) token which I will remember always. And if I forget I can just watch the the video again.


The party kicked itself along in various parts of the residence. Here is Helcio of Brazil assisting Edurne of Basque Country in drinking from the coveted Calimocho Avocado Vessel. I think you can tell by the state of Helcio's lips that he's had a few (or he's a flesh eating Zombie — one of the two).


Toni of Cataluña too enjoyed a dram or two.


Aina of Majorca got into the spirit.


And Helcio of Brazil, whom I am pretty sure instigated it, couldn't be stopped.


Then, if my memory serves me correctly, we went across town to some nightclub, many of us representing with t-shirts! Where we danced like the drunken fools we were.


Oh my God, it's the Punto Pong Grand Final Champion in his very own Punto Pong Grand Final Champion T-Shirt! Please note that this and all following images were not Photoshop'd but my new aura of Championessness was messing with the camera's settings. But I quite like the effect.


Everybody wants a piece of you when you are a Champion.


Of course, as requested by the fans, we had to take the standard Champion By The Fridge Pose, both normal and Crop Top versions.


And you know what else I realised? Empanadas actually taste better when you are a Champion. Almost like they are trying harder to impress me now. That was a chicken and mushroom empanada by the way, I highly recommend it.


Champions don't use furniture in the Average Citizen Way, that would be just plain Un-Champion-like. At this late stage of the evening I had slipped back into my playing Pre-Champion t-shirt for two reasons. To see if it would stop messing with the camera's settings (which it obviously didn't) and because I felt more Australian and working class in a t-shirt with a Kangaroo silhouette, Fortune Favours The Bold written in latin, an ACDC logo, an Australian Flag (in full colour), a skull and cross bones, two clenched fists, the number 01, the word Aussie (with hand rendered shadowing), the name Señor Ping Pong and a ninja.


As a well trained Champion Athlete, I know only to well the necessity to keep fit and well stretched at all times, regardless of whether it is 05.30 in morning and I've drunk enough to make my glasses redundant. To all those that woke up stiff and hungover the next day, I say this: I wasn't stiff at all.


Another press shot, the typical bog-standard Crop Top With Unlit Lamp Shot.


And finally the hero press image (to be used in all Sporting, Mens Health and Bachelor Of The Year type magazines), your run of the mill Man Squat On Barrel Shot.

Due to the success of all my Ping Pong Tournaments I am considering changing careers to a Freelance Ping Pong Tournament Coordinator/Player/Champion and traveling the world and punishing other cultures with my bat and balls. Got some business card ideas baking in the oven at the moment. Will keep you posted amigos.