I don't understand what the point of this book was. There were some pretty funny parts. And there were some pretty funny parts that turned out to be lies. And there were some pretty funny parts that seemed like swirling mists over deep canyons of truth, or something.
The book is mostly anecdotes. I'll retell a few.
One of the guys is at dinner with Plimpton in a restaurant. He starts telling Plimpton how the mouth gets too much of the food, and other parts of the face deserve a chance. He puts a bunch of oily salad on his forehead. He is the NFL's most dominant defensive tackle. Plimpton suggests he try his nose or ears, since there, at least, he has orifices. The guy calls the waiter over and starts telling him how people at another table were throwing salad at him. See how it stuck to his forehead? He becomes loud, and the waiter asks them to leave. Outside, Plimpton tries to get him to recant his story about the other diners throwing food. He won't. He insists they were.
This reminds me of elementary school. I think it's a way that men have of passing down secret knowledge, which is that if you lie brazenly enough, and never ever ever admit it's a lie, and dig the deepest pit in your soul to hide the lie in, so that it's almost as though you really do believe it, well, then you can get kicked out of a restaurant.
Another time, they put on a charity golf tournament where their goal is to annoy the golfers in the most creative ways possible. The have tons of live animals wandering around the golf course: goats, chickens, a Galapagos tortoise, all kinds of stuff. The set booby traps. They play loud noises and have a little person driving a tank around.
One of the pranks is that they've taken one of the golf holes and drilled it out so that it's like fifteeen feet deep. Plimpton recounts seeing a foursome encounter this obstacle.
No, one of the foursome says to his friends, he's not going to put his hand down that hole. There are probably snakes down there.
This is the funniest moment in the book.