This week’s Burn Notice tackles a theme we can all relate to: being a kid and having to defeat someone much bigger than you. I’m well-schooled in this scenario. When I was the same age as the tweeny tweenaged boy from this episode, my dad enrolled me in a judo tournament. My ranking: white belt – a title more function than form. That is to say, the belt was less about representing accrued martial arts skills and more about ensuring my robe remained closed.
One obstacle on my path to victory: a few days before the tournament, I was tipping the scales at 101 lbs. This put me at the bottom end of the 100 to 120-lbs. weight class. My judo sensei’s advice: bring my girth down to 99 lbs. by Sunday, as doing so would perch me at the very top of the 80 to 100-lb. weight class. Put another way, starve myself like a supermodel and walk away with a huge-ass trophy. A noble life lesson if there ever was one.
Of course, losing two pounds when you’re a kid is like attempting internet banking when you’re over 60: you have no f*cking clue how to go about it. I ran around the block a few times, skipped dessert and whipped off six or seven feeble sit-ups. “That should do it!” I thought to myself, expressing the kind of confidence reserved for the completely delusional.
Just look at this fat asshole.
Fast-forward to Sunday’s weigh-in. Drum roll… 101 lbs. And with cause and effect being what it is, this two-pound discrepancy automatically shifted my title from ‘Biggest of the Small Kids’ to ‘Smallest of the Big Kids.’ Yes, I couldn’t be Goliath. But as the bible (read: weird, religious cartoons on TV) had taught me, Goliath was put on Earth to be wicked pwned by weakling David.
My first judo opponent was quite the Goliath indeed. And, despite centuries of biblical prophecy on my side, he beat the living sauce out of me. Swiftly, with extreme prejudice. In 15 seconds I was out of the tournament and skulking home like John Travolta hangdoggedly returning to a B-level television career. (*)
- (*) This will happen in the future. Act surprised.
The moral here is obvious: defeating opponents by trying to shrink yourself down is like avoiding a heavy handed analogy to wrap up a childhood anecdote. If only you weren’t such a lazy S.O.B., maybe you’d have a chance of pulling it off.
If only...
And for those just joining us, a great big welcome to BN Season 3, episode 7: ‘Shot in the Dark’! The A-story begins with Michael and Fiona popping by her place for a nice Irishy meal, only to find her home’s been infested by a gaggle of feral 13-year-old boys. Well okay, just one 13-year-old boy. Named Joey. And he’s not bona fide ‘feral’ per se. He could use a haircut though. Point is, he broke into Fi’s place to steal one of her firearms because he’s hell-bent on gunning down his abusive step dad (kids shoot the darndest things!).
You see, step dad – a.k.a. Erik Luna – is a real piece of work; he’s trying to take Joey and his baby bro from their mom, a.k.a. his long-suffering estranged wife. And despite being a slimy douchebag businessman douchebag, he’s got enough douchebag political and mob ties to douchily steamroll through a custody hearing scheduled for the following week. (*)
- (*) He’s a bit of a douchebag.
Michael’s first order of business: protect Joey, mom and baby by having them stay at Madeline’s. And considering her place has only been blown up once in the past several weeks, let’s consider it a safe house of sorts. Next step: find a way to drive a wedge between Douchy Erik and his mobbed-up brother Quinn (played by the dude who played Krycek on The X-Files – always the heavy, this guy!).
You see, Joey’s mom spills the beans on a side business Douchy Erik’s been keeping from Quinn over the years: a li’l operation involving the re-sale of seized good from various Miami docks. Perfect! So posing as a tough guy named Peter, Michael storms Douchy Erik’s office, saying he bought a car from him that was previously owned by some rather badass dudes. And now these fictitious hooligans are coming after the two of them. In a murdery kinda way, natch.
The seeds of fear planted, Mike and the gang now need to scare Douchy Erik enough for him to skip town and miss his custody hearing. It starts off innocently enough that night: disabling his car, jamming his cell phone, then firing machine guns at him from an unmarked van. Mission accomplished: he gets mega freaked out (to use the passive voice, pants may have been peed).
Shortly afterward, Cowardly Erik gets back in touch with Michael (a.k.a. Tough-Guy Peter), hoping they can put their heads together to stop the insanity. With Erik still refusing to leave town, Mikey refers him to Sam and Fiona, posing as hit men-for-hire. For 80k (40 upfront), they’ll track down whoever’s been chasing him. Cowardly Erik agrees. Heartening to see the recession hasn’t bled into this particular line of business.
A day or so later, Cowardly Erik gets the call from Sam and Fi: they’ve found the mystery gunmen! Mike and Erik rendezvous with them at, uh, a rendezvous point, where the faux takedown’s about to happen. Unfortunately, Sam, Fi and Michael get shot down by an unseen sniper. Gunshots everywhere, blood everywhere; they collapse to the ground, dead. Soooo freakin’ dead. You don’t even know, pal.
Okay, the gang isn’t actually dead. But they did plant some convincing squibs on themselves before meeting up – enough to make Cowardly Erik run away screaming like a little girl at a clown convention. When he returns with his mobbed-up brother Quinn later that afternoon, all traces of the shooting are gone: no blood, no bodies, no bullet casings.
Quinn thinks Cowardly Erik’s losing his mind. Even more so after Michael emerges from a neighbouring storefront – one that’s now decked out as a churchy outreach centre. Dressed as a priest, Mike tells Quinn he’s been trying to get Crazy Erik to seek help for his paranoia and erratic behaviour. “He sees assassins everywhere.” (Assasinitis. It’s a real condition – check Web MD.)
It’s a coupla days later: Crazy Erik’s in the booby hatch, full custody’s been appointed to Joey’s mom, and all’s right in Miami once again. Well, except for that issue from last week re: ‘Agent to the Spies’ Tom Strickler, who still wants to make Michael his newest client. After creatively manipulating his reluctant spy connection Diego Garza, Mikey’s able to confirm Strickler is on the up-and-up about having the connections to get him un-burned. Mr. Westen: you now have an agent. And if he’s anything like my agent, within six months you’ll be staffed as a writer on a depressingly low-paying kid-com. Congrats, buddy!
AfterBurn:
-- Badass Voiceover Goodness: MICHAEL (V.O. – re: Strickler): “When the Devil himself is offering the thing you want most... sometimes you dance with the Devil.”
-- Having a beer-based product placement in Burn Notice makes sense given Sam Axe’s penchant for the golden suds. Having ol’ Sam quaff down ultra-low-calorie Miller Genuine Draft 64 because he’s “on a diet”? Hee-larious.
-- Fiona doesn’t get to blow anything up this week, and it’s taking its toll. FIONA: “You have no idea how painful it was to be under that car and not wire it to explode.”
-- Showcase’s Burn Notice YogurtWatch©: While lecturing Joey on the perils of breaking into the home of a former IRA operative, Michael enjoys a delicious cup of creamy yogurt. Toss in some MGD 64 and you’ve got yourself a mouth party, good sir!