Posted by: internationalroutier | March 21, 2010

The Secret History of Boompo

The authors of this post seek to remain anonymous. They risk dreadful recriminations from the Boompo fraternity if their identity is revealed. How do you tell the tale of Boompo? In much the same way as one eats an elephant- one bite at a time. Let us hope our informants live for the next bite. I do wish there were actual photos supplied with the article so that I didn’t have to google images of ‘fat men’ in order to provide a little colour. Now if someone would pass me the dettol and that wire brush I think there is something in my eyes. The Ed

Revealed by XXXXXXXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXXXXX

Many a Routier gathering has thrilled to the drama of the manly sport of Boompo – that unique form of wrestling in which the stomach is king!

The crowd’s murmur dies away to an awe-filled hush as the Boompists face each other. Some wonder if they are standing too close to these rotund goliaths, and suddenly remember old maths lessons about ballistics, but it is probably too late to escape now. The air reeks of manly belly-sweat. The fighters eye each other warily and perform arcane introductory rituals as each gestures, stomps, and paws the ground bull-like as he cunningly searches his opponent for weaknesses. Grunts full of meaning are exchanged. Eyes flash. Then with a terrible roar, it is ON!


The ground shakes like Vesuvius is leaping into the atmosphere as the mighty proponents charge at each other like enraged pachyderms! Small children are bounced off the ground and strong men struggle to maintain their footing! Like two mighty out-of-control planets with intersecting orbits, the bravos hurtle toward each other with the grace of unbalanced cannonballs! Then the moment of truth arrives – what the French call “La Collision”! Bystanders have the breath driven from their lungs by the unmeasurable concussion of the shockwave as hundredweights of firm (and not so firm) man-flesh are launched through the air to mighty, cataclysmic and bombastic impact! OOF!! The sounds of air expelled unwillingly from each end, of cracking sternums and sloshing belly contents and hastily relocated organs and stumbling heavy-laden feet are forced upon the Boompers and those of the audience who now realize that they are far too close to the action as the Boompenspielers, reel, recover and prepare for the next Spiel!

For this is Boompo! An ancient sport! A manly sport! A sport of very fat kings! A sport where strong legs and a stronger stomach (in every sense of the word) are worth their weight in golden-brown sausages!
Boompo! Where every meal may take you closer to victory! Or defeat!

…here endeth the first bite. We eagerly await the next!

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Responses

  1. I think half the problem, illustrious blog-itor, is that by the time Routiers are at the boompo – most (Spikecam TM aside) are too Brahms and Liszt to operate a camera, or indeed care. Boompo is very much about living the moment, not worrying about posterity. Will search the Alonzo archive nonetheless.
    Yours in bellshapedness (the ideal human form for boompo)
    Pikeman Alonzo


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