Ironman, as I'm sure you have no doubt surmised, beer is always involved in these matters. Here is another sport I suspect the Rock is unfamiliar with. It is a winter sport, so an exponent must be added when contemplating the beer consumption. My memory fades on the exact geography, but here's the best I recall:
My cousin lived in Monona, Wis. This is like a "suburb" of Madison. There was a hill near Monona called "Knob Hill". It was a ski hill in winter, complete with a tow rope to take you to the top. The method used to get to knob hill from my cousin's house was snowmobile. The conventional method for getting to the hill from his house was to go around lake Monona. My cousin and his friends had developed a "shortcut" to get there, along with a new and exciting sport. There was a railroad trestle that skirted the lake, and for those of you that are "jumping the gun" as regards this story, the sport did involve both beer and moving trains. I did not personally witness this sport, as when afforded the opportunity to play, in an extremely rare case of lucidity, I forced my cousin to accompany me on the more "scenic" route.
I was somewhere on this planet when I received the news that my cousin "lost" while playing. It seems that they (this would be "drinking" buddies) had perfected (well, almost perfected) the algebra involving trains, trestles and snowmobiles to the point that there were several "near misses" during this particular winter. I never did get the exact details on why the train hit my cousin's snowmobile halfway across the trestle as contrasted to at the end of it, my thinking being that there was either more beer involved than disclosed, or possibly some mechanical failure. Anyway, after having landed on the ice some 40 feet below the trestle, after having jumped from the snowmobile just prior to impact with the train (after all, my cousin isn't stupid), my cousin encountered some bad luck.
The snowmobile landed on him. Now, because I had moved to a more moderate climate at a relatively young age, I have never personally owned a snowmobile. I have, however, driven my uncles' snowmobiles, (they were Merc folk) or more accurately, my aunt's. I don't know exactly how much they weigh, but my recollection is that I wouldn't want one to land on me after having fallen 40 feet, especially while lying on ice. I know my cousin would agree with that statement. He WAS an aspiring pitcher, but due to many surgeries on his leg (involving pins, etc.) his conventional sporting career ended after having "lost" to the train. In my opinion, this was my type of destiny had life's circumstances not taken me from my roots... after all, I'm from Wisconsin also, and I also like beer.