Welcome to NASJA. Say what? NASJA —the North American Snowports Journalist Association. It’s the annual meeting, the annual last-night dance at the annual meeting. And this year, there's something new —the Great Male Dance-off. Here’s how it goes… The DJette with the smooth moves and the bare midriff kicks all the women off the dance floor. Then she announces, “OK, guys. It’s time to strut your stuff. The crowd’s applause will determine the winner. Go for it!” Roughly ten, uh, male members take to the floor. They're doing all right — for ski writers — until: Enter The Stranger. A guest of one of the writers saunters into the spotlight. He’s young, he’s buff, and man, does he have the moves! He’s too sexy for his powder-blue ruffled shirt. No one comes within a mile of this dude in looks or skill. The Great Male Dance-Off is all over but the applause. But when the time comes to declare the winner by applause, somehow Mike Roth gets nearly as big a hand as The Stranger. So, the DJ declares, “We’re gonna have a dance-off!” It’s the Great Male Dance-Off between the young, virile stranger and Mike Roth. Mike Roth: midweek architect, weekend ski writer. Father of grown-up daughters. Carries every extra pound that most late-middle-age Americans with sedentary jobs do. And maybe a few pounds more. Poor guy — he doesn't stand a chance. Indeed, it’s no contest. Youngblood methodically, seductively unbuttons that ruffled shirt, showing off his sixpack stomach, his acutely defined pecs, his slender waist. Then he lets loose. He twirls, he splits, he flirts, and as a clincher, he drops to the floor for a horizontal spin. Major mistake. Mike, whose stomach is more like a beer keg than a sixpack, makes an inspired, though perhaps illegal, move. While the youngblood is down, he puts his knee on the dude’s back and pins him to the dance floor like a steamroller on a puppy. Crunch time. When they finally return to vertical, the visitor is out for revenge. He dances his way to the far side of the floor, and in perfect time to the beat, slowly, slowly shucks off his shirt and — bare-chested, pelvis thrust out, arms and legs spread wide — starts moving in on Mike. Bada-boom. The contest is virtually finished, but then… but then… but then, Mike shucks off HIS shirt, and aiming his substantial, sweating, round and quivering belly directly at his opponent… moves in on HIM. Meanwhile, in the audience, Mike’s daughters are dumbstruck, gobsmacked, absolutely speechless. They can't believe their eyes. They've known their father all their lives, and they've never seen him do anything remotely like this. On the floor, the two contestants are getting closer and closer; they're almost belly-to-belly. Which one will back off first? Anthropological Intermission. Generally speaking, heterosexual North American men experience acute discomfort when another man’s unclothed abdomen is in too close proximity to their own. Got that? OK, now back to the dance-off. Neither of the finalists looks overjoyed at the prospect of dancing belly to belly with his opponent. But given the choice of a young, fit, muscled stomach or Mike Roth’s Big Mamma barrel — it’s no contest. The youngblood blanches, falters and finally shuffles off. The crowd goes wild. Mike Roth dreamed the improbable dream, danced the impossible dance, and against astonishing odds, prevailed. The DJ pronounces the Great Male Dance-off a tie, but for every man in the room over 40, it is victory most sweet. — Jules Older