My car was broken into.
Someone smashed the window and grabbed my backgammon set.
Why? It was only ten bucks at Wal-Mart. And they left my GPS, which is worth way more.
I mean, I understand leaving the radio. That’s bolted, secured, and a pain to steal. But taking a cheap backgammon case? Crazy.
The insurance company wants a police report. The police are busy and say “Use the app.”
I snap some photos, tap in a form, and email them.
A repair truck is dispatched. They fix the window and hand me a receipt.
I play backgammon online now.
Tag: game
College Ball
We watch college ball on Saturday, pro on Sunday.
Been doing that for a long time.
Both games have changed over the years, with kickoffs, protecting the quarterback, and all the damn graphics on the screen.
Biggest change of all is instant replay.
The coach tosses a flag, the officials head to the sideline, and they review the play.
Yeah, for years, we’ve seen that stuff at home, or in the stadium, but now it’s official.
So when the referee ran out of the replay booth flailing his hands and screaming “THE ALIENS ARE COMING!”
Yeah, better close the roof.
Anyone For Tennis?
If you were to remove the lungs from an average human and spread them completely out, they’d have the surface area of a tennis court.
It would also get you disqualified from your match. It’s considered bad form to rip out your opponent’s lungs and spread them across the court. Although Andre Agassi coked up enough to do it, some say. And John McEnroe made people think he’d do that to a referee or two.
Then again, seeing how fierce Wimbledon is about playing on grass, I’m sure they’d change to lung-surfaced courts before they’d ever consider clay or concrete.
Skipping Stones
My pocket is full of small stones.
They’re all flat and round, perfect for skipping.
I love to skip stones on the water.
I love to watch the ripples on the water.
Reminds me of growing up by the lake, spending the whole afternoon out there with my dog and a bottle of Coke, the fish weren’t biting, so I’d put down the fishing rod and skip stones.
The angles.
The rotation.
The spin.
A great way to pass the time, right?
Okay, so maybe not in the fountain in the mall. Sorry.
(Can I have my fishing pole back?)
Perfect
Ted had never bowled a perfect game before.
However, after eleven strikes in a row, he was one away from scoring 300 for the first time in his life.
He finished his beer, wiped his hands on his shirt, and picked up the ball.
One more, he whispered to it. You’ve got one more in you.
He set his grip one more time, looked down the lane, and…
That’s when his heart gave out.
Ted collapsed, the ball came loose from his grasp, and it rolled through the pins.
Strike.
The ball had one more in it, but not Ted.
The Game Of Life
When I was little, I’d try to spin high numbers in The Game Of Life.
Spin! Make the car go faster!
Graduate college!
Spin! Make the car go faster!
Get married!
Spin! Make the car go faster!
Have kids!
Make the car full of pegs go faster faster faster!
Rush headlong along the winding path!
Away we go!
And then…
The game’s over.
Wasn’t that fun?
Want to play again?
That Game Of Life, wherever it is, gathering dust… I learned one thing from it:
Spin low, take your time and enjoy the ride.
Make it last. Make it count.
Going back to college
I’m going back to college.
After years of shit menial jobs, it was time I went back.
They’d been asking me for a while now, but my pride kept getting in the way.
You see, I was a football hero. Set school records and all.
Then, in the Rose Bowl, trashed my knees scoring the winning touchdown.
No pro career.
No diploma.
No future at all.
There were medical bills, lawyer bills.
When all was said and done, I pushed mops and brooms and stayed drunk.
Now, I’m goin back to college.
Classes? No dice.
To be a janitor there.
The Boxer
Take a deep breath.
Smell the gym.
It’s a different smell than anywhere else.
Get on the scale.
Get in the ring.
Get these gloves on.
Now open your mouth so we can swab your cheek and put in this mouthguard.
What’s the swab for? Painkillers?
No. It’s for DNA.
The league wants us to clone you.
That way, your opponent can have you as a sparring partner to train against.
And you can have him.
That way, you’ll both be ready and give a good fight.
Better than the last one, where you got your ass killed.
Literally.
*DING*
I can hear the television cameras
They say I am the Bobby Fischer of Tiddly Winks.
I say I am better than he was at… at…
Play chess?
Piss people off?
Hate Jews?
Whatever he did, I am better at Tiddly Winks than what he did.
He had his board, his pieces.
His outbursts.
I have my squidger, my winks, my mat, and my cup.
Blitz! Blitz! Blitz!
Pot them all fast!
One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six!
Now I wait for my partner… and…
NO!
COME ON, YOU COULD HAVE MADE THAT SHOT!
Hurry up! Hurry up!
Hurry up, doctors…
Hurry up and clone me!
Phone Game
I grew up playing Scrabble.
We used to play on a board with little wooden tiles. The board went on a turntable so it could be turned to face each player.
Now, we’re playing Scrabble over our phones.
She plays GAIN, I build on it by adding an A to make it AGAIN.
We go back and forth like this, game to game.
It’s kinda like chess in a way.
Unlike chess, where all the pieces are out in the open, you need to track the tiles secretly for Scrabble to work.
I peek at her phone when she’s asleep.