Muggy hot Saturday afternoon! Time for the annual Calvinball championship. The winner will, once again, receive a perfectly cromulent misopterator with all the attachments (even the blue one). Let the games begin! Prof. P. manfully hurls the Calvinball into the dreaded Backwards Zone, where…
The clock starts ADVANCING, adding more time to the game, until…
(am I doing it right? I hope I’m doing it right. Since there are no rules in Calvinball, I MUST be doing it right!!)
-“BB”-
There are rules to Calvinball. Rosalyn figured that out quickly the one time she played.
Pfweet! 78 demerits for discussing rules instead of playing the game! The Calvinball is now placed on the Clubhouse roof and waiting for a wind to blow it back into play.
Huh. I guess we’re becalmed.
Don’t mind me … after singing the “I’m Sorry – So Sorry” song I’m over here in the Penalty Zone serving my timeout for even bringing up the concept of rules.
-“BB”-
Even so, you’re currently in the lead with 1 1/3 pts. to Q.
OK … now that my timeout is over and since we are, in fact, becalmed – but the ball must be blown off the roof – I take my trusty bicycle pump and gently propel the Calvinball off the Clubhouse roof into the arms of @Monty …
-“BB”-
I will shoot the ball off the riif with my pellet gun.
However @LSLGuy quickly swoops in on his flying broom before @Monty knows what’s happened, whacks the Calvinball using his lacrosse stick like a pool cue as one should in the first period of a regulation 17-1/2 period game. It hits a tree and the birdbath, so scoring 20*pi points and a clock reversal all at once!
Take that, slackers!
I take possession on the rebound. Cradling the Calvinball in the crook of my frullip, I yell the regulation warning “Mi tio es enfermo, pero la carretera es verde!” and put the ball back into play. It clears the safety zone and rolls to a stop by the yellow flag marking the Flutney line.
-“BB”-
I turn in three cards (a set of squirtles), claim the ball and spike it in the pond for 6 quatloos and a timeout to be redeemed later.
And with a blow of the whistle, the games ended. Mom called for all to come in to supper.
Next year I won’t try starting this on a Saturday afternoon.
Reviewing the plays, the much coveted award of one perfectly cromulent misopterator with all the attachments (even the blue one, is wending its way early tomorrow morning, hauled overland by a score of finely tuned Pepperdrones to… Bicycle Bill!
Congratulations on your prize, BB, and don’t worry, it rarely blows up unless you forget to…
I meant to ask earlier … it rarely blows up unless I forgot to do wha
-“BB”-