(It might not be what you think it is...) The Big Game. As the first team proudly marched into the stadium half of the fans in the packed stands, explode into a raving, chanting, hysterical frenzy. Men, women, children of all ages all cemented in unison by their greatest passion for the sport coupled with an unwavering sense of national pride. The sound is almost deafening. The team, dressed in white uniforms augmented with red and blue, assembled in the middle of the vast coliseum. Their worthy adversaries marched in moments later, in contrasting black uniforms. The rest of the arena began to exuberantly clap, holler, and proudly bang their feet as the eleven members of their team congregated next to their opponents. Everyone in attendance knew and appreciated that this was going to be a day for the record books. Half of the planet was now tuned into television, radio sets, or streaming video gripped them. Several moments later an eerie silence, tinged with anticipation, descended over the hundred-thousand plus crowd as the game commenced. Juan Rodriguez, the most famous, infamous womanizer, and highest paid, player of them all, stared without emotion at his rival; his square jaw revealing strength and determination and his glaring eyes trying their damnedest to rattle the nerves of the venerable adversary. However Sir Julian Witherspoon III had equal resolve and determination and simply met the stare with his clear sparkling blue eyes; the perfectly trimmed mustache above his stiff upper lip doesnt quiver even for a moment. The referee, a seedy looking fellow with dark hair and darker eyes, hailing from some former republic of the U.S.S.R begins to speak. Okay, you both know the rules expect a clean tournament. He then pulled a large silver colored coin from his pocket. “Julian, please call it.” Heads, Julian said without a moment’s hesitation in a voice evident of his royal blood. The referee placed the coin on the thumb of his right hand, and a moment later the coin is flung spinning into the afternoon sun, which glistened as the coin spun, then it landed on top of his right wrist as his left hand cups over it. Heads it is... he said without even a hint of emotion in his tone. The English portion of the stadium once more erupted into a boisterous chant. “England-England-England…” But the Brazilian fans respond with equal vigor. “Brasil- Brasil-Brasil…” And so, as the two captains knelt down on the felt mat the twentieth international team final of the tiddlywinks world cup began.
Posted on: Wed, 18 Jun 2014 23:21:40 +0000
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