Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
And looking up I noticed I was late.
- The Beatles (A Day in the Life)
Early on Friday morning, before Labor Day, we were up at the crack of dawn, running around trying to make sure that we were packed and ready to go to Tulsa for a Labor Day Croquet Tournament. Then we remembered we weren't leaving until One o'clock! My first indicator that I had done something to annoy the Croquet Gods. So, after we slowed our pace considerably, I decided to make a quick trip to the market, and found that during the night two of the tires on our car had been punctured by an intolerably inconsiderate vandal. Obviously, the Vandal had received his/her inspiration from the Croquet Gods. The second indicator that the Croquet Gods were not only annoyed but downright pissed off. Luckily, we had our daughter's car, the Baborus (-a, -um) Tintinnabulus (-a, -um), or the Babe for our transportation purposes. I don't know if she calls it the Babe because it is so deceptively alluring (like the tinkling of a small bell) or because it smells like it was used to transport pigs to front during the Crimean War. So, the Dans (there were two of them) show up and we get their gear situated and we're off. Almost. The car starts grasping for air, then goes into electric mode. We are out of gas. Thank God for Hybrids. This was the third indicator that things were just not going my way. The Dans, bless their black hearts, spent about two hours trying to help me get over it. They provided me with a dozen tried and true aphorisms. "That which does not destroy us makes us more inebriated". "When life hands you lemons, make yourself a vodka martini with a lemon twist." Ad infinitum.
One of the Dans stalks his shot, thinking,
"What the f...!"
We arrived around four, checked into the hotel and then took off for the croquet courts at La Fortune Park. After a practicing for a bit I met my partner for doubles on Saturday morning. A college student from Oklahoma Wesleyan. He might possibly have been conceived in a blender or one of those Dyson vacuum cleaners. Let's just say he was a wee bit hyper and resembled the much-maligned Roadrunner on the crouquet greens. It struck me that this was some type of Cosmic justice being meted out by the Croquet Gods, pairing the old slow Elmer Fudd kind of guy with gimpy knees and the young athletic Tasmanian Devil. He slowed down after a bit when he noticed he was talking to air, because I couldn't keep up with him. But, I have to admit, he garnered my respect for the game and the gracious people who are involved in it when he told me to either keep up or have my brains smashed in with a New Zealand built crouquet mallet. Being older and quicker of wit I says, "What brains?" "Don't worry," he says. "I'll just keep smashing 'til I find one."
One of the Dans lines up his croquet shot, thinking,
"How can I best destroy this S.O.B."
Friday evening we enjoyed a wonderful Last Supper at the Stonehorse Restaurant in Tulsa. For me, it was the highlight of the trip. Do you like that foreshadowing of how I played in the tournament? It started off well on Saturday morning, my partner and I won our first match and then proceeded to lose our next two. One to a pair of Octogenarians and the other to a pair of college students. The gods have no mercy. And neither does croquet. It doesn't matter how well you know the strategy or how smart you are, the bottom line is you have to first make your shots. Without the skills to put your ball through a wicket that is only a fourth of an inch wider than the ball, or croquet a ball that is only three feet away from your ball, you are pretty much up the creek. After being spanked by the two 80 something females and put to bed crying, I had a decision to make. Would I let the croquet gods defeat me, would I learn from the tournament and try to improve my skills, or would I hide behind a tree and smash the old ladies over the head when they walked by. I decided to smash them over the head but I missed...then I had to endure a lecture from them on how to properly line up a head with a croquet mallet. Humiliating, I tells ya. But like my friend Arnie Palmer used to say, "It doesn't matter if you win or lose as long as you're in there swingin'."
It doesn't take long for the experience of the numinous
to unhinge the mind.
Umberto Eco
Until next time,
I remain,
Just another Zoroastrian Croquet Player seeking a didactic pretext for being unable to place his balls in the right postion....
