National Championships
The rules are laid out for a game I’m not sure I signed up for. Pre-game prep seems to be storming about, trying to find a stable that’s been assigned by someone holding a grudge, for some unknown reason, against my horse and myself. Or perhaps someone is slyly testing my mettle when it comes to show comportment! Situated well enough not to flag attention to complaint, but oddly enough that it involves engagement with the entire crowd of game players in all their guises. I find myself wishing for a tourist guide to “players’ tells” to ensure I’m not, in fact, pissing off every person that walks by! I have a feeling this is falling into the unforgivable lament of an old, fat, white man who’s realised his world is about to topple! Horse settled, I have time to assess the competition! The arenas. The dungeons and dragons style quest to said arenas. And, most important of all, but never to be admitted out loud: where and how soon do the coffee trucks open? For without caffeine, the entir...
