Following Yehuda

One key to happiness – GAMES

On February 21, 2006, Yehuda posted a marvelous article on Gone Gaming – Session Report. His imitation of a wide variety of authors’ styles, as they might be applied to gaming session reports, really broke me up. He is a most creative writer.

I quickly wrote a comment to his article, but my off-the-cuff, brain-dead, response was so lame that I’m ashamed it is hanging out there, visible, in cyberspace. However, his fascinating piece ran around in my head overnight, and I woke up this morning with the germ of an idea for a more meaningful reply. So, Yehuda, (if you happen to read this) here is my ode to your wonderful article, with the application of much poetic license and a huge apology to Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Bells.”

Catan

Listen to the offers, as they dip into the coffers
Of the cards so slyly hidden in their hands.
Excitement fills the air, while I sit and simply stare
At the lack of progress made upon my lands.
Oh, it’s sheep, sheep, sheep, sheep,
Sheep, sheep, sheep.
It’s the bleating and the fleecing of the sheep.
And it’s wood, wood, wood, wood,
Wood, wood, wood.
Oh, the hewing and the chopping of the wood.

I fear my clever plan to expand my hearty clan
Faces many bumpy hurdles on its way
To that perfect score of ten, which is what I need to win.
So, I must make more trades without delay.
Now it’s wheat, wheat, wheat, wheat,
Wheat, wheat, wheat.
See the scything and the grinding of the wheat.
Then it’s ore, ore, ore, ore,
Ore, ore, ore.
It’s the blasting and the smelting of the ore.

We seek to make a trade, but of this I am afraid:
He will beat me to that port upon the shore.
My plan, it may implode, if I cannot place a road,
And all I have at hand is lots of ore.
So, it’s brick, brick, brick, brick,
Brick, brick, brick.
It’s the shaping and the firing of the brick.
I need time, time, time, time,
Time, time, time.
It’s the hoping and the praying for more time.

My hand is now eleven; oh, please don’t roll a seven.
I can see the robber moving to my eight.
Yes, I know you get to pick; please don’t draw my only brick.
Why must you be so cruel, nasty Fate?
It’s a road, road, road, road,
Road, road, road.
It’s the playing and the laying of a road.
It’s a port, port, port, port,
Port, port, port.
It’s the taking and the holding of a port.

I must stay cool as ice, as I pick up both the dice,
For I need but one more sheep to buy a card.
This is getting creepy; I just drew another VP.
With one more point, my win-streak stays unmarred.
Build a city, city, city, city,
City, city, city.
See the placing, yes, the placing of a city.
Roll the dice, dice, dice, dice,
Dice, dice, dice.
It’s the tumbling and the rumbling of the dice.

At last, old Fate anoints my hand with all the points
That I need to reach the goal for which I yearn.
But, what comes to my ear? The words I so much fear.
You won before I got to take my turn.
Yes, it’s the sheep, sheep, sheep, sheep,
Sheep, sheep, sheep.
It’s the bleating and the fleecing of the sheep.
And it’s wood, wood, wood, wood,
Wood, wood, wood.
It’s the hewing and the chopping of the wood.

--- Gerald … near Denver, Colorado; February 2006
aka gamesgrandpa -- A grandpa who is a mile high on gaming