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November 2001 |
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November
in
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For
several years now we have hosted the extended
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Did
I mention that the trophy is homemade? To the winner goes the privilege
of adding some new element or five to the trophy, so the trophy is growing
year over year. The less kind (the jealous ones who haven’t earned
it yet) would say it grows more hideous year over year. Great amounts
of hot air are expended every year about how “I couldn’t possibly take
that hideous thing home and display it and explain it to all who see it
and ask about it.” And invariably some male will let his competitive
side overwhelm his common sense, and feel compelled to win the tournament,
even if it means sacrificing domestic tranquility for a year with a wife
who just doesn’t understand that sometimes a guy’s got to do what a guy’s
got to do, even if it means taking the trophy home and displaying it prominently
so all visitors will inquire as to its origin, and he will be forced again
(however reluctantly) to tell the story of how he dominated the tournament
last Thanksgiving.
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If
that sounds like the voice of experience… The Sherwood household
has housed the trophy for the last two years. In 1999, Bradley
won the tournament and the trophy. To this day, I don’t know
that he knows that the guests threw the games to him, partly to foist the
trophy on the parents, but mostly because he was so genuinely into winning
it. He had no qualms about the quality of the trophy, and it was
displayed proudly in his room. More than once he was heard making
the point to visitors that, “This isn’t a participation trophy, I won
it.” Bradley added a square of carpet from his room to the trophy,
since we had the house re-carpeted that year. In 2000, Keith proved no
better than his offspring in resisting the siren song of his competitive
nature: he won the croquet game and did well enough in ping pong that he
was annointed as the year’s winner, much
to Kristi’s chagrin. The trophy moved from Bradley’s room to the
workbench in the garage.
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But
if Keith and Bradley are forces to be reckoned with when a homemade trophy
is on the line, never under estimate the guile of Kristi. Amid rumors
sweeping the extended family that “the fix was in” for Douglas this year,
Kristi went on the offensive to save the house from a third year with the
horrific honorific. Not only did she forbid all Sherwood males from
participating in the competition, she further covered her bets by inviting
the Birds over for coffee and dessert after our mid-afternoon feast.
(The tournament, you see, is always played on an overly-full stomach.)
Thus she cleverly introduced Russ Bird (he of the Weekend Warriors competition
fame) to the tournament. Russ, who attended college on a volleyball
scholarship, has never met an athletic challenge, quasi or real, he didn’t
answer. When the testosterone settled, Russ had come out on top, just as
Kristi had planned, and it was Kim, Russ’ wife, who was left muttering
under her breath when she went out to their car to leave, and found the
trophy placed thoughtfully in the driver’s seat.
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Bradley
had no trouble defining a new role for himself. Excluded from participating
in the tournament by maternal fiat, he anointed himself tournament director.
Russ unwittingly created a monster when he explained a double elimination
bracket to Bradley. Brad marched around the house, bracket in hand,
interrupting conversations to tell people that it was their turn to play
ping pong. Eventually, I had to call him aside. “Brad, this disorganized
event has gone on for years without a director. People will play
who and when they want. You’ve got to go with the flow.” “But
Dad, I’m making
the flow!”
Brad’s other great innovation this year was to create the position of scorekeeper, which he also felt compelled to fill himself.He wrote out digits on pieces of paper, and put tape on each one. Then he tried to display each player’s score on the side of the table.He discovered two problems, however: 1) he didn’t know the rules about scoring, and 2) scoring happens much too fast in ping pong for tape and paper technology. |
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The
day after Thanksgiving is traditionally a family day in our household.A
vacation day to get out of the house and in particular to get Kristi out
of the kitchen, where she has spent the previous 24 hours.Last
year we hiked up nearby
The
big November adventure actually occurred before Thanksgiving. Doug and
Keith went to |
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Overhead
Lately:
Brad,
on phone trying to track down a missing jacket: “I was wondering if my
jacket got mixed up with your coats, and you took it home with you.”Adult
on other end of phone: “I don’t know.We’ve
got a lot of jackets.Can you describe
it?”Brad: “It’s the one that isn’t
yours.”
Doug,
upon removing every last bit of meat from a drumstick, the way his father
has always urged him to eat his ribs: “I ate this like a man!” Brad, on passing the city limits sign of Julian, population 500, and noting the lack of buildings: “This isn’t really Julian yet, this is the suburbs.” Keith,
trying to put the best face on attempting a new route up to the mountain
town of Julian, but instead finding an alternate route down into the desert:
“I really love the desert dressed up in its fall finery.” Kristi: “There ought to be a support group for wives whose husbands win the tournament. A support group for the wives who have to put up with that ugly thing in our houses for a year.We could call it the trophy wives club.” |
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