Sunday, May 4, 2008


A long, long time ago, in a semi-arid land right between the magical lands of Espanol and the Untied Stakes of Armadillos, an evil youth leader at my church came up with the idea of having the youth play the game called "Mud Football."

Since the heroine of this story (who is just a bit of an air-head) had four acres of completely virgin land which happily and equally supported quail, rattlesnakes and cute little bunny rabbits, she naively volunteered her unspoiled land for the original-soon-to-be-revealed-as-completely-evil project.

Then the wickedness and true malice of the actual goal began to emerge - before the game of Mud Football could be successfully played, the innocent heroine was forced to repeatedly plow the accursed section of land over and over and over again with a tractor with a partially punctured left tire, diesel fumes spewing about, and (the main by-product and export of the the magical lands between Espanol and the Untied Stakes of Armadillos) DUST.

When several tons of powder-fine grime have been produced and settled on the arid land (with 487 lbs. being filtered through her lungs), then approximately 4,811 water-feet of pure, liquid gold (when the annual rainfall here is under 4 inches, it's gold, trust me) are wasted to create a mud-bath from the dust.

And then it must again must be plowed with the same tire-leaking-fume-emitting-energy-wasting machine, but this time combating MUD instead of DUST, and using three times as much diesel fluid.

On the horrific day of the actual game, miles of SUVs disregard meticulously detailed and provided-way-in-advance directions and wander aimlessly across neighboring kingdoms gardens and cause millions of dollars in damage.

Then the vehicles discharge their adolescent cohorts to race across rattlesnake-infested undergrowth and jump into the mud with new, expensive shoes and jewelry that will be quickly eaten by the mud, along with car keys, debit cards and orange Tic-Tacs.

Sexual tensions arise as several young men take to tackling young women, and leaders scream "but we can't see your HANDS - what are you actually DOING under the mud!!" as well as trying to convince the young men that they canNOT go shirtless.

However, since this is the 6th (count 'em, SIXTH) annual event of this event, why am I complaining? I'll do it - I just wish the original date of late June had been kept, and I could use our travel to Oregon as an excellent excuse to get OUT of this. ;-)


Harmony said...

Oh, NO! How is it blasted mud football time AGAIN?

I so feel for you--and am taking out my hand sanitizer as we speak.

Your comment about sexual tension kills me--our YW would have gotten hard-core molested at mud football.

Young Men: "WOHOO! Mud football! Skin versus skirts! Young Men are shirts"