The Wicked Games You Play

A young man, living a dream, standing over what could be the most important shot of his young career. The white glove adorning his left hand stands in sharp contrast of the black mesh shorts and orange t-shirt draping his ever-widening frame. His half empty beer rests on the carpet just beside him as he stands over the small white ping pong ball with sand wedge in hand, aiming at the navy blue trash can. This is the Masters of House Golf.


Recently, I was fortunate enough to attend the Masters of House Golf, a game invented by men far too old to be inventing games. House golf reduces golf to its essentials ... club, trash can, ball, and booze. Here's the run down: Set up a trash can. Find a few ping pong balls. Hit the ping pong balls off the carpet into the trash can (It's actually harder than hell). Keep score. Get drunk. Watch your score tank as you get drunker. Curse  God, Buddha, Allah, your mother, Tiger Woods, and the pizza guy when you land in whatever makeshift hazards you set up (paper traps, ketchup bushes, Mountain Dew trees). It's fun for the whole family ... or the select few who have no problem looking like the light-hearted side of the psych ward.

Tiger Woods playing actual golf ... BORING. Perhaps he could invent a game that revolves around nailing hookers. He can play against Charlie Sheen ... whoooeeee I'm hot tonight.

Watching two men pour their hearts and souls into a meaningless competition like the Masters of House Golf lit a special light inside me. It sparked memories of childhood when inventing games was as natural as breathing and fighting over the rules of made up games. Games like Medicine Ball (kind of a mixture between rugby and soccer but played on wrestling mats with a medicine ball),  Hot Box (a game that simulates being caught in a rundown in baseball), and Stairs King of the Mountain (put some mattresses on a stair case and push each other down them) made my childhood a badass experience. They may have given me countless undocumented concussions, which may or may not have had long term neurological effects ................................................................... sorry I blacked out with my finger on the period button, but what has a more functioning brain ever done for anyone ... ever? I think my point is made.

Anyway, the invention of these games exemplifies the zest of the human spirit or at the very least shows us what happens when boredom meets stupidity meets alcohol consumption meets the Golf Channel. Somehow, as we grow older, we lose our capacity to tap into that thing we had as children that allowed us to make up our crazy games. Maybe it's our sense of imagination we're losing or our drive of creativity and competition. When you're six, it seems stairs are made for throwing people down them to declare yourself king. When you're 25, they're made for crawling up or sleeping on after a night of questionable decisions and disease infested women.

My nine-year-old self would be disgusted to see that I haven't invented a game in years. I'm not even sure I could rouse enough imagination to come up with one. Maybe I could. Maybe I will. We could all use a connection to our childhoods or a little time spent as our childhood selves. Maybe if we spend some time tapping into our childhood imaginations, our adult selves will begin to believe the world can be different than it is. If we can see that a trash can is more than a trash can, a set of stairs more than a set of stairs, who knows what we may see as possible? Rhinos serving political offices? Flying to the moon with a towel cape? A woman president? Ok, that last one's a little ridiculous, but you get my point.

If you have some time on your hands, invent a game. If you read this and have an idea for an invented game or you know of one from your childhood, comment with directions on how to play. Lets get crazy people. The world is as we make it. Lets make it a full of House Golf and undiagnosed head injuries.