Tuesday, October 14, 2014

What're you playin' at?

Given a millenia, you could not and cannot and will not be able to explain to me the appeal of Red Rover.

Like helmetless, padless, Indian Rug Burn football where the big kids prey on the small kids, the "game" allows behemoth man-children to hurl their heft at the runts of the litter - all to "break" the weak apart so as to knuckle drag a likewise overlarge member of the opposing team back to testosterone tribe.

It's the quintessential "big brother gets to take a whack at little brother" game.

And, while I can appreciate the God-given smackdown rights of the firstborn (*ahem) upon the second, third and fourth links of the family chain, I gotta say - if you're playin' Red Rover, Red Rover, then Erin ain't comin' over.

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