Stingers

Growing up in South Africa we used to play a game called Stingers.

 The way the it worked was there were maybe 5 or six players, one of the players had a ball of some kind, normally a tennis ball. And the object was obviously to run after the other players and try throw the ball as hard as they could to inflict the most amount of pain,  whoever got “stung” last had the rights to the ball and then became the “stinger”.

There was  no rules in this  kind of setup. You could throw as hard as you wanted and as close as you wanted. Many a tear was shed during these games of true gladiators. This how I shed my tears….

During a highly competitive game I had the ball, my calf was raised and bruised from a killer throw via my brother Nic.I was hunting him down to act on my impulse of revenge. I was seeing red! Walking in a sly, stealthy manner with my new gangster limp(thanks Nic), I saw my target.

It was perfect, I couldn’t have dreamed of a better trap. My sexy neighbour (female, fools!) had come into our garden and was speaking to Nic. He had thought we had called a timeout or something.

I lined up my sights, I was about 4 meters away from him and his back was presented like a summer calls for the rain. I slowed my breathing. Three, Two, One! I threw with all my might. In my mind I could already hearing him screaming in surprise and pain. I was smiling like the sick bastard I am.

I went blind! My head recoiled and a sharp pain filled my head. AAAhhh my eye, my fucking eye. I had miscalculated my shot, I had thrown the ball directly into the wall, it had rebounded and Muphy’s law, struck me in the eye.

I was howling pain, and all I could hear was my brother laughing in the background, Bastard! 

"Stupid Guy"