Friday night was spent at my work honoring the ancient tradition of “wiff-waff.” The sport in which two human beings stand across from each other in death defying competition, sending a small white sphere hurtling back and fourth over a four inch net, precariously bouncing back and fourth until one sad mortal makes a mistake and causes their existence to be meaningless by allowing the ball to fall to the ground. We came, we saw, we conquered. These are the moments that try men’s souls. Though we did not walk away victoriously, we walked away with our souls. The sport to which I am referring is Ping Pong. Game on.
The funny thing about friendly competition is that the smallest trash talk can change the game completely. We decided to play a few singles matches to 21 (win by 2) The winner of the match was rewarded with a free shot at the losers chest...heres a few of the good one.
Although we were all unsucessful at hitting each others chests, you can see we managed to hit other places of the body with ease. Check out the welt my buddy carl got on his dome. Ping Pong balls are surprisingly painful.
Happy Fathers Day
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