Badminton Anyone?

Pronounced bat-mean-tone here in Paradise-with-rain, Badminton is a sport, recreation, exercise and darn good way to induce pain into assorted body parts if you are above the age of sixty and, let's face it, who isn't?

To play Badminton one must first prepare the court. In our case here at Casa Dragonview, this required a strenuous mowing of the grass/weeds we call our lower lawn with the mower blade set at its highest level. Following the Rigorous Wrestling this entails, the lawn then had to be... Rigorously Raked. Rigor, it seems, is an essential part of Badminton. It is here that the assorted Body Part Pain mentioned earlier first comes in to play. Post raking, a second mowing with the mower blade set at its lowest level was then Rigorously undertaken with the grass/weeds being decreased and the BPP (Body Part Pain) successfully achieving a substantial increase. Because our ha-ha lawn had been a field of coffee trees prior to its latest incarnation, there remained as a reminder of its former self many deep holes. These had been created by the Rigorous Removal of the coffee tree stumps sometime earlier. These holes had to be filled to prevent broken ankles during play (Ankle breakage being a hindrance that can cause the game of the injured player to be seriously impaired.) A new hole apart from the court had to be dug in order to obtain the dirt with which to fill the on court depressions. It is here that the BPP comes fully to the Ferocious Fore, but not to worry. Being the Backyard Class competitor that I am, I fought through the pain and filled the holes.

Now it was time to play. RTGFKAR, who had been Rigorously doing something else while all this was going on, took the court and glared across the net at me with his most intense game-face which looks something akin to Santa's after having squirmed down a tight chimney only to find no cookies awaiting. I glared back from my side of the court and served the shuttlecock. For those of you who are new to Badminton, I must point out that a shuttlecock is not a gigolo who works the flights between New York and D.C, but rather a small feathered object that serves as a sort of ball/bird to be struck with racquets. My service was netted and the, uh, cock, fell to the ground. The presence of our little blond cocker spaniel, Raffie, was then duly noted as he streaked in to snatch up the grounded shuttlecock. A comedic chase worthy of the Silents, then ensued with cries of "Bad dog, bad dog" hastening the mutts disappearance into the surrounding foliage, my own tragically slow self in hot, but futile pursuit. A new strategy of "Good dog, good dog, bring it to me" was then employed and was nearly successful. At the very moment that Raffie emerged from the jungle intent on returning the shuttlecock and receiving his due praise and treats, our second Cocker, Mattie, streaked from the bushes in a blur of black and snatched an exposed part of the psuedo-bird-ball; an action that instantly produced a, you guessed it...Rigorous, game of tug-o-war. Bye bye birdie.

A second shuttlecock was put into play after stern warnings to all canines near and far were advanced and its message made clear. Find your own damn birds. (A message, alas, that they may have taken to heart as both dogs have, in the last couple of days, presented us with the gifts of small dead chickens that we presume they have killed. This is very worrisome.) RTGFKAR and I played for a half hour to confirm that BPP can be greatly enhanced when stumbling, bumbling, lunging, lurching and whiffing repeatedly are the order of the day. Had critics been in attendance, the words "pitiful performance" would surely have been used.

A hard rain has since flattened our net and made the court unplayable. That, however, was yesterday. Today the sun is shining, ah, Rogorously, and my BPP is at a tolerable level. This leaves me with but one last thing to say. Let the games begin. Or is it gentlemen start your shuttlecocks?