"Did you ever hear of a game called Cricket, Tom?"
"Cricket?" Tom scowled. "'Tis a chirping creature on the hearth master."
"Yeah, but it's also the name of a game. The center of the game is a wicket, see, and one team tries to knock the down the wicket by throwing a ball at it. The other team tries to protect the wicket by knocking the ball away with a paddle."
"Strange." Big Tom murmured, eyes wide with wonder. "A most strange manner of game, master."
"Yes," Rod agreed, "but it gets worse. The teams trade sides, you see, and the team that was attacking the wicket before is defending it now." He looked down over his toes at Tom's beehive face.
"Nay," the big man muttered, shaking his head in confusion. "What is the point to it all, master?"
Rod stretched, let his body snap back to relaxation. "The point is that no matter who wins, it's going to be hard on the wicket."
(Reproduced without permission From "The Warlock in spite of himself" by Christopher Stasheff)
