Calvinball! (Retreat 2013: Open to Everyone).

[Evan Coleman]

Like the visionaries of yore, Evan had an idea that would not let him rest. Unlike the visionaries of yore, it was a spectacularly stupid idea.

As per the flyers he'd posted up two days earlier, he arrived at the sports field at 6am sharp, suitcase and backpack in hand. The suitcase contained balls of various sizes and descriptions: footballs, tennis balls, soccer balls, basketballs, and bocci balls all had representation. Within his backpack, he'd stashed a mass of knickknacks and oddities that might be helpful. And the hats. One mustn't forget the hats.

Evan's idea had its roots from his early days at Hammel, back when he was a student. He'd been a great reader of Calvin and Hobbes anthologies at that point, and he and his friends had latched onto the idea of Calvinball. Making up the rules as you go along? Silly hats? I'm-Sorry songs? It was enough to fire any middle schooler's imagination. He and his friends had all agreed that they needed to get a Hammel Calvinball team started, but to his great disappointment it had never happened.

Some men might have been content to let the dream die, but not Evan. Evan couldn't let such a brilliantly stupid idea go to waste. And now that he was back working at Hammel, well . . . perhaps it wasn't too late.

The flyer had been brightly colored but brief. Evan hoped it would be enough.

Calvinball!

All interested students and staff and random forest hobos are invited to the sports field at 6am on Wednesday to learn the joys of the fine old sport of Calvinball!
The rules are that we make up the rules.
Bring your own hat. Or don't. Who am I, your mother?

The timing was unfortunately early, but it was the only time that nobody would be using the area. Evan consoled himself that he'd hopefully piqued enough curiosity to attract SOME players.

Sighing, he set down his bags and began unpacking the equipment. They'd come, or they wouldn't. Regardless, he'd be dog-damned if Calvinball weren't played on this day.

Even if the teams just ended up being Evan vs. Other Evan.

[Deleted]

"The sky is blu~e and all the leaves are gre~en!
My heart's as full as a ba~ked po~ta~to~!
I think I kno~w precisely what I mean,
When I say i~t's a shpado~inkle day!!"

Oriel sang brightly as he tromped through the woods by himself. Oh, how good a mood was Oriel in? A pretty darned good one!

Surprises happen every day. And it happened to happen this very morning when, wonder of wonders, Oriel woke up in the cabin to find that he managed to sleep through a full night. Of course, this also meant that, being the first one awake this morning, he was obviously the first one to crash the night before. And certainly nobody told him that the first person to crash was the one who got dicks drawn all over their face in permanent marker.

How the hell did he sleep through that?

Not that it mattered to him, because those dicks were now splattered across the window back at the cabin.

Before he knew it, Oriel came across a clearing where some old guy he'd never bothered to memorize the face to was unpacking a stash of balls and other abnormally curious items. As he crossed the field to the area(never daring to admit that he was curious), Oriel immediately stuffed his hands in his pockets and put on his sour face, just for appearances sake. After all, he had an image to uphold.

Oriel squat down on his haunches next to the equipment, looking it all over, then glared up at the guy unpacking them. "Hey, old guy!" he barked out. "What is this?"

Oriel wouldn't have noticed the fliers that Evan plastered about, he tended to ignore those.

[Evan Coleman]

As a king donning a crown, or a samurai his helm, or a Jaeger pilot his harness, so too did Evan don the slightly crumpled tri-corner pirate hat that he'd pulled from the backpack. The original Calvinball strips had portrayed Calvin and Hobbes wearing newspaper hats, but having a variety seemed appropriate. Everyone needed to declare their individually these days, and such practices should not be confined from Calvinball.

An utterly bitchin' guitar solo (and indeed, the word "bitchin'" was only still around to describe guitar solos) wailed and screeched in his head as the pirate hat touched his head. All was well with the world.

"Hey, old guy! What is this?"

Evan suppressed a mild start as he turned around. He hadn't heard anyone coming up behind him, but he recognized this kid from hearsay and glimpses of campus: Mr. Oriel Vanguard, rocking the best sullen face and slouched posture that adolescence could provide. His every pore dripped angst as his face danced a thousand jigs of put-upon with a proficiency delightful to watch.

Too bad it was all fake. Evan could see his aura crystal clear, the razor-sharp cinnamon edges of expertise quilting in tasteful harmony with a crystal-ozone tang of wakefulness. This kid was feeling alive and loving it, mournful glare or no.

Excellent. He was primed for Calvinball, then.

"This," he declaimed in solemn tones, "is Calvinball. It is the Alpha and the Omega of sporting events, improv theater, and amateur haberdashery. It is the game that nobody knows they need to play until they play it. It is a game of quick wits, melodic voices, and croquet mallets. It is perfect for Hammel, and I am here to make sure that Hammel and Calvinball fall in love and make babies together on this fine Wednesday morning."

Evan might usually worry about coming off as insane, but it was 6am, he'd been inhaling teenager-hormone-pixies all weekend, and Calvinball was afoot. If he came off as insane, then it would be because he was feeling slightly insane to begin with.

[Deleted]

Oooookaaaaaayyyy.....

Oriel had no idea who this fuck-head was(probably cousin to the other fuck-heads he knew), but he couldn't help but like his style. Well, why shouldn't he? It was strangely similar to the nonsensical nonsense that usually regurgitated from Oriel's mouth whenever he was actively attempting to annoy. However, as much as Oriel enjoyed listening to this guy's preposterous prattle, he did not, in fact, manage to answer Oriel's question.

Oriel still had no idea what "Calvinball" was(and not being an avid read of anything, he wouldn't know the reference to Calvin and Hobbes).

"So it's some sort of sport game?" If it was, then Oriel was out. Sports were dumb, he had no interest in them, and they had too many rules. Yup, Oriel was definitely not playing some stupid sports game with some old guy(who admittedly was actually pretty young, but to Oriel, anyone over 20 was old). Nope, not him, he thought as he moseyed on over to the pile of hats and flipped on a gangster's fedora, tipping it forward and then darting a dramatic look towards the melodramatic loon.

"And how does one play this," dramatic pause, "Calvinball?"

[Evan Coleman]

Evan nodded approvingly as Oriel picked up the fedora. His hat-wearing fundamentals were sound, good technique with the application . . . yes, this one had potential. His inner Yoda shifted and grunted approvingly.

"Well, that's the thing about Calvinball," he grinned, baring his teeth a teensy bit more than he usually would, "you make up the rules as you go along."

He caught the barest whiff of Oriel's emotional landscape as it wafted by, but he couldn't be bothered to pay much attention to it. He was feeling a curious combination of meta burnout and hyperstimulation. Something about enjoying nature combined with the high of sensing adolescence in its rawest emotional state everywhere he went, perhaps? Then again, why ruin it with over-analysis?

"For instance," he began, picking up a bocce ball and a tennis racket, "I might say that we score points by counting the number of steps we manage to walk in opposite directions while carrying this ball on the racket. Stealing is allowed, but only if the person that took the ball manages to sing a full line from a Carrie Underwood song before stealing the ball from the other person. If I managed to steal from you, you might declare that you were in a Silent Zone, meaning that I broke the rules when I sang a Carrie Underwood lyric. You would then make up an appropriate punishment."

Evan grinned delightedly at Oriel, gesturing at him with the racket for emphasis.

"Sound like a plan?"

Yesssss. Calvinball. Yesssssss.

Um, Evan?

Yesssssssssss, Other Evan?

Hasn't this kid recently had his social life implode somewhat, according to your sessions with Mr. Pierce?

. . . yessssssss . . .

And weren't you thinking about, you know, trying to bring that up?

. . .

Well?

. . . CALVINBALL! Yesssssssssssss . . .

[Deleted]

Yup, Oriel had no idea what this guy was talking about, but Oriel really had no room to complain, half the stuff he rattled of to people in his attempts to annoy them didn't make any sense either. As Oriel listened to the explanation of the rules, or rather non-explanation of the non-rules, the only thing Oriel really understood was that this guy, whoever he was, was ridiculous and that this game was equally ridiculous.

And Oriel liked it.

Oriel looked at him with blank face, "I have no idea what you just said." He didn't even know who the hell Carrie Underwood was, but he supposed that that wasn't the point. Oriel knelt down and picked up one of the tennis rackets and smaller dodge-balls. "Buuut, if I'm getting you right then I could just…" He pasted on a wicked grin.

"Do this!" And of course, deciding that starting the game on his own terms was the best option, Oriel threw the ball hard at the old dude, point blank. He stared up at Evan. "Body shots are two points, head-shots ten. But if you manage to whack it away with any other tool, you get 5 points." He picked up a bocci ball and prepared to lob another one at Evan. "Don't lose count now." The boy sneered and threw again.

[Evan Coleman]

WOOF

Evan doubled over and wheezed with the body shot. Damn, right in the stomach. That was . . . painful . . .

This miiiiight have been a mistake, Evan.

Missstake? Calvinball . . . not missssstake . . . ball!

Holy shit, he's got a bocci ball! What the fuck??? You could break someone's bones with that thing!

Ball! Hassssss ball!

Yes, Evan, so we should . . .

NO! I HASSSSS BALL!!! TACTICAL AD-VANTAGE!!

As Oriel hefted the bocci ball, Evan streaked down the field, clutching the dodgeball in one hand and the racket in the other.

"I claim this ball in the Evan-Zone for Queen and Country!!!" he howled, barreling towards the right-side bleachers, "Q points for Team Evan!"

[Deleted]

Of course Oriel wasn't intending on hitting Evan with the bocci ball, he wasn't that mean….ok maybe he was, but it definitely got the game going.

Oriel swept up a soccer ball and a held it under his arm like a football. "Prepare thyself!" he shouted as he chased after the old guy.

Evan-Zone for Queen and Country? Whatever!

"Yet you are in Prestigious Lane of One Leg Hopping! Hop boy! Or lose your claim!" He revved himself up to chuck the soccer ball at the man seeking refuge at the bleachers.

[Evan Coleman]

D'ast it, Oriel learned FAST! Amidst the wheezes and shooting pains in his stomach, Evan began to hop laboriously to the Evan-Zone (For Queen and Country).

Evan, wait!

NO! NO WAIT. He who hesssssitatessss . . . lossssst!

Yes, but I have a plan to marry our respective goals: you could gain an advantage at Calvinball, and we could hopefully start a dialogue on the Pierce-Vanguard fallout?

. . . Big wordsssss . . . Calvinball?

. . . yes, Evan. This: GOOD move in Calvinball! Listen to Other Evan. Make good move.

Good move . . . hyessssss . . .

Evan clumsily began to circle back towards Oriel, hopping in an appropriately ungainly manner. As he hopped, he scuffed the turf with his racket, creating a crude marker line.

"Avaunt, rapscallion!" he cried, dropping the ball just in front of the line, "would ye have this ball? Then face me, racket to racket redoubled, for the honor of this ball. To the victor goes Viking-12 points, which all men know come to double-Q on any goodly day of the week!"

So gesturing, he made another marker line, parallel to the first and a yard or so away from the ball.