Plotzketball

This morning The Great Plotnik played several hours of plotzketball. He has been playing in this same weekly game for years, since he was younger, taller, faster, slicker, cooler, handsomer, and could jump higher, change directions on the fly and defend fearlessly against hotshots with overinflated egos.

Now, he is a danger only to his own team. His plotzstrings ache and his Achilles Plendons groan and his knees creak. If the guys could pick him lower than last, they would. When he scores a plotzket, everyone says "Wow! He did that in slow-mo."

But it doesn't matter. When Plotnik and Ducknik fly to the Cape of IDWBB Good Hope in six days, The Great Plotnik will miss his plotzketball game dearly, the guys, the jokes, the early morning fog, the sound of the ball rippling through the net and even his aching plotzstrings.