Every family should have a fun and slightly stupid tradition. My mom's side has found theirs: the Meulenberg Olympics. Each summer, the family gathers for food, fun, and a chance to win bragging rights for an entire calendar year. Oh yeah, and they also get a cheap ugly trophy (or should I say, they are grudgingly obliged to store the thing for a year).
This year's games, hosted by my parents, were:
- Croquet
-Tossing Ping Pong Balls Into A Hula Hoop Floating In The Pool
-Beanbag Tosss (or corn-holing, if you are Midwest and for some reason don't find that to be the crudest term ever)
-"Ball Shot" (which made me laugh much more than I'd like to admit to. It's a "Minute to Win It" game where you roll a ball down a tape measure and into a shot glass. Very addictive.)
There were three types of people who came out that day: those who were after blood, those who played for the love of the game, and those who played a little bit badly on purpose (my dad kept ducking out of the games and saying "I don't want the damn thing" under his breath). My cousin C kept jumping up and down, razzing everyone and yelling "It's mine! Back off, the trophy's MINE!!!" Cousin J played with mild interest until the Ball Shot (tee hee) and then became addicted to it for the rest of the gathering. We ended up sending the necessary game supplies home with his family.
I was one who came out to win, hoping to take the trophy back to the west coast and taunt my relatives for a year by taking pictures of it near the Hollywood sign, on the beach, etc.
Sadly, it was not to be.
My croquet score was 19 (much worse than the winning score of 13 strokes). I was knocked out of the ball toss on round 5. I got 0 points for bean bags, but did manage to eek out a few points for my stunning performance in Ball Shot (That's what she said!). Overall, my score was 12 points, nowhere near enough to catch the bold 21 points scored by Brian from Ohio, who was the proud winner of the day.
At least the trophy went out of state.
I'll be back for the title next year....
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