In case you didn’t read the previous comments all the way through, Brandon and Roughkat have stepped up. The Pay the Pick tickets have been purchased. Forty-three Wolves games. Splittin’ em up between the three of us. A fall and winter full of cheap seat RandBall posts. We’ll have a draft sometime in the next few weeks to determine who gets what tickets — something we should most definitely turn into the next RandBall event. But for now, in honor of the craziness of the day, we give to you the latest installment of Stupid Games We’ve Created. This one comes from Kraig Applecherry, and at the end of the day there is no disputing that this is, in fact, a ridiculously stupid game. Please do enjoy:

We had a Frisbee golf phase when my buddies and i were in high school/early college. we had the cool folf discs with different purposes and names (the Shark was a driver, the Tiger was a lob wedge, etc.). Those things are as hard as rocks. So at the end of a round in our little city park we would sit around wondering what else there possibly was to do. The park had this big wide field area, but it was full of sneaky hidden little potholes and whatnot. Somebody got the idea for a game we called Flying B. (One of my buddies had a salvation army sweatshirt with a picture of a stick figure tripping over a boulder and it said Flying Barney in big letters, so anytime anyone stumbled or fell it was a Flying B).

Simple rules: One guy started running. The other four or five counted to three, and then fired the discs at him simultaneously. If the runner was hit, he had to run again until he could make a clean run. If the runner looked back at his assailants, he had to run again as well. The more tired you got, the more likely you were to get drilled. It could get pretty ugly. Head shots. Body shots. Multiple hits. If you had a clean run, you moved to the firing line and the next guy was up. Hours of family fun. Worst incident: I hit a pothole, stumbled, hamstring tightened, and I went down. They were only on No. 2 in the countdown, so they hadn’t thrown. I was in a crumpled heap, a stationary target. I coudln’t hear in my left ear for a week, and I had to run again with a bad limp. A long night. I wonder now how it was that Flying B never really took off.

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