The last caber has been tossed in the battle of the pikes. Songs will be sung, of this great clash of Titans, around the roaring fires of the ancestoral homes.
In the end the result belies the intensity, and closeness, of the struggle ending as it did:
Steerpike 5 Pikeman 0
Time to strip the willow, dance the gay gordan, and slug back a single malt or two.
Perhaps a pyrrhic victory for Steerpike ? Is it enough to take him through to the next round ? By the harsh light of dawn the words of Robbie Burns come to mind:
"But pleasures are like poppies spread, You sieze the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white--then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form, Evanishing amid the storm.--
Nae man can tether time or tide;"
Pure bloody poetry. Dead Brilliant.
Well played Pikeman - great games !
We don't stop playing games when we get old...... We get old when we stop playing games.