Posted by Wulfyn on 20th April 2019

To stall, or not to stall; that is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The zings and pows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take claw against a sea of elves

And by opposing end them? To block: to skull;

No reroll; and by a skull to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That is to one in thirty-six, ‘tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish’d. To block, to skull;

To break: perchance to cas: ay there’s the rub;

For in that double skull what cas may come

When players shuffle off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause; there’s the apo

That rerolls dead into dead;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

The turn 16 foul, the proud man’s piling on,

The pangs of a fumbled bomb, the ref’s bribe,

The insolence of a one turn touchdown

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself rolled 2 Blitz!

With a bare grin; Who would play this game

To grunt and sweat under a ticking clock

But that the dread of a sideline cage break

The un-rerolled 6 from whose surf

No player returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather scorn those rerolls wasted

Than bleat to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of probability

Is pondered o’ver with the pale cast of thought,

And formations of great pith and moment

With this regard their pressure turns awry,

And lose the heart of stalling – Score right now!

The crowd go wild! Riot, in my dark visions,

Be all my sins remembered.

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