Metaphorically Speaking

Pinball.

You've played it...right?

Look at the machine. What is your objective? What are your obstacles? What's going to win you extra balls and replays?

You slip the quarter in the slot and watch as the playfield lights flash and dazzle you and as your hand reaches for the plunger, you have to make a decision.

Go all out or go for the skill shot.

What's it going to be?

Nervous anticipation swells as the ball flies out of the shoot and begins its first descent through the playfield, catching the easy bumpers first as it comes rolling toward you.

Gripping the flipper buttons tightly, you watch anxiously, asking yourself which way, which way, god dammit!

The first strike with the flipper is smooth and propels the ball back up through a ramp, gently rolling over the top. Ramp shot. Points.

But then! Stuck. Between a bumper and a kicker, the ball pings itself between the two rapidly. Ping ping ping ping ping ping PING! Powerless, you are, at that moment to do anything but watch...and wait.

Maddening as it ricochets, you're gripping the buttons, swearing under your breath, stomach knots, as the ball flings itself off a slingshot and comes hurtling toward you and your sweaty fingers.

Which way? Which way?! WHICH WAY?!

Plop.

In a hole. Points.

You continue. Finessing the flippers, at times with a caress, sometimes with a tap tap smack. Working the left, the right, both together.

The lights, the sounds, they all begin to mesmerize you and you can't walk away...even when you've got to pee. You're in the pinball zone as you watch, manipulate, tap, slap, bump...tilt.

Which way?

Be the ball.

Be the player.

Be (hee hee) The Game.