Gobbowl Contest Submission:
A brilliant golden sun bounces to its apex; its rays stretch their arms lazily down to the emerald blades of delicious grass which sprout unevenly throughout the forever rolling pasture. Only a few Ash and Chesnutt trees stand firm on the cool horizon, each holding its branches erect in the calming wind passing through this simple countryside.
A small Gobball family clusters around a patch of ever-sprouting 5-Leaf Clovers. With each munch a grunt of ecstasy escapes the corner of any small Gobbley’s crooked grin. Although this group of puffy fluffiness continues to assault the clovers in a hurricane of shiny white teeth, five leaves re-sprout with a vengeance after each bite. Undoubtedly this behavior explains the jolly roundness of a fully fed gobball.
Unfortunately, to a group of young blooded Iops these cute ballooning toothy marshmallows are not wonderfully serene, but perfectly round and precisely the right air pressure.
With one swift boot Terry sent her new “ball” souring into the air straight at the chest of her good friend Moe. The two had been practicing together for some time now, and had developed this sport into a very intricate dance. In a normal match, teams of five would square off against one another in a desperate ground pounding test of strength and chance, and whoever could move their gobball across the field to the scoring circle by any means necessary and convince it to sit still for ten seconds scored a point.
Moe caught the gobball in his arms and followed its momentum into a backwards series of summersaults. Though sloppy, Moe’s ridiculous technique combined with the ticklish sensation of his enormous beard seemed to help the gobball forget that it had just been lobbed ten yards through the air just after receiving the angry end of Terry’s leather boot. After about four rolls, Moe began to get visibly dizzy and red in the face. After one final revolution he passed out from the exhaustion of his efforts and loosely released his furry package from his chest clutch.
As the two had planned the gobball was just about as dizzy as Moe had become. It placed one hoof firmly on the ground before his nose, and unsuccessfully tried to help itself up. Teetering slowly, its eyes rolled around and around following the famed stars that only the beholder can see. Then PLOP! Under no control of its own sat itself down smack in the center of the makeshift scoring circle.
“They will never see it coming,” bubbled Terry, as she reached down and grasped Moe by his forearm and lifted him to his feet. The two watched as the gabball’s eyelids slowly closed and it began to snore right in front of them.
“I still think we should let them attempt a point or two before we shut them out,” replied Moe as his face slowly returned to its original shade.
“Nah!” they said together, and they proceeded back across the plain towards the Grand Arena.