Bowl Games

Those who owned the land prospered mightily.  Once their prosperity had been safely deposited and secured, they sought to acknowledge the gods who favored them, their land and their produce, which was known in the repositories of learning by its formal name, Pippin de Terre.
     Great variety flourished within the genre.  Jonathon, Winesap, Gala, Cortland, McIntosh, Haralson, Red and Golden Delicious, were but a few.  Of particular favor to Roger Belgoody, gamekeeper to the lords, was the Granny Smith, named, whimsically, after a roman beauty who subcontracted with the eminent Roger to arrange for the ease and comfort of his snorting, pawing minions.  But the most popular and therefore the most sought after, was, of course, the Wealthy.
     The Great Homage began.  Pestlers of immense skill were assembled.  Sleek Nubians, phlegmatic Nordics, stolid, unsmiling Slavs, and wily, inscrutable Orientals.  Powerful, heavily muscled, with great loins and abdomens overflowing the semi-transparent knickers that enrobed them, mostly.
     At the signal, the pestlers and their sievers set off, propelled by great bursts of pent-up energy.  They pestled and sieved furiously, but nevertheless paused frequently to towel their brows and replenish the eye blacking blocking the rays of the radiant sun.  While they were thusly engaged, the cheering multitudes were accosted by hawkers of great persistence exhorting them to buy highly personal personal products for both men and women, products never mentioned in polite company in past millenia, but deemed suitable for the attending throng.  Equally shrill were those hawkers of endless models of look-alike travoises, so closely resembling each other, in fact, that one was barely distinquishable from the other, even down to the handsome men and women models atop each travois, whose grins were depressingly alike.
     As the shadows lengthened, respite was granted the constestants, but not their adoring admirers.  The hawkers returned with a vengeance, but were overwhelmed by a great cacophony erupting from below.  Banging and clanging neared intolerable decibels.  Unintelligible primal wailing and moaning, pierced by intermittent shrieks in a sort of rhythmic pattern were emitted, as light from a thousand burning pine fagots further blurred the senses.  As the smoke cleared, scores of youthful girls and boys, clad immodestly, writhed against each other in what appeared to be a mating dance;
the girls smiling insinuatingly, and the boys closing in for the kill.
     Thereupon followed more hawking until the end of the pestling competition was reached.  Still more hawking ensued, serving to introduce a  panel of elders, very large in stature and quite elderly who shouted through rams' horns in-depth descriptions of what the audience of admirers had just seen.
     At last, it was over, except for the sloshers, who would slosh on through the night.
     A blind man came upon the scene, accompanied by his guide and companion.  He was conducted to the memorial erected to the epochal event lately concluded.
     "And what is this?," he asked.
     "A fitting tribute to a universally loved and cherished institution," his companion replied.
     "Walt Disney?"
     "No, this is even grander.  It is a magnificent vessel atop a plinth of flawless Grecian granite.  The vessel is of sublime Italian glass.  Rather than perfect porcelain, the liner is of rare and immaculately molded ivory. A band of purest silver, filagreed and encrusted with precious stones encircles the vessel.  Spaces have been designated for the inscription of the letters XLIX, which are little understood, but look nice.  It is a paean to the gods of produce."
     "Has it a name?"
     "It is known as the Super Bowl.  And it is full of applesauce."