If my eyes do not deceive me, it appears I’ve just hit my second cup in row. Remaining faithful to the dearest orders of the game, I must announce that I have just entered the second leg of a chain of events that shall be rather fortuitous for my team’s fate.
Come one, come all. Gather round and listen because I am decreeing a motion for the dial on the thermometer to be raised:
I’m heating up.
Ready yourselves, because if I hit this next cup, the services of Ithaca’s Fire Department must be called upon.
And if I should earn the sacred right of “fire,” woe be you, my humble opponent—I will be forced to take shot after shot until I fail to sink a cup. Such is the esteemed duty of a consummate pong professional.
In just one turn you’ll be fanning flame after flame, to no avail!
One must allow this fire to wither away on it’s own—but not before an immaculate diamond re-rack glistens in the distance.
It gives me great pain to deliver a loss to you in this match, but do heed my warning: if I am forced to call “island” on this next cup as well, then by God, I shall.