Page 72 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Ah.” Finally I get a good shot out of my plastic pistol and send a yellow tail flying. Then a second. “We’re even.”

Gabe focuses on one stubborn tail that won’t budge while I knock off two more.

“Goddammit,” he says, moving on and accidentally knocking off a yellow one en route to the next green.

“Five-two to the lady,” Jerry shouts.

“That’s not fair,” Gabe says.

“It’s in the rules,” Jerry and I say at the same time as I knock off another yellow and Jerry taps the sign on the hut wall declaringPig Tails Rules.

“Have the green ones been glued on?” Gabe asks.

“A bad player always blames his tools.” I manage to dislodge a yellow tail on the third squirt.

“Twenty seconds to go and it’s seven-two to the lady,” Jerry declares.

“Come on, Nat,” someone shouts behind us.

“See, you have home advantage,” Gabe says.

“Come on, Gabe,” calls another.

Then rhythmic clapping starts as half the group shouts “Nat, Nat, Nat, Nat,” and the other half counters with “Gabe, Gabe, Gabe, Gabe.”

“Got one,” Gabe cries. “Support from the crowd always helps. Oh, and another.”

“Ten, nine, eight,” Jerry starts the countdown and the group behind us joins in. “Seven, six?—”

“And he scores another,” Gabe cries.

“Five.”

“Me too,” I drop another yellow.

“Four, three, two?—”

I don’t hear the cry of “one” because as I turn to face Gabe, punching the air and jumping up and down in victory, a spurt of water hits one of my pig ears and sends the headband flying off my head.

“No firing at your opponent, sir,” Jerry reprimands Gabe.

“Just needed to prove how good a shot I am,” Gabe says to me.

“Mission accomplished.” I wipe tiny droplets from my nose.

Gabe places his water pistol on the counter and reaches down to retrieve my ears.

“Competitor to the end, huh?” I say with a laugh as he hands them to me.

The sight of Gabe’s face wearing a combination of devastation at having lost a fairground game and pride at winning his own Shooting The Ears Off Nat’s Head Game is excessively amusing.

“I’m a bad loser.” He pretends to teeter backward from my push. “You should see me in the locker roomafter a defeat.”

Gabe in just a towel. Hmm, there’s a thought.

“Final score, the lady seven, the gentleman five.” Jerry reaches for the back shelf. “I declare the lady the winner.” Behind us there’s a round of applause, punctuated by some whistles and a few pig grunts.

Jerry hands me a hot pink plush piglet of victory just as a voice crackles out of the public address speakers above our heads.

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