There is to be a gathering tonight that will launch a thousand tales, stories to be handed down from generation to generation. On this eve men will gather to feast on roasted meat and drink the finest wares as they prepare for open battle.
Some will wake up tomorrow the champions of war and masters of their destiny while the losers will sleep in (as losers do) and enter a mild form of depression, knowing they lack the true skill of a man.
Much banter and slang will be thrown around as battle ensues. The taunt of a predator towards his prey — the prey replying back with a parry of force so feirce that it turns the tide of battle. Each team of men looking to outfox, out gun the opposition in a way that will guarantee victory minutes before the clock ends the match.
The hardest part is trying to focus on the duties of work though I suspect there may be an ad hoc strategy meeting here and there. Whiteboards will be marked with hastely drawn maps, X’s and O’s, defensive positions and offensive plays. Each hour drawing nearer the clash and roar of conflict.
The only decision left to chance tonight will be who gets to drive the Warthog.