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Way back in the 80’s when Pac-Man was going ‘Wokka-wokka’ and Transformers were on telly, my brother received ‘Crossbows and Catapults’ for Christmas. I was a little perturbed by this massive present my brother had, considering that the only thing of comparable size that I got was the Atari 2600, but this was a joint present and we had to share it. I refused to acknowledge joint ownership and claimed the Atari as my own, because it was obviously unfair that he get this other big present. Anyway, my twisted 7 year old logic is not the point here, but we played the be-jebus out of that play set, so much so that one catapult and a crossbow broke. Eventually we tired of having to share the destructive weapons during a game and it fell out of flavour, only to be stored in the ceiling.
Fast forward 20 years to the future and I am helping my brother move into his new home. I was given the duty of collecting all of his junk that was stored at our parent’s place, which included anything in the roof. After dropping off a non-descript box with the faded name ‘Sean’, I decided to start rummaging through his gear. Lo and behold I came across ‘Crossbows and Catapults’. A sudden surge of nostalgia coursed through my body as I yanked the mangled box out from underneath a plethora of equally mangled He-man figures and quickly flung the lid off.
Immediately, my hatred for those stupid blue barbarian caroms returned and I unceremoniously dumped the contents onto the floor. My brother walked past and I haughtily challenged him to ‘A Duel of Crossbows and Catapults to decide the Ultimate Champion of All Time’, or something to that effect.
After a brief scrounge to find some new elastic bands to replace the melted, crusty old ones stuck to the weapons of minor destruction, we excitedly set up our defences. My tried and true double-brick front wall went up quicker than their overly complicated interlaced concertina foundation, proving that my Vikings are again better than those worthless Barbarians.
Once everything was set up, I was confident that my tower would be un-topple-able behind my massive fortification. So much so that I even allowed my brother the first turn. Well, it was his game anyway.
My brother chose the catapult to start the offensive and placed it on the right side of his base. After testing the springiness of the new elastic bands he placed his first carom onto the catapult and drew back the arm. A few slight alterations to correct the angle towards my tower and he let go.
*Boink*
*Crash*
I couldn’t believe it. The fluky, jammy punk had won the game by knocking over my castle with the first shot of the game. What made it worse was the 20 years lack of practice. And worse still, he was claiming to be ‘The Ultimate Champion of All Time’. Obviously, I challenged him to a re match, but he refused, making some comment about trying again after two more decades.
Stupid game.
At least I still have my Atari 2600. Now where’s that Pac-Man cartridge?
‘Wokka-wokka’.
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Will Green
United States
Alameda
California
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Great post! What I find fascinating, (right after the joy of finding 'an old friend', and the slightly 'off-base' reasoning of a 7-year-old), is that even in New Zealand "The West" has a bit of a hold on the imagination of the good folks there.
I say this based on the title you gave for the article: Quickest Catapult in the West...as in Quickest Gun in the West, which is the Wild West, which is America in the 1800s...unless there is a New Zealand Legend along those lines that rings out about it.
Thanks for sharing your memories...and (ouch), your pain!
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Actually, I'm from Australia, but thanks for the other compliments.
I grew up in Perth, Western Australia, so the title is correct with the 'Western' aspect. It was derived from the 'Quickest Gun in the West', but not from any old Australian legend.
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