Postcards From the Edge
By Jon Blyth
Not that my current run of nine games without a win (all rules - all
periods) is starting to prey on my mind but...
The Green Eye of the Mellow Fellow Jon
There's a one-eyed yellow idol
To the north of Katmandu;
But I don't know why I'm mentioning it when,
I've lost another battle
(My army died like cattle)
And I'm standing at my car at half-past ten.
It's not that I am bleating
But I'd like to get a win,
Just to make the hours of painting worth the price.
Not that figures done by me
Are the best that you can see;
When you look at Rex's mine are merely "nice".
Now Gareth "don't like boats" so
He avoids a naval war.
But I struggle with my troops on sea or land.
See my pirates fail their test,
As their ships sink in the west.
And the Roundheads don't win under my command.
The latest horde from Dennis
Faces mine across the board,
And Paul Hooper cringes as I start to play.
My generalship moronic,
I less Napoleonic,
More Norman Wisdom dressed as Marshall Ney.
I am filled with trepidation
As the League gets ever near;
'Cause I play Warhammer worse than history.
My lack of basic tactics,
And greater lack of practice
Snatches losses from the jaws of victory.
It's not that I am jealous,
As you celebrate your wins;
In the course of time I'll get the hang of it.
When my army's on the run,
There's a ploy I'm working on,
Use on a mallet on your figures 'till you quit.
There's a little green-eyed monster
And he lives inside my head.
And he wants to win in every game he plays.
I'm usually mellow,
An amiable fellow,
But if beaten I will cry and sulk for days.
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