To stall, or not to stall; that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The zings and pows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take claw against a sea of elves
And by opposing end them? To block: to skull;
No reroll; and by a skull to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That is to one in thirty-six, ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To block, to skull;
To break: perchance to cas: ay there’s the rub;
For in that double skull what cas may come
When players shuffle off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause; there’s the apo
That rerolls dead into dead;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The turn 16 foul, the proud man’s piling on,
The pangs of a fumbled bomb, the ref’s bribe,
The insolence of a one turn touchdown
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself rolled 2 Blitz!
With a bare grin; Who would play this game
To grunt and sweat under a ticking clock
But that the dread of a sideline cage break
The un-rerolled 6 from whose surf
No player returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather scorn those rerolls wasted
Than bleat to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of probability
Is pondered o’ver with the pale cast of thought,
And formations of great pith and moment
With this regard their pressure turns awry,
And lose the heart of stalling – Score right now!
The crowd go wild! Riot, in my dark visions,
Be all my sins remembered.
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