ASL First FireTuesday, January 20, 2004
The Rulebook
(with apologies to Edgar Allen “Roll Low” Poe)
Once upon a CG dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over plans to stretch my defense line out to the Volga shore.
While my conscripts all were napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As one not so gently rapping, rapping at their cellar door.
‘Tis some rotten Kraut’ they muttered, ‘tapping at our cellar door -
Only this and nothing more.’
Ah, distinctly, I remember, Stalingrad in cold November,
Dying embers settled from the scorched earth up above the floor,
Signs now that a new day’s started, my line of defense has parted,
Jerry troops commencing their assault where they had failed before.
This small building left behind by his retreating troops before,
Hope to hold out one day more.
Now I found myself afraid he would clear out the Barrikady,
Smashing through my brave heroic troops defending Russia’s core.
Lest I found some way to stem this Nazi armored troop offensive,
Mother Russia’s imminent demise I felt must be in store,
German troops parading through the Kremlin could soon be in store,
Lest I won in CG IV.
How to turn the tide of battle, how to cause my foe to rattle,
His marauding band of blue-eyed blonds to founder in their chore,
I must try a new approach, some different tactic I must broach,
Some means to give a winning Russian entry to upload to ROAR,
A triumph in this campaign game to balance German wins in ROAR;
I picked the Rulebook off the floor.
The Book I viewed with apprehension, far beyond my comprehension,
Full of often studied, just as quickly then forgotten lore,
Rules to frighten any gender, all in erraticized splendor,
Page on page of Q&A all oozing out from every pore,
Packed with information and examples over which I pore,
Doomed to forget even more.
Still I had no hope of finding, hidden in the 3-ring binding,
Rules to help me in my defense of this barricaded door,
Strategies to hold this sector, hidden in their page protectors,
Page protectors purchased from the local Office Depot store,
Economy weight page protectors from the Office Depot store.
I Purchased these and nothing more.
Sewer movement has its value, simply if it would allow you
Stealthily to move your conscripts out beyond the cellar door,
But emergence is no given, matters not how hard they’re driven,
Their escape must find concealment if to safety they should soar,
Safe escape my conscript troops out from the sewer they would soar,
Quoth the Rulebook, ‘Roll a 4.’
Puzzled now, my planning altered (so far all my troops had faltered)
Searching desperately to find a way to bring force to the fore,
OBA would be my savior, causing Hun retreat behavior,
After all that’s why I spent those campaign purchase points before,
Points to bring on Russia’s off-board might I hadn’t used before,
OBA would be the score.
Thus I thought of using my artillery to start a fire,
Torching what few buildings stood to mark the city’s glorious yore,
Perchance this would save my conscripts (Is this damn Book writ in Sanskrit?
What the hell are these damn rules on OBA put in here for?
Where’s the flowchart made to show what OBA is useful for?
Torture me for evermore).
So the Rulebook did I ponder, staring there in abject wonder,
Stricken by its opacity, secrets kept behind a door,
Keeping me from soon attaining knowledge beyond basic training,
Tactics able to preserve my armies for one campaign more,
Dying conscripts overrun to never fight for one day more,
Damn the Rulebook evermore.
Thus I came to this conclusion, lost in desolate confusion,
German planes would be forever crossing Russian skyways o’er,
No more would my brave troops tussle with the Nazi armored muscle,
Armored might extending closer to the Eastern Volga shore,
Destined now to reach the Urals far beyond the Volga shore.
One more Russian loss for ROAR.
Once upon a CG dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over plans to stretch my defense line out to the Volga shore.
While my conscripts all were napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As one not so gently rapping, rapping at their cellar door.
‘Tis some rotten Kraut’ they muttered, ‘tapping at our cellar door -
Only this and nothing more.’
Ah, distinctly, I remember, Stalingrad in cold November,
Dying embers settled from the scorched earth up above the floor,
Signs now that a new day’s started, my line of defense has parted,
Jerry troops commencing their assault where they had failed before.
This small building left behind by his retreating troops before,
Hope to hold out one day more.
Now I found myself afraid he would clear out the Barrikady,
Smashing through my brave heroic troops defending Russia’s core.
Lest I found some way to stem this Nazi armored troop offensive,
Mother Russia’s imminent demise I felt must be in store,
German troops parading through the Kremlin could soon be in store,
Lest I won in CG IV.
How to turn the tide of battle, how to cause my foe to rattle,
His marauding band of blue-eyed blonds to founder in their chore,
I must try a new approach, some different tactic I must broach,
Some means to give a winning Russian entry to upload to ROAR,
A triumph in this campaign game to balance German wins in ROAR;
I picked the Rulebook off the floor.
The Book I viewed with apprehension, far beyond my comprehension,
Full of often studied, just as quickly then forgotten lore,
Rules to frighten any gender, all in erraticized splendor,
Page on page of Q&A all oozing out from every pore,
Packed with information and examples over which I pore,
Doomed to forget even more.
Still I had no hope of finding, hidden in the 3-ring binding,
Rules to help me in my defense of this barricaded door,
Strategies to hold this sector, hidden in their page protectors,
Page protectors purchased from the local Office Depot store,
Economy weight page protectors from the Office Depot store.
I Purchased these and nothing more.
Sewer movement has its value, simply if it would allow you
Stealthily to move your conscripts out beyond the cellar door,
But emergence is no given, matters not how hard they’re driven,
Their escape must find concealment if to safety they should soar,
Safe escape my conscript troops out from the sewer they would soar,
Quoth the Rulebook, ‘Roll a 4.’
Puzzled now, my planning altered (so far all my troops had faltered)
Searching desperately to find a way to bring force to the fore,
OBA would be my savior, causing Hun retreat behavior,
After all that’s why I spent those campaign purchase points before,
Points to bring on Russia’s off-board might I hadn’t used before,
OBA would be the score.
Thus I thought of using my artillery to start a fire,
Torching what few buildings stood to mark the city’s glorious yore,
Perchance this would save my conscripts (Is this damn Book writ in Sanskrit?
What the hell are these damn rules on OBA put in here for?
Where’s the flowchart made to show what OBA is useful for?
Torture me for evermore).
So the Rulebook did I ponder, staring there in abject wonder,
Stricken by its opacity, secrets kept behind a door,
Keeping me from soon attaining knowledge beyond basic training,
Tactics able to preserve my armies for one campaign more,
Dying conscripts overrun to never fight for one day more,
Damn the Rulebook evermore.
Thus I came to this conclusion, lost in desolate confusion,
German planes would be forever crossing Russian skyways o’er,
No more would my brave troops tussle with the Nazi armored muscle,
Armored might extending closer to the Eastern Volga shore,
Destined now to reach the Urals far beyond the Volga shore.
One more Russian loss for ROAR.
