My plan was to start with a strong defense. Under cover of the first night I executed a slight ditch leading from my opponent's planting, thus directing the life-giving water away from the center of his action. This play prompted an outburst of unintelligible language. Nevertheless, I set about to ready my offense. A few nights later, as the bright light of the full moon was obscured by a cloud cover, I crept out again and scientifically began to apply the contents of a small canvas bag to the area surrounding my acorn, a ploy instigated by a friend of mine, a nurseryman. The strategy was to outfertilize my foe and thereby gain that all important first inch.
As you might suspect, I felt rather complacent after this maneuver and was content to hold the ball, so to speak. Some would call it overconfidence. At any rate, about a fortnight later the tide turned when I observed my adversary applying a colorless liquid to my field of play. Weed killer. So now, rather than bark up the wrong tree, I am attempting to locate a rule book. After all, I want my stand to be on a solid plank. Besides, my opponent's son (a sophomore in college) has changed his major from business to horticulture.
Needless to say, the outcome of this contest cannot be projected with any degree of accuracy at this time. But we plan to stay with it and do our best.
In the meantime I wish to offer a word or two of caution to the novice who may be contemplating this courageous and burning sport. Watch for slivers. And remember: it's the sportsman, not the sport, that determines the aspect of the game.