POSTING BY JB MADDAWG
Now, many fans of The Throwdown are young and have a wide variety of games from Angry Birds all the way back to Call of Duty. Lemme tell you, kids, life was much different growing up in the 1970’s. Oh, we had video games all right. Kids of the nation freaked out when we first found out about Pong. In fact, one Christmas my older brother and I got our first game console, and stayed up most of the night playing it. It had two, yes two games. The aforementioned Pong, and shoot the disappearing square on the screen. Good times.
As one could imagine, when we weren’t playing the latest in video game technology or having an epic battle with our vibrating Monday Night Football table game, we would venture outside for some friendly competition in the front yard. You see, strapping Box Elder bugs to a bottle rocket gets old after a while, and eventually, you need something more lively. I, of course am speaking of the deadly game of Lawn Jarts.
There have been several variations of Lawn Jarts, and for some time now, they’ve been produced as plastic pieces of garbage that really don’t work. You see, the thing that made the game fun was the fact that it was a hand-hurled dart, with a metal point that one would throw into the air and aim for a ring placed anywhere on the lawn. Usually, though, the point was a tad dull new out of the box, and one would have to locate your father’s grinding wheel or maybe some 80 grit sandpaper and file the jart down to a razor-sharp implement of death. Warning against this procedure on the box, you may ask? No, in fact, the directions SUGGESTED IT! What can I say, it was the 70’s, Carter was President, gas was rationed and The Hustle was popular, go figure.
Obviously, Lawn Jarts were of course banned, but here’s the deal. They wouldn’t have if somebody, anybody would have merely suggested that while one person throws their jart, the other person not stand so close to the ring being aimed for. Family fun time would have been none the wiser and Lawn Jarts would still be in fashion…minus the story of little Jimmy Donovan. You see, everyone from that generation had a friend of a friend that knew of a Jimmy Donovan, the poor kid that got impaled by his own dad one late evening by a rogue jart. Stuck right in Jimmy’s left ventricle and it took sixteen hours of surgery to remove it. There was no internet back in those days. The government took rumors on face value and banned stuff all the time based on circumstantial evidence. Don’t believe me? Hey, I don’t have to remind you of what happened to Jenny Cassidy down the street with the Pop Rocks and 7-Up, do I?
Regardless, this Thanksgiving, just remember as you reflect this year on all the things to be appreciative of, in such trying times, is that we can at least all agree to be thankful we don’t have a lawn jart impaled in our aorta.
I’m JB saying Happy Thanksgiving, and you’ve just been ThrowDown away from you, not at you, for safety purposes.