I've been expecting this showdown for days. That knowledge does little to calm my anxiety, however.

Things have been tense ever since the Italians were muscled out of town.  Suddenly there are groups of Spaniards, Russians, and even Turks, all vying for territory.

With a sense of foreboding, I glance at the dull, black, sinister looking object on the table.  My hand trembles slightly as I reach out and pick it up.

Hefting it and feeling the weight, I work back the sliding panel and notice the small hard cylinders that lie within.  At least it's loaded, I think to myself.  Wouldn't want to overlook something like that at a critical moment!

A part of me wishes that I could back down, but I'm already deeply involved, and I know I will have to see it through to the end.  I glance at my watch.  Nearly time now.

The moment approaches, I take a couple of breaths, exhale slowly to steady my nerves.  Extending my arm, I take aim and quickly but firmly press home the button.  The TV awakes with a jolt, and the room is filled with flickering light.  In a few moments, the semifinal will begin.

I grab my chips, open a beer, and settle in to wait.