The Men in White

They look small from up here on the third floor. I cheer the little men in white from behind these panes of glass. There are lots of them, walking about the green circle, some aimlessly and others with undeniable purpose. One of the little men strides up beyond the pale strip of green, he takes the red dot and inspects it thoroughly. He pulls his shirt to make a polishing cloth and irreverently stains it red in his attempt to perfect the shine. He palms the dot into his left hand and starts jogging toward the pale strip.

 Soon the man with the dot is running at top speed, and when he reaches the pale strip he flings the dot down. It bounces and flies menacingly at another man in white standing at the other end. But, the other man is ready, he’s come armed with a plank of wood that he is clearly prepared to use. The other man quickly shuffles his feet, he leans back slightly and hoists the plank. He swings and wallops the red dot toward the edge of the big green circle toward his left side. The previously aimless wanderers on that side of the circle leap into action. One of them winds himself sprinting after the dot, he dives and slides and finally grasps it. 

The diving man flings it to another fellow who had apparently followed the sprint; he’d slowed to a stop in anticipation of the pass. This fellow then pulls back his arm and throws the dot furiously toward yet another man in white. This one is standing behind the place where the man with the plank had hit the dot from initially. He looks like a warrior because he is wearing armour. He catches the dot and slams it into a neatly appointed pile of sticks. The sticks toppled. Lots of men in white throw their arms up and turn to yell at a man wearing (somewhat conspicuously) black trousers. The man in the black trousers shakes his head. All the white men turn back to their preferred pursuits and begin again.