Chapter XIV
There is a game that many people like to play. In it, they take one ball and put it under a cup. They also have two cups, neither of which has a ball under it. They then take the cups and mix them around. The other person involved in the game needs to guess what cup the ball is under when the cups are done being mixed around. Now, imagine that each cup is in a sense a universe in which Baritone Juicebox has come to exist. Each is being mixed around, and but the ball is, in a sense, the universe in which they all coexist. Somewhere out in space someone is playing this game, and some poor soul is forced to guess what the outcome of all this mixing will be. Ignoring that poor soul, this was the outcome of the game:
The cups go round and round, and finally stop. But the guy running the game has mixed up, he spills the cups! Two of the universes in which Bari exists had already intertwined because of magic, and now each one fully spilled over into the other. They all lived in the same universe, though two of them were together, and one was far away, attempting to climb Mount Hockey.
As they took off from the moon, they had come to the conclusion that it would be best to forgo visiting Jim’s and to just head to the Earth, and attempt to find Bari. The other Baris were too anxious to find out if there were any more of them in existence. They knew there were, but it was a matter of finding them. And they just felt that something had happened, which had put them all in the same universe. All they had to do was find each other. A simple mission at least, if not an easy one. So, there was no need to waste their time on mystics and other theories which may or may not even be valid.
And so this short-lived fellowship parted ways, with much less resignation than one might expect at such a parting. Alas, each party had much more at stake, many more important things to occupy the space of their minds, which was indeed finite, and could not be wasted on unnecessary resignation. The messenger tree had its work to attend to, the Flarks were attempting to establish themselves as respectable guardians of peace and justice throughout the universe, and the two Baritones were engaged in the actions which we’ve spent most of the ink on these pages discussing. Everyone headed where they needed to, and the two Baris, still amazed at their paths having crossed, took a couple moments before they made yet another jump.
With their wits collected, and their determination much higher, and with a much more respectable goal in mind, Bari and Bari leapt into space.
To describe the experience of swimming through space is a difficult task. Very difficult it indeed is to relate, but attempt I shall, for I know that if I can properly convey that feeling, I’m sure I can make many of you desire to try it, and in doing so better your lives. The near-vacuum is cold, but refreshing, like immersing oneself in the refreshing lemonade you drink on a hot summer day. In this though there is no liquid to physically revitalize their collective epidermises. And the lack of air, oh, that precious lack of air! It makes one appreciate fully their next breath, and every subsequent one, when they arrive in an atmosphere, which is something akin to reaching the surface after a long submergence.
This was, of course, the first time any form of Baritone Juicebox was successful in any attempt at swimming without any sort of aid, and it would also be far from his last. I say this for two reasons, with neither being the foremost one. Firstly, it implies that through all the tribulations Bari endured throughout the course of his adventures, he was very successful in the self-improvement category, and equally successful in the learning to swim sub-category. Secondly, I said that in order to relieve any sort of suspense or apprehensions you might have had about whether or not Baritone Juicebox would be alive come the end of this novel. I have too much affection for him to kill him off. I realize I’ve put him through some pretty awful trials, but that mostly stems from my desire for him to grow as a person, as I’ve heard and experienced that difficult times will indeed do that to one. The only thing left now was to see whether or not all, if any, or the Baris would accomplish what they set out to do.
To give a relative timeframe, the two Baris that had left from the moon landed on Earth around the time that the Bari that was a basketball and his friend Arthur Crouton were in the labyrinth and on their second challenge. This reminds me of something else. I’ve generally been pretty terrible with timeframes. I’ve given no thought to the passage of time, and so far as you know, all my characters have constantly been marching, with nary a break in the action to sleep or eat. Well, even the stamina of basketballs is not infinite, that is to say it is finite, which is to say that it has what the Spanish call a “fin” and the English an end. Sorry for any misapprehensions you might have had.
Now, it so chanced, and perhaps, I contrived it to be so, that where the two Baris landed was not far removed from the whereabouts of Mount Hockey on a map. In fact, if they and the Bari/Arthur team ascended from either side at similar speeds, they would converge upon the summit within minutes of each other, like so…
Please pay no attention to the proportions in that drawing. Please take into consideration that all three Baris are the same height, and are not so tall relative to the mountain. Now, betwixt the spot where Bari and Bari had landed there lay a sylvan scene, where a winding road wound ‘round an arboreal landscape comparable with the Arcadia of days which had long passed. A paradise of natural creation. Since, up to a certain point, all three Baris shared a common memory, two of them, those being the two we were just discussing, began discussing a time and place that the scene reminded them of.
Surely, that too was quite the sylvan scene, but was contained within a much more minute diorama. As a teenager, Bari, as one person, had spent countless hours meandering by a river which lay across a bridge just a few minutes’ walk from the place which he called home at the time. Oftentimes he would walk by this spot in the winter, passing by every day in eager anticipation of when spring would bestow its greenery and leaves upon the countenances of the local flora. One year, it was the year of his high school graduation, and the day was the fourteenth of March, the eve of the ides, which is written shorthand has 3/14 and thusly resembles the beginning of pi, and he went for a walk in the very spot of which we now find ourselves discussing. He ate a popsicle. It was lime-flavoured. Certainly not related to pi or pie in any way, but pi and pie aren’t related, except that pies, being round, can use pi to find various dimensions. Though delicious, it was not the food he consumed that kept him satisfied, it was the company he kept, and while the popsicle satiated an ephemeral appetite, it was this company that satisfied something deeper, and gave him the satisfaction of feeling that he was, for once, living. Having generally been of a somewhat antisocial disposition, this had been a wonderful change for him. His meanderings tended to be of the solitary variety, but to walk the earth with others was certainly wonderful. He would later rediscover this fact as he walked with
Arthur, but for now his mind was stuck in a rut. Funny it seemed to him that within months of this he was upon the roof of a museum, or was it in some wilderness, he could not remember, for his mind had been overgrown by vines, he stood before the alligator, and beseeched that it give him clarity. But for all the utensils stuck in the flesh of this aquatic reptile, and its reputation for telling the truth, or the future, or various intertwinings of the two, not one shred of clarity would dare enter his juvenile mind. Within mere months he had lost so much of what he had held dear. He had moved far away, and geography had taken its toll, the distance creating mental distance that no amount of letters could bridge. He was far away from the world he knew, and though he was discovering new, great worlds, he would always miss that one. And so now, both of our protagonists, both of the Juicebox variety, saw now a desolate forest, more suited to their current state of mind than the one in which they had discovered it. And so they found as they perambulated that the forest would shift what it was to suit their moods, and this became ever more desolate as they remembered more of what had led them to the forest which they had so recently been discussing.
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sp; But surely there was some memory held within their collective consciousness which could relieve their current sardonic state. Oh! There were plenty! But, behold! They, without fail, resolved themselves into the recollection of an event which had led him to attempt suicide in the first place. And finally, they saw naught but the moonscape from which they had once sought release from their mortal coils, and felt that that choice was once more lying before them.
“What should prevent us from doing it again,” said the Bari that did not possess a moustache.
How foolish these two were. How focused on their own misery, and so focused on it that it pervaded their very environment. Bari had never thought of himself as a selfish person, but here he was, in two forms, emanating despair about him, and forcing it on his surroundings without taking notice of the ill being done to them. This must be corrected!
“This must be corrected!” he shouted. Thinking of the Bari that also had a moustache who was currently struggling towards something better dissuaded him from the deed which would end with him dead, and persuaded him towards the deed which would end with a wonderful beginning. For that part of him it was at least worth walking through some woods and climbing a mountain and hoping to meet himself on the way, or at the very least, catch some glimpse of himself from the top. And with the lesson in mind that this part of the world was what they made of it, or at the very least, what they thought of it, they traipsed through the woods, ever onward through an abundance of arbors that was growing ever greener as they thought more positive thoughts. In due time, they were merely strolling through a rustic scene, and the positive thoughts even paid off in the form of a plentitude of pizza plants perpetually blooming. Of these they duly fed themselves to the point where they were borderline gorging. And speaking of gorging, they came to the brink of a precipice which overlooked a gorge, and almost unknowingly fell in, so occupied were they with the pizza which flowered upon the sides of the path, and so engaged were they in the discussions they were having with the friendly woodland creatures which had replaced the menacing monsters which had lurked in the shadows of the previous minutes.
At some point in your life, I’m sure you’ve seen a film where there is some point in the path of the characters are treading, where there is some form of gap to cross, be it gorge, ravine, some manner of plateaus placed apart, or something else, and the only thing bridging the aforementioned gap is a flimsy-seeming rope bridge, which generally starts giving way as the last character is crossing. The last character must starting running full speed or else swing on the bridge as it falls away towards the other side, then grab the edge and climb up. There was such a bridge here, but they walked over it without any sort of hindrance. In fact, nothing really intruded upon their path. Unbeknownst to them, they had found themselves on the easy side of the mountain, which rested upon a silver platter, and where the grass was always greener than any green grass elsewhere in the world. Once they reached the interior of the forest, it didn’t even matter what they thought, for this part was of a climate that found itself permanently in springtime, constantly in bloom, with the sun warming every inch of the ground with the love it bestowed with its tender smile.
Now, whilst these two Baris were perambulating peacefully, Bari and Arthur were struggling up the steepest slope either of them had ever stumbled up. They had left behind the place where all the obstacles were merely personified concepts, and were now climbing a rocky slope. As they clambered up the cliff, a cavalcade of coniferous plants fell from above and with them a multitude of rocks, obscuring what little path existed. But, eventually, the emerged triumphant, standing upon a platform upon a plateau, with a sign held in the air by a plat’s toe, letting know that they were but a short distance from the summit.
And then tragedy struck, and this is how: comparable to the quantity of romantic comedies I’ve seen is the number of sports movies I’ve seen. I’ve realized that I have indeed mentioned sports quite a bit, and as much as I might want to experiment, stories involving sports must stay within certain parameters. So, towards the beginning the athlete or team struggles, but is rescued by fate taking the form of a new star player (oftentimes an animal) or a celebrity coach. They cruise through the rest of the season and qualify for the playoffs, and make the championship game, albeit not without difficulty. Then, before or during the championship game some sort of tragedy strikes, creating an obstacle that must be overcome. Oftentimes they pool their collective energies and overcome the aforementioned obstacle, and in doing so, win the championship game, often on a point scored as time expires. Less frequently, they try their hardest, but despite their efforts, by some degree of providence, or more earthly powers such as chance or just being outplayed, they end up losing, but in losing learn a valuable lesson. In that case, there is often a sequel in which they do win the championship. Of course, now you know the two options for how this book will end.
Baritone Juicebox knew the formula from vicarious experience. In his lifetime, he had never managed to make a sports team, but had devoted much of his time to watching sports and sports movies. Arthur, as we have seen, made his school’s basketball team, though he was merely a mediocre player. Fortunately he was mediocre enough to be the last one picked, and not the first one not picked. As we recall, he had once won a championship for his team, albeit on false pretenses. Nonetheless he possessed a championship ring, and that entitled him to certain views on sports, certain opinions and concepts on which he could considered to be a legitimate authority.
Being that they both possessed a decent amount of sports acumen, they weren’t overly surprised when Arthur broke the arm with which he would normally shoot his foul shots. It went like this: as they clambered up, it passed that a couple trees which flowered with popsicles dropped their fruit. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Popsicles are generally regarded as harmless and are oftentimes healthy. But! But! The word but indicates something adverse to what I was saying. And adverse this next sentence shall be! But, popsicles have a malevolent cousin known as pop-sickles, which are in fact quite dangerous to anyone or anything which happens to cross their path. Pop-sickles, unlike popsicles, were named after their main excuse for existence. A pop-sickle is a sickle that grows upon the same tree as most varieties of popsicle, and when it ripens, it pops, and in doing so falls upon whatever gravity indicates that it should fall upon. The pop releases a noxious fume that is nauseating to those few who are forced to smell it, which nobody has ever done before of their own volition. One of these trees, growing mainly popsicles, but also one pop-sickle, grew on an overhang over the summit of the mountain, and ripened just as Arthur was under it. By the time the pop reached his ears, it was too late. He looked up and began to run, but the pop-sickle caught his shoulder, fracturing the bones within. There was absolutely no hope of it healing before they reached the top. This was the obstacle that must be overcome.
As far as they knew, there were no medics on the mountain, and medics were one of the few things they had yet to encounter growing on their trip, and even so, a broken arm could only really be healed by time. Sure, they could wait for it to heal and then try the shot, but who knows if they could survive on the mountain for those few weeks. They had been lucky so far in finding food, but if they were stationary for any amount of time there was a decent chance that they might become food for some creature they had not seen or imagined yet. So, all they could do was set a rudimentary cast and continue on. What remained of the path wasn’t too difficult. It was what lay at the top that intimidated them. They had passed through the dangerous, action-packed forests. The rest of their path was comparable to the path on the easy side where the grass was greener that Bari and Bari were currently taking.
What a clever transition! Instead of further discussion of the process involving the transition, I’m just going to claim that I’m clever and continue on with my plotline. Bari (moustache) and Bari (sans-moustache) Juicebox were taking a leisurely stroll. By this point, they had almost forgotten
why they were climbing, other than that they found the exercise to feel rewarding and the fresh air to feel refreshing. What a shock it was for them when they reached the top!
The Bari/Arthur team had reached the top before the Bari/Bari team, though the Bari/Bari team was awfully close behind. They weren’t racing though. Current events just happened to call for the giving of this particular time frame. It’s important, believe me. See, when they reached the summit, Bari and Arthur found it barren, save for a massive monolithic monument to the creator and savior of the sport, the ancient legend Jamesnaismith. It seemed a hoax! There was no basketball court, not even a single hoop could be discerned from where they stood, and from where they stood, they could see the whole of the summit, which was flat and barren. Yet they still wanted to believe. They had come all this way, it couldn’t have been all for a joke. Maybe there was a code or a password or something? That monument had to mean something. They knew its visage represented he who had invented the sport of basketball. Perhaps there was some sort of symbolism in that? What could they say to bring out the hoop that they hoped for?
“Oh,” said Arthur, “How could I have missed this?”
That is what he said as he reached out to ring a little bell that lay on the ground, next to a sign that was scrawled into the earth and which read
“ring bell for service.”
In an instant, there emerged five monks of the ancient order of basketball, clothed in naught but their ceremonial robes. Give me a moment and I’ll redefine robes, as they see them. Go!
Athletic shorts! Jersey! Basketball sneakers! Socks which matched both the shorts and the jersey! Done!
“Who is it that summons us?” inquired the one who seemed to be the leader of the monks.
“It is Arthur Crouton,” who wishes to overcome all and to make a single foul shot and in doing so, aid in setting two lives aright.
“Poor soul,” said the monk behind the first one who had spoken.
“He only knows of the old rules, which changed thousands of years old. Funny that someone so young would possess such outdated information. Well, sir, the rules have since changed.”
“Let me chime in,” said the third. “Once upon a time you could make a foul shot and be granted a wish. If you were a human-turned-basketball, you could become human again. But times have changed.”
“No!” was what Bari cried. “Don’t tell me that we came all this way for nothing. Has this place lost its magic. What’s happened?”
“Let me put my proverbial two cents in,” spoke the fourth monk. “I’ll explain. Because we are guardians to this most sacred shrine to the ancient art of basketball, and we’ve grown bored with the whole foul shot system, and sought a more active lifestyle, we changed the rules.”
“Indeed,” concluded the fifth and final monk. “The new rule is that you must beat us in a five on five game of basketball, where the first team to score a basket immediately wins. As it stands, there are only two of you, and one of you is the game ball, which must be shot in by someone on your team in order for you to once again become human. As of now, you don’t even qualify to play.”
It was at this moment that Bari and Bari came sauntering up the hill, and saw themselves for the first time in a long time. In fact, until he was about seventeen, Bari had always been too afraid to really see himself, and after that he was still pretty tentative. One day that would change, which would be for the better, and that day might just be the one I’m recording right now. Of course, the two Baris that had just conquered the mountain knew their basketball counterpart, though he had lost his former shape. After all, a Juicebox is always a Juicebox. The instant they mounted the hill, they, like all else who achieved that elusive task, found themselves clothed for a game of basketball. But the team was still two players short.
This is why the concept of the convenient plot twist was invented. Within moments of each other, two significant events occurred.
One: one of the monks stated a rule that when a human-turned-basketball which once again sought humanity was involved, the monks would have to sit out one player to compensate.
Two: a clown, clothed in basketball apparel, in the colour of Bari, Bari, and Arthur’s team, appeared. It was game time.