Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story of an epic quest within the granite canyons of the grandest city in the world. From north to south, and east to west, betwixt two great rivers, our heroes trudged on aching feet across grass and stone. For nigh a year they have waited for this day, to prove their worth and show their mettle.
On the chosen day, the teams were assigned – eight groups set loose with naught but five score clues and fifty bills of fare. Apollo’s golden chariot hung in the celestial heavens surrounded by an azure sky. Champions all, upon departure, hope drove them forward – hope for success, hope for victory.
‘Set forth,’ she said, ‘be fruitful, and may your steps be rapid, as fleet-footed Hermes. The clues you hold shall be your boon and wisdom shall be your guide. Do not look to me for aid, for I will not provide it. You shall not see me again until the anointing of champions at the ritual feast.’
Off they set, scattered like chaff in the wind. From Columbus Circle they flew, dispersed to all points on the compass. They rode on mounted stone thoroughbreds and set adrift in boats of steel in the city’s great park. They searched for treasures in the city’s great museums. They conversed with strangers, a trustworthy lot who recorded their feats with newfangled daguerreotype.
When all was said and done, one team emerged victorious. While teams rushed about from landmark to landmark, these champions quested for apples. Eve’s gift to Adam proved to be most valuable, for each image added to their Olympian score. Oh Muse, sing to me of loopholes, by which one team may triumph, whereas others fail.
Oh Muse, forget the singing and leave that to Buddy Media’s tired warriors, for they proved themselves worthy of adoration by the masses of groundlings at Hill Country BBQ. For you, oh Muse, could not sing as enchanted a song as Eugene Ventimiglia, who charmed the crowd like the great Eros. The voice of Matt Zarzecki cut through the din, preaching the gospel set forth by Canada’s most famous crooner. Spurred by Dionysus himself, Abby Lauterbach chanted a hymn known to all. Our humble leader proved himself savvy at rhythm making, while his wife strutted to his steady beat. And let us not forget about Patrick Stokes and Luke Taylor – like the mighty Hercules and Achilles, the two brought down the house.
As mysterious Nix filled the evening sky with a cloak of darkness and Diana hung her crescent lantern amongst the constellations, we were left in anticipation of the next chance to prove our worth. For the oncoming sowing season will bring us to battle again, with naught to separate us but a red ball and the color of our tunics. Oh Muse, it is called a scavenger hunt, but we did not feel like Hades accursed carrion birds. We felt like gods born all.
