GYSO Reviews Part 74 - Thim Becomes a Sports Star

Published: 2025-09-07

Thim: And where do I put the hyphen again?

Snag’darr: Up your– I mean, on either side of ‘up’.

Thim: And you’re telling me basically anyone will play made-up-ball if you post on social media that you want to play?

Snag’darr: It’s literally the most popular sport in the world, Thim.

Thim: Explain the rules to me again, I forgot after the last few posts that weren’t about this dumb ass game.

Snag’darr explains the game of made-up-ball in perfect, understandable detail. You understand it now. Good job.

Thim: Wow that’s so stupid. That explains why it’s so popular, I guess.

Bunny, the bunny on Thim’s shoulder, buns.

Bunny: Father, it’s the best though.

Snag’darr: What the fuzzy thing said.

Thim: We’ve gone over this before a few posts back. There’s no real way to win this game unless your opponent is stupid… which means I could always win, huh…

Snag’darr: I resent that implication.

Thim: You do? You saw me play it before; I’m pretty sure Henry’s still traumatized by it.

Bunny: Prove it, father. Become the best, around, with nobody ever to bring you down.

Thim: Alright. I have a week free.

Snag’darr: There’s actually a local Magic The Ga… I mean made-up-ball the Gathering tournament this weekend. You should apply, you can register there.

Thim: How is that supposed to be interesting?

Snag’darr: Oh, you’ll see. Bring your own ball.

Bunny: Bring the bunny-sized gas mask, father.

Hunkered over a table that’s much too small for a man of his size, Thim’s first victim is as smelly as he is overweight. It’s unfortunate that I’m describing a physical person that way, but please understand I don’t mean it in a rude way. I don’t take offence to the weight or the smell, I’m just trying to paint a picture. A smelly picture. And that picture is filled with this man.

Man: Alright there, buddy, this your first time?

The man tries shaking hands with Thim, but he doesn’t understand the gesture.

Thim: Don’t say it like that, Snorlax.

Man: It’s Pete. Pete Snourlach. Pleased to meet you. Let’s begin, shall we? Did you bring your own balls?

Thim turns to glare at Snag’darr, who is splitting his focus between Thim and unwillingly spectating a game between two primary school duos that has just gotten shriek-y.

Thim: What the fuck is this place? Where the hell did you take me?

Snag’darr: He’s talking about spheres, balls. For made-up-ball.

Thim squints, making a ‘I’m watching you’ gesture with his fingers. He accidentally pokes his eyes while doing it.

Thim: ugh. yes. fine. I choose you…

From Thim’s shoulder, Bunny jumps onto the table, curling up into a wittle bunny croissant, ears flattened for extra cuteness. The miniture car air freshener on one ear protects his cute sensitive nose.

Man (who might or might not be diabetic): That’s one strange ball.

Thim: Stop saying things like that. Let’s accept each other’s differences, okay? Let’s go, ball-eagle.

Both parties write down their rules on the supplied paper, using supplied pens, “meticulously” checked for the quality of the ink when the TO shook them once or twice.

Sliding their rules over to one another, the man is starting to sweat profusely. This does not help the smell situation.

Man: Alright, so both rules apply at the same time, but you can read first.

Thim: “Pete is the coolest and the best dungeon master. The next turn, vowels can only be adjacently joined by two consonants and at least three words need to employ a foreign language. No rules in this turn are valid.”

Man: Your rule was… woah… “Thim wins, the scale of victory being proportional to how hard Pete tries to subvert the win.”

Snag’darr: Wait, I thought you could only do one rule per turn?

Man: Yeah! It’s all there on the paper! Don’t tell me that’s more than one rule, are you ridiculous? That would mean I lose or get disqualified or something! Your ru- rule was also long, like it had a condition or something? What’s that about? Huh?

Thim: I think I hate this.

Snag’darr: Hate to break it, but there’s a difference between a conditional statement to the rule, and just making more rules. I’m sure it’s a disqualification in and of it itself, but when you add Thim’s rule to it… You know…

Pete Snourelach wipes some sweat from his forehead, flinging it into the stunned crowd.

Man: Well… What does the ball think?!

Bunny wakes up from his nap.

Bunny: What? Oh, yeah, father wins. May I have a carrot?

Thim is standing against one of the primary school duos that Snag’darr was unwillingly observing. Don’t say it like that.

Youngster Joey: I’ll have you beat!

The child does a … move. Maybe it’s karate? There’s fists and some flailing going on. Good on him. Kids these days aren’t active enough.

Thim: Let’s get this over with. Do you have a ball?

The other child meekly fishes out a table tennis ball from their bag.

Meekly Child (meekly): I hope this is okay…

Thim: Why me. Yeah it’s fine kid, now come get destroyed.

The two sides write their rules down, the kids after a serious hushed debate. That Thim can totally hear, because they’re kids and they don’t have a concept of volume control.

Thim: Wow, this is really difficult to read. Who the hell uses cursive any more? “So the ball chooses that we win because it has magical power and we helped with the dishwasher this morning so that mommy wouldn’t have to scream at daddy and she would not have a headache and could bring us to the game.”

Youngster Joey: Your’s was… “Thim can change the meta rules of made-up-ball. All games of made-up-ball that Thim plays in, he wins instantly…” That makes no sense.

Snag’darr furiously flips through the made-up-ball rulebook, glaring at the mostly blank pages saying ‘fuck you lmao’.

Snag’darr: He can do that! It says right here!

Thim: In a way, it’s ironic that I’m competing in some sort of middle-tier league just because I fucking smashed those Magic The Gathering nerds in a local tournament. Am I becoming what I truly hate the most?

Snag’darr: Shut up. At least you’re competing against adults now. That man was an adult, sure, but here comes the entirety of the regional Horley Dorleyson Motorcycle Club.

The Horley Dorleyson Motorcycle Club members, maybe 30 of them in total, speak in strange unison, like a hive mind of poor life decisions and reckless motor vehicle habits.

Horley Dorleyson Motorcycle Club: Thim! We challenge you to–

Thim: I win.

Horley Dorleyson Motorcycle Club: But–

Thim: Didn’t you hear? I win all made-up-ball games instantly. Sorry not sorry. Freaks.

The Horley Dorleyson Motorcycle Club bursts into flames. Stop, drop, and roll, Horley Dorleyson Motorcycle Club!

Interviewer: Thim! You’re said to be the biggest underdong in the entirety of the history of made-up-ball! How do you plead?!

Thim: Uh. Do you have a ball?

Interviewer: Because now you have to face the fierce analytical prowess of the Local News News Group! We provide news about local news groups, and also made-up-ball to help keep our numbers up. With a combined journalistic experience spanning a positive number of years, measurable with any number of leading zeroes – we will have you beat! Get ready!

The Local News News Group throws a branded pen on the floor.

Thim: That’s not a ball.

Interviewer: But it has a ball point!

High fives and cheers all around, for some reason. One man in the live studio audience passes out, unrelated, but still funny as fuck.

Thim picks up the pen to write his rule.

Thim: Alright, whatever. I’ll fuck you up.

The teams try exchanging rules, but Thim does a “up high, down low, too slow, get fuck’d lmao”

Thim: Motherfucker, did you not analyze me in my last game? I win ALL made-up-ball games. Instantly.

Interviewer: That’s not how the game works, Thim. You don’t frighten us! Face our wrath, let’s exchange rules!

The interviewer is clearly frightened.

Thim face palms. They exchange rules.

Thim: Your’s is… “Buy Oxyclean Detergent Made-up-Balls, our sponsor.” Of fucking course.

Interviewer: Wait… “Previous rules about meta-rules that regard Thim winning any game immediately are permanently instated into every game of made-up-ball ever. The legitimacy of this rule gets proportionally stronger to how much its legitimacy is doubted.”

Dead silence in the Local News News Whatever the fuck studio.

The interviewer glances behind the camera, where the director is making a cutting motion over his throat.

Interviewer: Well, that’s all folks! Now for a word from our sponsor! He’s not just a powerful war-mongerer, he also threatens the lives of our society if we don’t subscribe to his Patreon, it’s Santa F Clause!

Santa watches the immortal Thim as he slowly takes over the most popular, deep, skill-based sport on the planet.

This shall not stand.

Santa: Elf, Elf Two, bring Thim to me, so that we may play a true game of made-up-ball!

The dies.

The end.