Page 294 - The Grotesque Children's Book

the circle, stupidly believing his opponent was doing the same and it was just a matter of time
before he overtook him. Piccino waited, until he could hear Tozzo came nearer to him, nearer,
nearer, then Piccino chose his moment to reach out with a sweep of his birch, and shh-thwack!

“Three points Piccino. Piccino the winner. Eleven to one.”

Tozzo had lost, just as Carola had known he would. And along with it, he lost the wagers
of his friends. Moral: Go ahead and underestimate the power of self-determination. In one-on-
one competitions, exactly half of the combatants will lose, determined or otherwise.

Tozzo whipped off the blindfold and came tottering back to Santi, Aurelio and Carola,
miserable. “I'm so sorry!” he whispered, hoarsely. “The little sneak...snuck me. I've lost your
money.” Tozzo swigged from his tankard.

“It's all right, Tozzo,” said Santi, eyeing the next opponent stepping into the circle.
“We'll win it back on the second match. You're sure to win against that man!” Santi pointed his
index finger at the next challenger: an old man of sixty or so, with an unkempt white beard and a
stoop. This was Camello the tailor, who stepped into the ring and tossed his hat down to indicate
his challenge. The crowd gave a roar, and again the money flew into the “Tozzo will win” and
“Tozzo will lose” hats held out by the middleman. Carola's eyes sprung open wide when she
saw Santi starting to run towards the “Tozzo will win” hat. Santi doesn't remember how bad
poor Tozzo is at this sport! Carola knew Tozzo didn't have the advantage until his clockwise
dizziness increased to a level stronger than the effect of the clockwise motion of the game. And
that won't happen this round. Carola couldn't, of course, just shout out loud the strategy to Santi,
for everyone else would then know it. So Carola stopped Santi from betting on Tozzo the only
way she could think of: she stick out her foot and tripped him. He went down to the floor with
an urrpph! She knelt down beside him, pressing a palm into his back, leaning into his ear to say,
“Santi, I've seen Tozzo fight hundreds of times; he loses his second round every time. Shh.
Don't answer; you'll draw attention. Don't be in such a hurry. Wait another two rounds. Trust
me, Santi, trust me!”

But Santi wasn't deterred by a mere palm in the back. He wriggled out from underneath
Carola and leapt to his feet. The matchup was too deliciously lopsided to pass up, Carola's
heedings notwithstanding. Look at that old todderer! thought Santi, why you'd be foolish to bet
on him! and he opened his pouch and gave all that remained in it to the middleman in exchange
for a “Tozzo to win” chit worth ten soldi; a week's wages. Aurelio, likewise, who could see the
weakness of Tozzo's opponent, gave Santi an additional five soldi to place a bet with the
middleman. The two clutched their chits, confident they could increase their holdings, and
prayed more and more fools would take the side of “Tozzo to lose” side.

In a wrestling match, of course, Camello the tailor would not have had a chance at
defeating gigantic Tozzo. but they weren't wrestling. Camello was an intelligent fellow, and his
stooped spine was not particularly a handicap against winning. Still, Tozzo towered over
Camello, and smart money was on Tozzo. But too many of the regular drinkers at the Wheat and
Chaff had witnessed first-hand how poor Tozzo was at the game, so brutish an approach where
cunning and patience were rewarded. So while smart money went into the “Tozzo to win” hat,

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