It was a cold winter, colder than the Pilgrims had expected. Settlers in a new world, how could they have known? Back home, the ground didn’t freeze quite so viciously and at least there were always potatoes. So many fucking potatoes. But here they were, in a vast and undiscovered land, perhaps not even able to make it through the winter. Desperate and hungry, the Pilgrims had no choice; they would have to ask the other inhabitants of this uninhabited land if they had any food.
These other inhabitants were wild, savage people. It was a miracle they knew how to cultivate the land at all. But they had food, and while willing to share it, they proposed a friendly game. A game of lacrosse.
The Pilgrims were wary. They remembered how Cromwell had seized power from Charles I after a friendly game of badminton gone awry*. Unable to adequately control the damn shuttlecock, Charles had lost his head. This lacrosse match would be no friendly game. This was a test, one the Pilgrims had no intention of losing.
*Yes, I know my timeline’s wrong. Fuck off, I liked this joke.