The Gozo Goblet Games: A Twist of Fate and Ħobż

The Great Commotion in Gozo

It was a day like no other in the sleepy town of Victoria, Gozo, where the locals adhered to their routines with the rhythmic dedication of a clock’s ticking hands. Little did they know that their world was about to be toppled faster than a tower of overcooked Ftira. The island was buzzing with anticipation for the inaugural Gozo Goblet Games, an event poised to put their beloved rock on the international map of irrelevant sports.

Amongst the excited locals was a man with a mustache so grand it had its own gravitational pull, Carmelu the Magician, a notorious character known to have once convinced the entire town that Mdina was moving to Gozo due to overcrowding. He was the mastermind behind the games, and he promised a spectacle of “Olympian” magnitude.

Introducing the Athletes

In the spirit of fairness, every event was something every Gozitan could do, like pastizzi eating, lamp-post climbing, and the ultimate test of agility – dodging tourists in narrow streets. But the real crème de la crème was the Ħobż Biż-Żejt Toss. Legend had it that a true Gozitan could hurl a slice of this oily bread farther than the eye could see, or at least to the neighboring village.

Making her grand entrance, festooned in her village feast’s best lace, was Annunziata, a robust woman whose ħobż tossing skills were the subject of many a village fable. Her competitor, Ċikku, a scrawny man with the tenacity of a Mediterranean prickleback, was known for his ability to eat pastizzi faster than a pelican snapping up fish. Their rivalry had marinated over the years, becoming spicier than a bowl of widow’s soup.

The Plot Thickens and Twists

Amidst the tension, an unassuming figure made his way through the crowd, carrying a peculiarity that set tongues wagging—a loaf of gluten-free bread. This dietary enigma, known as Kevin, hailed from the distant lands of Sliema and had come to disrupt the traditionalist’s bread throwing with his newfangled fancy loaf.

“Uwejja, what’s this bread that looks like it’s made from the same stuff as my yacht’s cushion?” one bewildered Gozitan was overheard exclaiming.

The games commenced with Carmelu waving his bedazzled conductor’s baton as if trying to summon a ferry from Ċirkewwa on a festa day. The pastizzi-eating was a harrowing sight, Ċikku inhaling them with such fervor that one wondered if he was a man or a vacuum cleaner. Annunziata dispatched her competition in the lamp-post climbing event, scaling with the elegance of a nimble goat.

But the real twist came with the Ħobż Biż-Żejt Toss. Annunziata, taking her traditional stance, twisted her body and launched her lubed slice into the stratosphere, a cheer erupting from the masses. Then came Kevin, armed with the audacity of innocuous appearance and his gluten-free marvel.

The Gluten Gambit

With an underdog grin, Kevin swung his arm. The bread sailed through the air, cutting through the bias like a political candidate’s promises. A gasp escaped the crowd’s collective lips as the gluten-free discus flew past Annunziata’s record mark, landing with a soft thud in the distant bushes. An uproar ensued, as the traditionalists decried this as a disqualification-worthy fiasco.

Carmelu approached, his mustache so tense it could chop tomatoes, and bent over the controversial loaf. In a hushed silence, he declared it valid. Kevin was pronounced the unconventional champion of the inaugural Ħobż Biż-Żejt Toss, and – accidentally – a local hero.

Conclusion: Embracing Change

The event was a hit, spoken about from the salt pans of Xwejni to the sands of Ramla Bay. It struck a chord with the Gozitans: perhaps it was okay to embrace a bit of the new, as long as you could throw it really, really far.

In the end, even Annunziata conceded, offering Kevin a smidge of her famous zalzett korali and a swig of limonċell to celebrate. Carmelu had vanished as mysteriously as he arrived, his mustache seen riding a Vespa into the sunset, leaving behind a legacy of laughter and a hint of magħluq in the air.

As the readers of ‘Times of Mela,’ you might find yourself thinking, “Is this really what happens in Gozo?” Mela, not exactly. But isn’t it a delightful thought that somewhere, on a tiny Mediterranean island, Carmelu’s mustache is still out there, scheming its next grand spectacle for the unsuspecting Gozitans?