A Fable

Bill Johnson was used to winning. And here he was again, in the thick of the competition, confident that once again he’d walk home with the championship. At his feet was the single object that stood between him and his fourth consecutive winning trophy.

It was a noodle—a huge noodle, at least a foot wide and 10 feet long, with fine drops of starch-laden moisture clinging to its edges. It was soft and supple, like a fine chamois cloth, a result of a full hour of boiling in the Competition Boiling Pot. Glistening in the sunlight, it lay on the ground at the foot of Competition Hill, just in front of Bill Johnson’s feet.

As the King County Noodle Pushing Champion, he knew his way around noodles. After all, how many ways can there be around a noodle?

Bill circled the noodle, examining it from all sides. It was beautiful, and its starchy aroma hit him like the fragrance of an exotic flower.

Bill had seen plenty of noodles in his day. Big ones, small ones, domestic and foreign, thin ones and thick ones.

There was no doubt, however, that most people, including Bill, usually preferred the uncooked ones for competition. They had a strength and integrity to them that allowed the competitors to push and coax them in the right direction.

The wet ones, though, were an entirely different story. In fact, Bill had never successfully pushed a wet noodle up a hill. And he was the King County Noodle Pushing Champion!

But there continued to burn in Bill Johnson a strong desire to prove that he could do this. He had always chosen uncooked noodles in his competitions, and he had become the county champion for three years in a row. In fact, he knew exactly the type of noodle that would ensure his success—he could spot a winning noodle a mile away.

Now, in the low light of the late afternoon, Bill stood over his wet noodle, evaluating his situation. The other competitors were already done for the day. They all had chosen uncooked noodles to push, and most of them had made it to the top of the hill, in widely varying times. Times that Bill knew he could beat with a good uncooked noodle.

By choosing the wet noodle, however, Bill was going to show people that he was truly the best. He would out-push, out-coax, and out-noodle everyone. And he’d get extra points for succeeding with the wet noodle.

Bill was ready now. He got down on his knees and nuzzled up next to the knarly noodle.

As the crowd gasped, he assumed his legendary “knee-next-to-the-noodle” stance, a strategy that had served him well in all his other competitions. Taking a deep breath, imagining his success, Bill pushed for all he was worth.

Before he knew it, Bill was face down on the noodle, as helpless as a flopping mackerel. The noodle had simply bent when he pushed, and it assumed its same flat-to-the-ground appearance.

Bill tried again. And again. And again. All with the same result. He needed a new stance.

He tried pushing with his head, his feet, and even his stomach. He even tried the classic pasta pushing position taught to him by his father. All to no avail.

Then he tried something drastic. He took a deep breath and dove at the noodle, flapping his arms in a scooping motion in front of him. He looked like an oversized duck trying to go backward.

Bill thought that this new technique might be getting him somewhere, though, since his scooping and flapping motions actually pushed the noodle about 15 feet up the slope. But then he got so tired from the constant exertion that his arms cramped and he had to stop. Gravity pulled the wet noodle back down the hill, and it slithered back virtually to the starting point. Bill had gotten nowhere.

As Bill lay on the ground, trying to determine what to do next, the irony of the situation hit him full force. Here he was, totally exhausted from trying to move the wet noodle, while the noodle exerted no energy to move up the hill or even to resist Bill’s efforts. It was just being a noodle.

In fact, the noodle actually took away Bill’s energy. When Bill exerted himself to make some modest progress, the noodle squandered that energy by actually sliding down the hill! It was a one-way energy flow, with all the energy being sapped from Bill.

As time ran out for Bill, he felt at first a sense of despondence. He was disappointed that he wasn’t going to earn another championship this year.

Then, he began to have a new sense of clarity and optimism. He realized that he was now crystal clear about his future. He knew that this would never happen again. His goal was to win at least two more championships, and he vowed to never again attempt to push a wet noodle up a hill.

He knew, of course, that he needed noodles of some kind to achieve those goals. He couldn’t be the King County Noodle Pushing Champion without noodles.

The answer, then, was simple. Bill needed to pick the right noodles.

If he picked the right noodles and avoided the wrong noodles, he’d have lots of energy left over for hoisting his championship trophies. All of this was in his control, of course, if he just used his noodle.