He’d laugh if he weren’t so insulted. How dare their gutless king send a pipsqueak to fight him. Him! A seasoned soldier! The champion!
Goliath’s bulky 9-foot frame (plus or minus a few inches) strutted at the front line in 125 pounds of bronze body armor. He was itching for a gory hand-to-hand combat. But now there wouldn’t be anything that came close to a bloody fight. What a joke!
He’d smash this little squirt to smithereens just like a pesky fly. It’d take a measly second to put an end to the armies’ forty-day stalemate and claim the winner-take-all prize for his side.
Indeed, Goliath was right. The battle was over in a second. But not as the giant had assumed. Goliath was done in by a single slingstone to his forehead, hurled by a shepherd boy–David.
Goliath had let down his guard. He underestimated the force of little things.
His blunder reminds me of a poem a grown-up, for some reason, felt I needed to hear. She pulled me aside from the other teenage girls and recited:
It isn’t the trees that block the trail,
It isn’t the ash or pine
But if you fall or if you fail
It was the pesky vine
That tripped you up or threw you down
That caught you unawares
The big things you can walk around
But watch the way for snares.