The trick to playing chicken is knowing when to flinch.
- Bill Murray, Groundhog Day

This enigmatic 'sport' roughly consists of playing 'chicken' with the Earth from high altitudes, wearing nothing more than a fabric safety mechanism housed in a bag anchored around your crotch. This can be attested posthumously by those skydivers who have left their mark in, on, and/or scattered in pieces about this world: the Earth has yet to flinch.

Probably started by accident or on a drunken bet, some think that after a long, dusty, laborious, and largely cable-free evolution, skydiving is proof-positive that our evolution has not only stopped, it has in fact started to devolve. And when you consider that many people who practice this sport tend to have monosyllabic names that rhyme with various grunting noises, this claim is not without its merits.

Non-skydivers will never really understand the passion skydivers have for their sport, but let me give you an idea: put quite simply it's as exciting as waking up and realising you've been sleeping at the wheel of your car, you're going a hundred-and-twenty miles per hour and a very large truck is coming directly towards you.

Only, your car happens to have a parachute that slows you down to about ten miles an hour but does nothing to the truck. Be sure to bend your knees!