How Did a Clay Bowl Turn a Hole into the Stakes?

After rain, when the earth was sticky but not runny, children could each take a lump, knead out the stones and shape it into a small bowl. The rim needed to be thick enough to survive the landing, while the base had to be thin and even: thin enough for trapped air to burst it, but not so fragile that it leaked in the hand. There was no mould. Thumbs and palms did all the work.

On a turn, a player brought the bowl down rim-first onto concrete or hard-packed ground. If the base broke open with a sharp pop, the size of the hole mattered. In one common version, an opponent flattened some of their own clay into a patch large enough to close it; the bigger the hole, the more clay the thrower gained. Rules differed by place—whether a broken rim counted, how thick the patch should be, and even whether the game was called smashing clay bowls, clay cannons or patching clay pots. A record in Taiwan’s National Cultural Memory Bank describes deciding the order, taking turns and paying clay to patch the winner’s bowl.

This was not a contest in who owned the dearer toy. The advantage came from judging the material and controlling the hands: clay that was too wet collapsed, clay too dry gave no clean report; a heavy base would not burst, while a base too thin could not be carried. Most revealingly, the hole could not settle the result by itself. The watching group had to recognise it, and the proper patch still had to be negotiated. Common mud became a stake, and making, risk and a small public rule all entered the same game.

https://tcmb.culture.tw/zh-tw/detail?id=608886&indexCode=Culture_Place