Hypothetical: An Intruder In Your Home

[Rain Man]

Here's the scenario.

After a long day at work, you come home to your tastefully appointed two-story suburban home. As you pull into the garage, you notice that your neighbors are home on both sides, and silently say thanks for your large yard since one of them is hard of hearing and has a Matlock rerun turned up at full volume, and the other is having another one of those weird parties where everyone shows up in leather and big stuffed animal costumes. But they're far enough away that you won't notice anything once you're inside.

Your significant other and any kids are out of town at a luge convention, so you have the house to yourself. You eat ribs and baked beans over the sink, play angry birds until your phone dies, and leave it in the living room to charge.

You watch a couple of old episodes of M*A*S*H (including one where Alan Alda talks about how senseless war is), and then decide to go upstairs to bed. You wander up, forgetting your phone, and brush your teeth.

You're just about to take off your shoes, and you hear a noise. A crash of broken glass. Then some scrabbling noises and there are footsteps downstairs. It's obvious that someone has broken in.

Ping!

You hear the distinctive sound of an aluminum baseball bat, followed by the sound of broken glass. Then again. And again. You hear drawers opening and closing. You hear a male voice muttering, "No one keeps cash in their house any more," and then hear the distinctive multi-dish crash of your china cabinet being pulled over.

You look around the room, and have the following weapons at your disposal.

- An 8-inch authentic bowie knife that you got during your vacation at the Alamo last year.

- A 28-inch wood baseball bat that you used to drive in the tying run in 8th grade Little League.

- A non-working but realistic-looking replica shotgun that you got on Home Shopping Network's "Tribute to Elmer Fudd" night.

You only have time to grab one weapon since they're all in display mounts on the wall.

You have no gun because your significant other is convinced that if you had a son he would look like Trayvon, and offered you a night that you could not refuse if you would take it to the police station and trade it in for tickets to the upcoming luge convention.

You hear footsteps coming up the stairs. The way the stairs are situated, you can hide behind a corner and get the element of surprise at close range just as the intruder reaches the top of the stairs, or you can stand in the middle of the room and have a 12-foot distance before the person comes into view. If you run toward the stairs, he'll be six steps from the top by the time you arrive.

Once the intruder comes up the stairs, you and he will be in the same room since your house has an open loft-style second floor. There's a closet in the room, and the only furniture is a futon and a couple of spartan Japanese stacking chests.

There is also a window that is open. A jump out the window will lead to a 12-foot fall onto a patio that will almost certainly break a leg but will not be fatal.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The footsteps are coming up the stairs.

What do you do? Assume that you are not a superhero or a ninja, and that you are merely yourself.

Poll coming.