Eschaton! Am I right? Let’s recap.
Otis P. Lord, Evan Ingersoll, Todd (‘Postal Weight’) Possalthwaite, and a handful of other little buddies, certainly not the least of which is the “suspiciously muscular” 12-year-old, Ann Kittenplan, descend upon a four court playing field to engage in a highly strategic, mathematics-rich, tennis-based game of global thermonuclear war largely perfected and oft game-mastered by Michael Pemulis who, on this cold Interdependence Day, keeps his tenuate-addled map on the spectator side of said playing field with Struck, Axford, Hal, and Jim Troeltsch, all “splayed on reticulate-mesh patio chairs in street clothes,” from which they ingest substances and observe the action of the younger players, Troeltsch calling the action into a disconnected headset.
I am of course jaw-dropped at Wallace’s pages upon pages of armegeddon-infused game theory, complete with math and references relevant to the political realities at the time of Infinite Jest’s writing. “SOVWAR’s bald and port-wine-stained premier calls AMNAT’s wattle-chinned president on the Hot Line and asks him if he’s got Prince Albert in a can.”
But it’s only when the first flakes of YDAU Winter descend upon the courts, bringing with them the sparks of true cataclysm, that my eyeballs become glued to the page. It is when young J.J. Penn, whose older brother Miles did terrible things to a little M. Pemulis back in the Allston’s youth prepubescent day, incurs the Peemster’s wrath by suggesting that snow on the courts could have implications in Eschaton’s in-game realities, a suggestion at which Pemulis hurls the full emotional weight of his much younger bullied self.
It’s snowing on the goddamn map, not the territory, you dick! 
And, in case you missed the point that this is where things get truly intriguing, Wallace tells us through Hal who, “finds the real-snow/unreal-snow snag in the Eschaton extremely abstract but somehow way more interesting than the Eschaton itself, so far.”
Axford, just to fuck with Pemulis, ratchets the situation up a few notches by suggesting that map and territory may be the same thing, but the real ratcheting comes when (poor, doomed) Evan Ingersoll takes a personal stance on the map/territory issue by firing a ball directly at the back of Ann Kittenplan’s ‘roid-ridden head, at which point Pemulis loses his tenuated Irishman’s cool on a map v. territory screed about how because players are part of the map and not the territory, launching five megatons of dead tennis ball ordnance at a player flies pell mell in the face of the very essence of Eschaton and that Otis P. Lord, in legitimizing Ingersoll’s flagrant flouncing of map/territory boundary, threatens “to very possibly compromise Eschaton’s map for all time.”
And it’s in this sentence with this possessive relationship between Eschaton and its map that I have a crucial Aha! moment w/r/t the notion of “eliminating one’s map,” (or elemonading one’s map, if you’re Emil Minty), a phrase whose continued use in Infinite Jest has captivated me to the point that it (the phrase) will throughout the day just float through the depths of my mind, rising occasionally like a bubble to the surface, but whose etymological underpinnings have remained just out of my grasp, causing me to wonder as to its origins, besides the very literal connotation of removing one’s face from the world.
Pemulis asks LaMont Chu and Ann Kittenplan if theyre just going to stand there with their thumbs in their bottoms and let Lord let Ingersoll eliminate Eschaton’s map for keeps… 
And so this very explicit notion of map v. territory, this Aha! moment with regard to an individual’s map versus his or her own territory, is that the elimination of one’s map is (merely) the death of the human form (the map), as opposed to the territory, that which underlies the individual’s map for which the map was purely representational, the territory of the individual being the true essence – their inner selves or even their soul or spirit.
So while that may have already been evident for some of you, it was a breakthrough for me.
All I have to worry about is who that is lurking off court-side in a green Ford sedan (hint: We already know it’s Steeply) .
And now we can watch this: