FIELD NOTES, WEEK ONE (cont'd)
Old Navy's new "Boiled-Egg Fitted Tees." But they have a solid grasp on fundamentals, and they did the everyone an enormous favor by taking in a stray pup that was wandering the league: Mad Dog. So in their Sophmore year they received and Opening Week present, a little Liza Minelli moment, wrapped in mud: they get to push around their very own Freshman Team. Enter: the Steelyard. In their first five minutes the metal workers of the Providence Steamroller did more than the Productivists and BSR in their combined histories: they walked onto the field with uniforms. They looked rugged, they had handmade details. The Steamrollers wear arcwelder masks during the week. When they aren't playing kickball, the Green Barbarians are drinking pitchers of Natty Ice and playing "Who's Got the Jelly Bean?" Game Two was anybody's guess.
The field was starting to look like a backed up septic tank in Johnston, but this game could not wait. As soon as the first pitch landed in the puddle near home plate, things started to look more clear. The PKL has a special relationship with groups who generally have better things to do with their time. Especially groups that put together bicycles from scratch. Now, the Bike Panthers never set foot on a ball field unless the calendar said "Saturday." But the Bike Panthers had Shirtless Ray. The Bike Panthers had jacked abs. On this day, the Steamroller had latent bicycle assembly skills, and muddy knee-backs. The Green Barbarians studied hard last year. It looks like a long season for the Steamroller.
The Green Barabarians: 15
Providence Steamroller: 1
Mississippi Shakedown vs
god moves on the face of the waters
Last year the Famous Untouchiballs established a rep around the league as a surly bunch of twatknockers. They even made it to the Hyperdome -- not bad for an expansion team. Now they're paying property taxes in a whole diff'rent municipality, please let's not talk about it. --But godammit, we kinda liked havin' those assholes around. It's no secret: the league has thing with white trash. Looky here! Just in time, and straight from the Sleeveless Tuxedo Weddin' Expo: the newest squad of sisterfuckers from the deeeeeep south: The Mississippi Shakedown.
If people weren't in a bad enough mood already, along come the religious sourpusses. This happens from time to time. A league with debaucheries like this one is bound to inspire an odd puritanical movement. To wit: last year's Holy Order of the Reformed Dagger Brotherhood, or whatever the fuck they called themselves during those pious five minutes -- I think that lasted halfway through the theater of their first game. Kickballers, are we not patient, even with defensive, self-righteous, judgmental pricks? I didn't think so.
If the weather was any indication, it was really clear that God was not smilin' on this endeavor. But wasn't God was pretty pissed with everyone but Noah and his family? All this rain could have been a holy colonic, meant to cleanse the league of not just it's evildoers, but the teams that couldn't tread water. The Shakedown did choose to kick first.
This game was on, but for a long time it looked less like a game and more like a Chinese bucket abortion. Like the F.U. before them, the Shakedown looked real comfortable out there. Uncle Dwayne led his extended family in what turned out to be the only match of the day that wasn't a despicable asspounding. Judging by the amount of Penetration in their past, these Holy Rollers have a lot to atone for. For the moment, the Lord seems to be heeding their prayers.
What with all the rain, no one could see them mudflaps cryin'.
Holy Rollers: 7
Mississippi Shakedown: 5
Guerilla Gardeners vs
The Road Warriors
turn, turn, turn
The day was wearing on. It was taking a toll on everyone. Romaine -- my god! He was broadcasting live from Planet Gansett. Channeling Don Rickles and Pat Summeral at the same time. He took risks out there. For us all. Bruce Fairchild's weapons-grade vitriol did not make the day seem more sunny. We just had to finish this bitch.
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