Sumbeeatch!

A Disc Transportation Competition

I woke up today, my bed was wet.

This was because the ice that I had put on my ankle had condensed and formed liquid, making a pool of water around my anklier area.

I threw the ice bag away, and got up. Getting down the stairs was more difficult, but could be accomplished. I looked for t -shirts, cleats (I did not have them), water bottles, forms. I got it all. Got sligo directions on mapquest , and I hit the road, with the fury of an Indian whose land had been stolen and ancestors pissed on.

Speaking of Indians, I played "Sacred Earth Drums", one part of my 15-for-a-dollar purchase, on the way there. It was pretty much what I expected. Drums with some weird instument and vocal noises, more noise than word.

I pulled up to an empty Sligo middle school parking lot, which was already bakin' in the sun.

I climbed up the hill, and sat and waited for awhile.

Nobody showed.

I began calling people on my mobile communicatocarcinogenatition device, and was informed by the left-handed Barth that the game was at 12:30, and my getting there at nine-thirty was a great mistake, one perhaps comparable to invading a small island nation via front door. Well then. What to do?

I could, of course, sit and masturbate in the car, but the day was too hot for such things, so I swung back to DC.

Or so I thought, as I took a wrong turn on the beltway, and ended up going around through the belt loops to the bulging ass of the DC metro area instead of the belt buckle that is my home (Yes, this sentence was of an imitative nature. I just wanted to see if I could do that. No more, I promise.)

So, I ended up buying gas on New York Avenue, took NY to Florida (the meeting of the streets is an intersection that in retrospect I should have called 2003 World Series, but I didn't watch that series because the Cubs and Sox lost, and I was so sad, especially after that goddamn Steve Bartman incident, because even though a lot more went wrong than that, as one of the announcers said later "as soon as they saw that play, every Cubs fan in the nation went 'ooooooohhh no'", and the voice showed what it was, not the groan kind, but the heavy oooooooh no like the shit has hit the fan and we just have to wait for the fan to fling it all about, and we're fucked.

So I got home, worked on physics for a little bit, then hit the road again, this time arriving with my bottle of water and my jug of water (really, both water), and I was a little late to arrive, although I was blasting Ice Cube's Get off My Dick and Tell Yo Bitch To Come Here", so I arrived in style. Someone said something about being late. I said "Late...or early?", and did not explain my earlier experience, so it was confusing.

Well, it was quite a crowd, for Wilson that is. BCC was apparently scared to show their faces, and sent out a measely five-member-or-so team, so we had to supplement, they somehow got Phil (his name rhymes with skill!) and Saul (by the way, Chuck, there will be a post later this week detailing your failed attempt at Saulimitation), and also C-Bar and Pablows, and Elli. I think it was a random choosing process.

Well, the Wilson team set out to fight, the band of green-clad warriors who were camoulflaged against the grass, and soon I was in. I was unable to turn to the left, and had not yet tried running. I was asked to select a person for coverage. "Who do you think is least likely to turn to the left?", I asked, not realizing that their left was my right. It was a girl in blue, a regular bitch. Well, not regular in size, extra small, but bitch all the way. Well, we hurled the disc, and sure enough, she broke left, eluding my coverage, as I hobbled on after her, unable to run, especially in that direction. Eventually she got wide open and scored. I was pulled from the game. People inquired as to why I didn't run. I muttered some titles of old NWA songs.

So, a man in red tried to ask me to heal my injury. I disagreed. Walk it off was the way to go. But he convinced me that it would take seven times as long to heal that way, so there I was with my leg propped up on a bike handlebar with a bottle of ice water on my ankle, the sun in my face, and nobody else there. The situation was tolerable for about five minutes. I then left, to throw discs and chill with DCo, the other injured man, and the perpetually tired heroes JRusell and Witzenberg, who made some amazing plays on the field, and so deserved their frequent breaks. Josh Perles covered the bitch in blue, much better than I could, and she did nothing for the rest of the game, not being covered by a cripple. Saul and Phil also made some great plays, the traitors. The should go live in traitor lake. You know, over by crater lake. Where is crater lake, anyway? Oh, there it is.

So the game ended, I got some cookies from Elli's mom, then everyone RAN to the ice cream truck, except for the Barths, who packed up, and JRuss and DCo, and me, who followed them caravan style.

We went to the restaurant known partially as a KFC and partially as a Taco Bell, and wholly as a Taco/Bell KFC, I sort of drifted off as I was following though, scared not of federal felonies but of related incidents, but was dwelling on them. We did Family Guy Colonel Sanders imitations several times, which is a must when attending a KFC.

Peter: “Whoa whoa whoa wait a second? You’re telling me I flew all the way to Kentucky to get some of your fried chicken, and the Colonel isn’t even working today?”
Employee: “He ain’t away, he dead.”
Peter: “What?”
Employee: I say he dead.
Peter: “Is Mr. Sanders in?”
Cashier: “What wrong with you? I say you he dead.”
Peter: (Pause) “The Colonel.”

But the food took much too long to arrive, and was not enough to fill my belly (I should have gone for a Tbone steak, cheese, eggs, and Welch's grape).

But it was all good, all in all a good day.

Would have liked to play more discus, though. Perhaps the trip to Cheese Steak Heaven will prove more productive. Although what could be more productive than working in a factory with terrible labor conditions? Very little, but the pay is bad.

It's all about the Benjamins, WHAT?

Posted by sw at April 18, 2004 06:05 PM