In a stunning first-round of PlaYOFFffs, Team Sports Glory Team showed down against top contenders, Team Sports Glory Team. We found that both teams were fired up & ready for the match, but only one team had what it took to defeat Team Sports Glory Team. And that team was none other than Team Sports Glory Team.
In the top of the 4th, Team Sports Glory Team was behind, but by struggling, they quickly found every chink in Team Sports Glory Team's armor. They calmly & professionally exploited every chink, which led to a thorough routing of Team Sports Glory Team by Team Sports Glory Team.
Once again TSGT reigns victorious with an early win to kick first and a soon after ball-camera-face incident that left Sports Cap’n incapacitated & bloody until his first at bat (bunt single plus eventual run). Go Sports Resilience!
Bloody cap’n aside, it is presumed that some manner of kickball was executed during Sports Cap’n’s less woozy portions of the evenings. From Cap’n’s best recollections, there were several 6-run bunt home runs as well as at least 3-4 RBI pop flies. Plus team brown. Either way, I’m sure we won with points.
the looming sky offered lures of freedom from kickball repetition oppression. Working in the kickball mines, chipping away endlessly with pick and mattock, seeking the eternally elusive red diamond sphere. rain pouring down on torn, beaten players. would we instead watch tv on dr. rockplex? Or punch Mr Mother Nature in the cumulonimbus sphincter with toes of fury?
Rain brought damp clamminess. Sports Capn brought a secret baggy of raw turkey in his pocket the entire game yet received no ancient turkey spirit guide wisdom. No mystic kindred totem for us this day except that of the cosmic 0-ness. What is it to be utterly without positive or negative motivation? To be in utter prysmic balance? No obligation to win or lose. That is what it is to trancscend kickball to a plane in which runs occur despite outs. solidarity occurs through belligerence. And april showers bring may flowers. In June.
After an exhaustive retrofit of Sports Cap’ns Portacabin™, Sports Cap’n quickly realize that Portagrill™ Mark 1 was not lost but in fact simply placed in storage for the duration of its winter hideaway at the State Fairgrounds.
Its exceptional return was heralded by none but Sports Cap’n himself, a happy dance shortly thereafter ensued.
The arrival was on target. Portagrill mark 2 has arrived, in all its multipieced glory, to replace that great propane meat-tube scalder in the sky, Portagrill. The construction and related merriment was exeptionally well executed. The menards lady clearly had recommended a Portagrill to be reckoned with. A portagrill without propane. A Portagrill of suck. Portagrill Mark 2 was clearly an imposter infiltrating infidel which sought to undermine our unity from the meaty core. Yet memory served that Portagrill may be redeeemed by the corner of 38th and Chicago via Cup Foods or its mighty Super American Brethren.
Super America brought the grill in a bag to the game this time in under 10 minutes. With it, the ability to burn sausages and make grilling interweave with playing and/or fielding. Lo, the cheddarwurst did know what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Sloar that day, I can tell you.
Spontaneous match light charcoals aside, portagrill 2 really sucked for what we wanted. Where is portagrill mark 1? Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope!
The plan is clear. This year we will establish a complete dominance over all things inverse win and/or blatantky incomprehensible drump. If we can destroy the league in Runs Against, we will destroy the validity of Runs For, thereby achieving a complete union of victory and defeat. Kick backwards yet forwards. Upwards not backwards, and ever twirling, twirling towards freedom. Team Sports Glory Team clearly knows what it takes to run the bases without fear of winning or losing!
NAGMA offered fair play and shiny jerseys to the fray in this no-holds-barred kickball match involving not one but two teams hellbent on foot-driven dominance. While TSGT brought vigor, chutzpah, and pure smite-factor, they forgot to bring the cohesive sports net required to effectively quarantine in humanitarian fashion.
Thus fingers were in but hands were not; the forest contained no trees. The win was inverse.
Bacon deficit (though familia Burns’ cow meat was mighty in girth)
Lack of shiny pants
Lack of manbunts
At least we succeeded in frustrating team A.R.T.D. in our drunken umping aka drumping efforts. All I have to say is that if I’m gonna get paid in the form of an entire sixer of Maibock in my belly that I bought myself, you’re gonna get what you pay for.
In OTHER news,
At my house was left a blue windbreaker & some black sunglasses — Monty? Anyone?
FINALLY,
there will be no more use of all-caps in this email.
You forgot Poland! So did Kickballski’s. They forgot to fly their polish falcon and as such failed to conquer TSGT: Operation Mission. While the score was close at first, once we started the game, it quickly became clear that we were a lovely shade of brown and ready for severe base running. We ran ourselves ragged making points and scoring kicks.
Just because the game ended didn’t mean Team Sports Glory Team stopped scoring kicks and making points. The onslaught continued well into the night, ending with a record-setting win of 72-6 as the rosy fingers of dawn began to reach skyward.
Umping commenced with typical ballistic belligerent flair.