At some point during our surgical disembowelment of the undermanned and (frankly) outclassed Sloppy Joes squad last night, I turned to McKim and asked if we should be feeling guilty about the lopsided score, to which he replied "maybe a little". Some time later, maybe at Freeman's, I asked the same question to Derek, whose response was as far from McKim's as Crocodile Dundee is from being able to pay off his tax debts (confusing AND topical!) - "ab-so-lute-ly not".
It is 11 hours later, and I'm still not sure which side of the fence I sit on. While the final score was truly horrific (15-1), our play, albeit virtually untested, was a thing of beauty. Last night, team, we were an army of hammer-wielding swans - pounding the aptly-named Sloppy Joes into even finer ground hamburger, splattering bloody, spicy sauce all over our majestic white plumage, which we happily shucked clean over delicious beers and pizza, and also their gamey corpses (too much?). More specifically, save for a few early dropsies, we caught everything: Tim, Derek, Sarah, and Matt all made ridiculous catches. Derek's Pete Townsend-esque windmill grab to snag a long hammer from Tim for the score was particularly noteworthy, as was Sarah's highlight grab to score her first point of the season.
Accordingly, the Sloppy Joes - in an impressive bit of post-game spirit - awarded their Big Rock Grasshopper Wheat Ale Players Of The Game to Derek and Sarah. No argument here.
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Thank you to all who attended for your exempliary play. Daddy had a free pass for the evening and started the night already long overdue for Stella's sweet tongue caresses. The Sloppy Joes were a cautionary yellow and well worn speed bump on our road to Freemans and it was important to put them behind us efficiently.
And that we did. My call to arms prior to the opening cheer was obviously accepted, and as requested, after a few quick tugs at the corners, you removed the Joes' bandage of hope in one swift and continuous motion so as to minimize any pain associated therewith. Just as planned, we went into the early half after just sixteen minutes of play, up seven nothing.
I'll acknowledge that sentiments like "mercy is for the weak" are not going to win a team any cooler bags of booze, but we all work too hard to have to rely on free booze. We were indeed too legitimate to quitimate, getting the next 7 unanswered points as efficiently as we had the first.
Which brings me to the reason I do not and did not feel the least bit bad about that game. We could easily have concluded the shutout and left them limping back to their bench dejectedly, but as I found myself standing alone at midfield with my mark awaiting a floating hail mary from Level, it struck me that they had borne our onslaught with too much courage to leave empty handed. It seemed we all had the same thought, and for the first time all night, the Joes found themselves able to catch and throw through loose coverage all the way to their lone and well-celebrated point.
We've been there, and that 1 feels a lot better than a 0.
As grateful as I was for their thoughtful recognition as male player of the game, and as richly deserved as was Sarah's similar honour, I don't think anyone stood out. We were a well-oiled machine, each of us a moving part performing its function with perfect precision.
We continue to get better every minute. I almost can't wait until next week, when we can give those Dirty Discs a thorough revenge scrub.
"too legitimate to quitimate"
Awesome - this needs to be on a BoH T-shirt, and also across my back as a tattoo.
Dude, quit making fun of my tramp stamp.
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