THE GREAT BUFFALO HUNT! ... GEORGES SLAUGHTER HERD IN MEMORIAL DAY MASSACRE ... PETA FURIOUS! ... URQUHART MORE FURIOUS!! ... STRANGENESS LOOMS AHEAD AT THE SPARE

The Georges sent a ferocious cannon blast across the bow of the NOPO Division Monday night, reminding anyone who may have forgotten that summer is here, and the session is theirs for the taking.

"It's ironic," pondered their fiery Captain F. Urquhart before the match, "not only is Memorial Day a time to reflect upon those who have fought before us, and beside us - guys like Creepywhite, Blackbeard Ryder, Weighlum, Audry, Alaska Andy, Jessie, that one guy from Florida, and even my old arch nemesis, that no good son of a bith Rob ... "

Urquhart's sentence trailed off and he choked on whiskey fumes as memories of The Chief flooded back. His bald head turned a disturbing shade of purplish red. Beads of sweat dripped past his brow and into his eyes, which took on the look of a man possessed. His jaw clenched noticeably and and his fists trembled atop the bar. A group of fearful women collected their belongings and dispersed towards the exits, leaving full drinks and lit cigarettes behind.

Damit stepped in and smacked his Captain firmly on his back, temporarily breaking the spell and averting tragedy.

"Relax damit," he scowled.

Urquhart looked dazed and confused, like a mental patient coming out of deep hypnosis. Perhaps he had just recalled some long suppressed memory from his youth. And it was no doubt terrible and furious indeed.

"Where was I?" he asked aloud, before snapping back to life and regaining his train of thought. His pupils returned to normal size. His head once again gleamed that old familiar pale green glow.

"Oh yes, Memorial Day," he continued. "is not only a day to remember history, but also one that represents the beginning of summer. New life. Renewed hope. Cascading waterfalls and bright yellow sunsets. Lush green felt and rolling cue balls as far as the eye can see! And goddamit, I'll say it right now, summer belongs to Furious George!"

With that call to arms he smashed his famous fists into the bar with a trademark blow, threw back a double shot of whiskey, rubbed his pursed lips against a hairy forearm, and turned his attention to the pool room, where the action was about to begin.

"And so the great buffalo hunt begins," he was heard to say.

Chewy Webb was called upon to execute the first buffalo, a young portly member of the herd. He floundered around like a newborn calf, scratching and sweating and mumbling desperate pleas with himself. Chewy had him dead in his sights, toying with him like a spider to a fly. Perhaps just for sport he chose to switch hands and fire his weapon left handed, missing high and wide, allowing his target to lumber safely back to the herd. The poor thing was terrified and relieved all at once. He had escaped a certain death, narrowly, and he knew it.

Urquhart fumed at Chewy's inability to hit the mark, and cursed Vito (aka The Don) for bungling yet another golden time out opportunity. For a moment it felt as if all the air had been sucked right out of the room; and all that remained was body odor and horror. Fans and players alike sat silent in fear. It was an old familiar scene. Mount Urquhart could erupt at any moment, and unthinkable violence would surely ensue.

Eventually, after a few tense moments that felt like a lifetime, the terror lifted, chatter resumed and both sides got back to the business of shooting pool.

When Damnit was called upon to play next, however, uncertainty crept back into the room. Rumor had spread that he spent the whole day watching XFiles and eating THC. He wore a happy far-away look on his face, and mumbled incoherent gibberish about Agent Skully. But fears quickly subsided as balls began disappearing into pockets. Damit was loose and freewheeling, opting time and again for bold trick shots and heart stopping kicks. The crowd loved it and hung on every shot with bated breath. And oh did he look good doing it! His pearly whites flashed for the crowd. His hair flowed easily in the night breeze. His stance was perfect.

By the midpoint of his match the hometown crowd was lined up five rows deep into Alberta Street. They were all stirred up and aroused, cheering on their new favorite George with unbridled enthusiasm.

Damit stalked the table like a panther and basked in the warm glory. Young children perched upon their parents' shoulders. Old men took shaky balance on their canes and stretched desperately to sweat the action. They placed side bets and exchanged C notes after every rack. Women bit their nails and wiggled, and appeared to be undressing Damit with their eyes.

In the end the old sickly buffalo stood little chance. He barked a good game but lacked the necessary skill to defeat Damit. Now he lay bludgeoned on the sidewalk, surrounded by giddy poachers admiring their prize. Another senseless buffalo death at the hands of the white man, I thought to myself secretly. It was an equally thrilling and disturbing scene, as is usually the case with any Furious George show. The energy was frenzied and hypnotic. The momentum felt unstoppable now. Damit perched a foot upon the still back of his fallen prey and smiled, waving easily to the jubilant crowd.

"He looked like Wild Bill Hickock out there tonight," beamed one middle aged female fan, who immediately went flush and began to fan herself with the official FGPP summer session program.

"I talked to myself a lot, all throughout the match," Damit told reporters afterwards, when asked about the mindset required to endure such a grueling battle. "Whenever I felt unsure I just took a deep breath and told myself: Damit, you look real good tonight damit. Shoot some pool."

Tied 1-1 and dead even in points, Special Agent Mixa strode to the table and quickly found herself down 0-1 in a race to 2. But she refused to go down without a fight to anyone wearing a white pony tail. "Apparently I drew the hippie grandpa buffalo tonight," she said after the match. When asked about the pony tail she replied, "When I saw it I felt anger. Raw waves of fury."

It was all the motivation she needed to win the next two games and secure back to back victories for The Georges.

The old hippie buffalo lay lifeless next to his friend. Fans pushed and shoved towards the carcass, and what appeared like a rugby scrum took place until one man emerged sweaty and bleeding, with the pony tail in hand. He waved it high above his head like a prize for the whole town to see.

Up 2-1 and sensing the opportunity to put away the enemy, Urquhart called his own number and wasted little time getting to work. His opponent was old and slow, barely capable of grazing a field anymore, but Urquhart has never been one to show mercy on the weak or the hopeless. He had a zip in his step, and a gleam in his eye. He banked and cut and sliced and D'd his way to victory, sweeping her in impressive fashion.

"He really raised the bar for us tonight," Vito proclaimed afterwards, showing a rare public glimpse of admiration for his leader. "It was a fine display. I knew it would be a tough act to follow."

Indeed it was. Not only did Urquhart pick up 3 points for his team, but he also picked up the heralded Rackless Night patch for his efforts. Ironically, he did not forget to fill out the award form this time, as he had the week previous when Vito broke and ran at the Kenton Club.

Paired against another senior member of the Buffalo herd, Vito took inspiration from Urquhart and set an early tone for his match. He shattered the first rack like glass, sank the 8 on the break, and never looked back in a 5-0 rackless night of his own.

The crowd exploded in euphoria, dancing and singing in the streets. Some had been dropping acid and drinking cheap wine all night. They draped freshly cut buffalo hides across their backs and howled. Others were high on the hopes of a new session and intoxicated by the Binks Mojo, which buzzed and hummed like an electrical current in the air. Andy Hart scaled the wall behind the pool room and lit illegal fireworks from the Binks roof top. Fiery confetti rained down upon the crowd.

"We got a 10-73 down on Alberta boys!" cried Police Chief Wiggums into his walkie talkie, "tell the water trucks they'll be coming in hot!"

But not even police thugs in riot gear or flaming buffalo carcasses could deter the emotional release that raged late into the night. The Georges had proclaimed destiny over the summer session, and delivered on this night. In the end they won 4 of 5 matches, picking up 11 points and thrusting themselves up the leader board. They had taken over sole possession of 4th place, only 5 points off the lead, and positioned themselves for what could be the most exciting month of pool in the history of the NOPO Division. Next up is the Spare Room, and then matches against the 1st, 2nd and 3rd place teams.

Sometime around 3am Urquhart sat before a sea of reporters at his post game interview, his gang close behind him. Anxious beat writers fired questions at the victorious Captain like machine gun bursts. They knew a good story when they saw one, and were desperate for quotes from Urquhart.

He sat calmly at first, sipping whiskey and crunching peanuts, shell and all.

"Captain Urquhart!" one yelled, "Can you describe your feelings right now?"

"No," The Captain shouted back.

"Mr. Urquhart! Over here! Pat Flemming from Accu-Stats. It was a great win for the team but we're all dying to know, did anything really piss you off tonight?"

"Well sure, lots of things," he replied. "I was pissed off at everyone for most of the night. Next question."

"Urquhart!" cried another, "Delroy Henderson from Animal Times Magazine. PETA has already denounced Furious George's actions here tonight. As I'm sure you know they, ah, generally frown upon the senseless slaughter of endangered species. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Tell PETA they haven't haven't seen anything yet. If those bastards want a war they've got one!"

"Mr. Urquhart! Brian Hobelman here from billiards underground dot com."

Urquhart squinted and grimaced and eyed this new reporter closely. His gut told him straight away not to trust him. Perhaps a spy for the enemy, he thought, which makes him the enemy himself! He choked down a mouthful of whiskey, eyes turning red, and awaited the loaded question.

"What is your plan for the Spare Room next week? What will it be like in there and how will you prepare?"

Urquhart kicked the chair out from underneath his big ass, and rose. He pointed his famous finger between Hobelman's eyes like a laser beam from across the room. "It doesn't mean a goddam thing!" he fired back. "It'll be war as usual. And I'll see you in court you sonovabitch!"

With that Urquhart made a swift and blusterous exit. A choros of rushed questions and loud cheers followed him through the door and into the night. Mixa and Damit rushed close behind to ensure public safety and guard against arrest. Vito sat still and stared at this Hobelman character with contempt. "The nerve of this guy," he thought to himself.

Chewy leaned in close to the mike and salvaged what little order he could. "What will it be like inside the Spare? I'll tell you. It will be like the cantina at the space port of Mas Eisley, on the planet of Tatooine. There'll be strange creatures playing music, with instruments you've never seen before. Gangs of thieves and villains everywhere. Bands of midget with knives. Bright blue drinks, strange languages, and pulsating rhythms. Filthy odors. Debauchery of every known kind, and then some. It could be a time warp or a gateway to another dimension and we don't even know it. It's foggy in there boys."

With typical weirdness and fury, summer has officially begun in Northeast Portland. Hang on folks, it will surely burn bright and move fast as they all do. Is the NOPO Division ready for the Geroges? Is the world? Is anyone ever ready for the Spare Room? And who is this Brian Hobelman guy anyway? It's all too soon to tell, and some questions are better left unanswered.

As for me, well, all I will say for now is that it's good to be back in action, out on the APA trail and down the road apiece with Furious George again. With a little luck there will be a glorious story to tell. And most of us will survive. If history and time are indeed on our side, then perhaps Urquhart may finally be right about something after all: The Geroges are back, and destined for one hellava summer ride.

GEORGES DRAW BLOOD! ... WIN 6TH, 7TH, 8TH STRAIGHT... SHAKE DOWN THE NEST... SLAUGHTER HAWAIIANS... SEIZE FIRST PLACE!

"someday everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody

when I paint my masterpiece"

- b. dylan

Well the Georges aren't Picasso yet. They have yet to complete a masterpiece and they still have both ears, but don't try and tell them that. They rarely listen anyway. They just continue to stroke away like masters, week after week, and that big green canvas is looking prettier and prettier with each passing win.

The last three weeks have seen victories over The Nest - both of em - and Wayne's gang of Hawaiians from the Trap. In all the Georges took 11 of 15 individual matches, showing no sign of let up along their quest for NOPO glory.

The Shakedown vs. The Nest, as it has come to be known in many Northeast Portland circles, played itself out in two parts. First came a blistering 4-1 victory over Dave and his boys from Heads. Or was it Tails? No matter. Urquhart came determined to shed the curse of the crack whore and his intensity was contagious. The captain and his Georges spanked them so thoroughly, shook them so miserably to their core, that Dave refused to even lace up his shoes. He spent the night in socks, tapping his foot incessantly on a bar stool and praying for it all to end. He twitched and scratched helplessly as his bald counterpart out-maneuvered him every step of the way; and then as signs of trauma began to set in amongst his players.

Like the Mail Man before him, as well as Ron Jeremy, Burt and the rest, Dave and his boys limped out of Binks with bleary eyes and a shattered psyche. It was a night they would soon hope to forget.

Urquhart's team stuck with their winning formula of consistent play + timely heroics from random Georges. This week it came from Urquhart himself, who not only set the stage for success with excellent use of his SLM system - 'Strategic Lineup Manipulation' - but also shed an ugly curse which had weighed upon him like a proverbial ton of bricks.

"That old crack whore sidelined Urquhart for damn near half the session," stated billiards analyst L. Rod Hamilton from Chicago's lower south side. "It must have been a sad, lonely struggle going on in that big dome of his; night after never-ending night..."

"It feels good to get the monkey off my back," the captain happily admitted afterwards, offering a rare glimpse of a smile; albeit tiny and fleeting. His lips quickly pursed back to their trademark scowl before a single camera could capture the moment, causing many reporters to groan aloud.

Next for the Georges was a short trip down Alberta to play the 'other' Nest team, Tails. Or maybe it was Heads. No matter. They were the guys atop the leader board, the ones who had been terrorizing opponents all session long, talking boldly of 'holding onto first place'. Their name mattered not. The Georges came gunning.

The Chief stepped out in match one, setting a clear tone for the Georges: there would be no quit tonight.

Down 0-3 against a 5, who was staring down an easy 8 ball for the win, things looked grim, if only for a brief moment. But the Binks mojo is humming on a strong frequency these days - it cannot be denied - and they were, after all, only a few blocks down the road. His shaken opponent rattled the shot, and The Chief proceeded to do what great champions do best: take advantage. He kicked into gear and never looked back en route to 4 straight racks and a devastating blow to the home team's morale.

The Georges slapped high fives and projected an air of easy confidence. The Nest, on the other hand, squirmed and grimaced in their chairs, biting on nails and wiping beads of sweat from each other's brows. It was far worse than any start they could have imagined. Some buried their heads in their hands. Others sat in shell shocked horror, as they would do for most of the night.

Next up was Creepywhite, facing yet another solid 5. It was clear the Nest was throwing everything at em except the kitchen sink, and who could blame them? Unfortunately for them, Creepywhite simply went about his usual business of pocketing balls and crushing dreams. He sported a new t-shirt with a Twinkie slogan, though no one would accuse him of being soft on the inside - not tonight. He delivered his crafty opponent her first loss of the season, thrashing her convincingly 4-1.

Up 2-0, Urquhart sent Veto out to face their captain Matt, a reputable 6. Things went smooth at first, with Veto taking the first 2 games, but quickly turned south after he endured a terrible flesh wound in game 3. After missing a crucial shot he squeezed hard on his pint glass, shattering it to a thousand pieces with his bare hands. The room fell silent and Veto stood frozen in pose, shards of broken glass dangling from his fingertips.

Fans and bartenders alike scrambled for bandages and medical supplies. Many feared he had hit an artery, as blood sprayed violently in a 6 foot radius all around him.

"MEDIC!!" shouted Urquhart, who was immediately overcome with Vietnam war movie flashbacks. He began to sweat, turned pale, and complained of faintness before Mixa led him to fresh air outside. "So... much... blood..." the woozy captain mumbled repeatedly as his co-captain fanned him with the score sheet.

Veto struggled inside. He was loosing blood fast and becoming increasingly vulnerable to the pack of hungry pack wolves before him. "I just wanted to cover it up and get back out there," he commented afterwards. "Bleeding on the table or passing out from blood loss is, after all, generally frowned upon in this division."

Four band aids and two games later, Veto found himself locked in a 2-2 dog fight. With the gushing ceased - finally! - he regained his focus and took the next 2 games, slipping in a break and run along the way. But Matt would not roll over without a fight and the match proceed to its hill-hill climax. It could have gone either way in the end but somehow - perhaps with the help of the Binks mojo - Veto managed to pull it out, sealing the win for the Georges.

Up 3-0, and having disposed of two 5s and a 6, it was quickly turning to a massacre on purple felt.

Urquhart regained the color in his face as fans and teammates exploded in celebration. The Nest bench sat dazed and confused along the side wall, no longer able to see straight or speak in coherent sentences. They were not used to being abused in such ways on their own table, and clearly had trouble coping with the situation.

Unfortunately for the Georeges, the flesh from Vetos left hand was not the only loss they would endure. They dropped a pair of close ones to end the night and were unable, sadly, to complete the massacre - though a 3-2 win on the road against the division leaders was still a nice way to spend a Monday night. It was their 7th straight victory, and had propelled them into a tie for first place.

Up and down Alberta street beer flowed like rain water along the curbsides as FGPP fans rioted long into the cold night. "You would hardly know the San Francisco Giants won the World Series tonight," stated famed sports caster Joe Buck, "had you been here in Northeast Portland to witness this jubilation."

Urquhart, however, remained as furious as ever after the historic win. "Its lonely at the top," he moaned, "and technically, we're not even on the top. We're tied for the top, which leaves me significantly more pissed off than I should be right now."

When asked how he intended to hold onto first place, the legendary captain shot up from his chair, sending it crashing to the ground behind him. He held up next week's scouting report and waved it for all to see, and then proceeded to chastise reporters for having their heads "so far up their goddam asses all the time."

Somewhere, Bobby Knight must be proud.

"It case you didn't notice we play Wayne and his gang of vicious Hawaiians next week," Urquhart raged on, "and it won't be a picnic." He lit a cigarette, then pointed to a reporter from CBS News, "Go ahead Hal, you can print that."

"So how do we hold onto first place?" he went on, "we play every week like its our last. If we do that, we win the division. If we don't, we watch Tri-Cups on TV, on our asses, again."

Apparently the rest of the Georges got the message. They returned home to Binks and hardly skipped a beat, diving head first into a 4-1 beat down over Wayne and his gang from the Trap. Only The Chief lost, and in a 5-4 nail biter to Wayne himself. Blackbeard, Corn Sandwich and Mixa all delivered sweeps, while Urquhart looked ever the picture of confidence in a rousing 3-1 win of his own.

"It was an impressive win tonight," stated ESPN pool commentator Mitch Laurance. "Hell, it has been an impressive session. Eight in a row for the Georges, all I can say is WOW!"

When color man Harry Winkle asked if FGPP should be concerned about a let down week, Laurance replied, "I don't think they need to worry about that. This group is dialed in and Urquhart clearly has them ready to play each week. Their ranking situation is another story, and will likely cause Urquhart a few more bleeding ulcers. But hey, such problems tend to arise when you bludgeon ever opponent you face for two months straight."

Indeed, with Creepy and The Chief already 6s, Mixa a 4, and Blackbeard and Cornsandwich on their way up, the stretch run could prove to be the toughest coaching challenge of Urquhart's distinguished career.

Next up for the Georges: another tall task on the road, this time against The American Legion. While they pose little threat in the standings, their table is notorious for administering pain and suffering to strangers. "Its a big 8 footer," commented World Champion Mika Immonen, who knows it well, "and it plays fast and loose, like an expensive German call girl."

"We need one more big win before the bye week," a fiery Urquhart proclaimed at the post game news conference, "and then its downhill towards the stretch run." When asked how he would prepare his troops for the notorious Legion table, he replied, "We're going to go in there and practice, that's how. Then we're going to go on Monday night and win games."

If the Georges respond to Urquhart's rally cry the way they did against the Trap, it should be another thrilling week for pool fans in Northeast Portland. Perhaps even, it will bring the Georges one step closer to their elusive masterpiece: a NOPO division crown followed by Tri-Cup glory.

Stay tuned sports fans. We may just be witnessing history, and I for one wouldn't want to miss it for the world.

GEORGES CONTINUE TORRID ASSAULT ON NOPO FOES... WIN 5TH STRAIGHT AT SWEET HOME... ROBERT DOWNEY JR TALKS MOVIE PLANS...VETO SENDS TELEGRAM FROM ASIA

FGPP continued their torrid play on Monday night, beating The Sweet Hawks 3-2 and extending their current winning streak to 5. Mixa, Corn Sandwich and Blackbeard all contributed wins in yet another impressive road victory.

"Its good to see their 3s and 4s stepping up and leading the charge," wrote Billiards Digest columnist Larry Schwartz. "They are all playing exceptionally well right now, except for Urquhart of course."

The Georges came into the night tied for 3rd with the Evil Todds, but have no doubt been the hottest team in the division over the last 5 weeks. They have won 18 of their last 25 individual matches, sending chills of terror down the collective NOPO spine.

"18 of 25, that's a .720 winning percentage," stated Willie, who quickly worked out the numbers on his cell phone calculator. He then announced the temperature in Tokyo before showing a group of unsuspecting strangers some video of his kid at the park.

Despite these impressive stats their veteran captain continued to warn about the pitfalls of complacency during his post game press conference. "Now look," he scowled, "we haven't won anything yet. Nobody is going to roll over and let us tickle their balls. This is still the NOPO division, and every goddam point could cost us in the end." He then slammed his fist into the table, sending whiskey and cigarette ash flying towards the front row of reporters. "How the hell can I be satisfied with 3-2 when it should have been 4-1 tonight?"

Most in attendance suspected Urquhart was directing his fury inward. He had lost yet another heartbreaker, this time to a 5, and has clearly not been the same at the table since Ron Jeremy's crack whore smacked him senseless 4 weeks ago. Fortunately for the Geroges and their legion of faithful fans, however, his coaching skills have yet to waver. In fact, some would argue they have been sharper than ever during this historic run.

"Sure, Urquharts been shooting like an old drunk with a bad case of the shakes," commented recovering addict and FGPP fan Robert Downey Junior, "but his fury and dedication have remained steadfast and true." When asked if Hollywood might come knocking at Furious George's door, the legendary actor responded: "I sure hope so. Who knows, maybe I'll be the one to make the film. It would be an Oscar contender, I'll tell you that. I'd cast Ed Asner as Urquhart, Adrian Brody as Corn Sandwich, Cory Feldman as Blackbeard, Helen Hunt as Mixa, Kevin Bacon as Veto, Fred Savage as The Chief, Britt Hume as Creepywhite, and myself as that son of a bitch Edward Norton."

Downey Junior then stumbled out of Binks and and fell face first into a puddle, leaving many to wonder if his recent adventures with Furious George had caused him to fall off the wagon yet again.

"The Georges are kind of like the Rolling Stones, in more ways than one," pointed out rock historian Donald Hinkle. "But most notably in this regard: not many people who travel within their inner circle make it out alive. Sadly, this does not bode well for Mr. Downey Junior or his film plans."

In other news, Veto sent his teammates a congratulatory telegram from Asia on Wednesday morning, which read in part: "Congrats on 5 straight... they love us here in Bangkok... lots of pool tables, and whores... authorities closing in fast, must leave for Phuket soon... please, beat those fuckers from the Nest for me"

Next up for the Georges: those fuckers from the Nest

GEORGES HAMMER DEFENDING CHAMPS IN 5-0 SHUTOUT... EXTEND WINNING STREAK TO 4... POSITION THEMSELVES FOR POST SEASON RUN

Championships don't come easy. As the the old cliche goes: in order to be the best you have to beat the best. On Monday night the Georges did just that, bludgeoning the defending champs 5-0 at Binks. It was their 4th consecutive victory, and a blow horn to the ears of the NOPO division.

It was, perhaps, the Urquhart regime's finest hour, and has solidified the Georges current streak as one of the greatest in team history. "No doubt it was a big win, and we're going to celebrate tonight," the surprisingly jovial captain stated afterwards, "but tomorrow morning we put some coffee on the pot and get back to work."

When asked what inspired the team to such heights, Urquhart responded, "We had a good week of preparation. The troops rallied for some practice and we came out focussed and ready to beat the Mailman."

"But dammit," he then snapped, showing a bit of the old trademark fury,"we can't let up now. If we do we're going to get bit right square in the ass! Teams will be gunning for us now, make no mistake about it."

Fans mobbed their favorite Georges afterwards as the Mailman and his stunned henchmen struggled to find the exits. It was a scene unrivaled by any celebration in recent memory. Tickets for remaining home games have already sold out as fans are clearly sensing something special in the making.

"Its starting to feel like the summer of 07 all over again," beamed Delroy Hicks of 27th Avenue. "Hooo-weee, hallelujah! This is gonna be some kinda scene to watch!"

"The Georges are definitely on the radar now," stated a shell shocked Mailman afterwards, who was too disturbed by the night's unfolding events - as well as the sight of his nemesis Creepywhite looming on the George's bench - to dare play himself.

When asked where the defending champs go from here, The Mailman replied, "We'll try to go home and regroup, but man, it won't be easy. Let this be a warning to the rest of the league."

For the first time in a long while, FGPP find themselves in serious contention for the NOPO division crown. With 4 straight team victories - and 15 wins in their last 20 individual matches - the local heros are poised and eager to attack the stretch run.

"Lets get it on!" yelled Corn Sandwich, who was then attacked by 3 sweaty female fans.

There is only one question that remains for the Georges, and it is one that all championship teams must ultimately face: can they close?

GEORGES ROLL TO 3RD STRAIGHT VICTORY! ... VETO, CREEPY STORM BACK... FDA ISSUES WARNING: 'WATCH OUT, THE CORN IS HOT!'

Coming off back to back wins against The Ranger and Piedmont Place, Furious George faced a tall task at The Mouse Trap on Monday night. After a near melt down last week, many questioned their mental state of mind, as well as their ability to compete in such a hostile environment. Creepy and Veto both bungled matches in epic fashion leaving fans, teammates and media aghast with horror and disappointment. If not for the last minute heroics of Blackbeard - as well as some help from the legendary Bins mojo - the Georges' winning streak would have died tragically at two.

While Northeast Portland's favorite sons (and daughter) now find themselves in contention, they face a long and grueling road to NOPO glory. Several teams are off to blistering starts, most notably the Evil Todd's, who were 4-0 coming into the night, winning their last two matches by scores of 4-1 and 5-0. Tails, from The Nest, is hot on their trail, posting equally impressive score lines in this opening stanza of the fall session.

"We're in the hunt, at least for the moment," a stern Urquhart cautioned local reporters at the pre-game press conference, "but we're only one screw up away from slipping into the abyss and praying for a wild card draw."

He then paused, drawing deeply on his cigarette and tossing back yet another shot of whiskey. "Lets be real boys. You can't let up for a second in this division or it will devour you like a pack of swarming locusts."

"There is generally a turning point in each session," noted new APA spokeswoman and WPBA great Jeanette Lee (aka The Black Widow). "Sometimes a team won't even notice it when it happens, yet they can look back with the clarity of hindsight and say 'yeah, that was the week we crapped down our leg...' or 'yeah, that was the week we established ourselves as contenders.' I get the feeling this week is going to be one of those weeks for the Georges. The big questions is: just who will they reveal themselves to be."

On Monday night, deep inside the churning bowels of Lombard Street, the pool world would find out.

Corn Sandwich got the nod in match one, and picked up right where he left off: on fire. He displayed finesse, impressive shot making skills, and top notch strategic play en route to a second consecutive 2-0 sweep.

By 7:15 it was all over but for the crying, much to the excitement of the FGPP faithful. The Sandwich waved to the appreciative crowd, kissed a few hysterical female fans, and left many of the elite in attendance talking about history.

"I don't remember the last time he lost a game, never mind a match," commented pool legend Nick Varner, "but I'm pretty sure it was sometime back in 09."

"Watch out Oregon," warned Henry Snodgrass of the FDA, "the corn is hot!"

Things would not go so smoothly for the Georges in match two. The Chief ran into a buzz saw of a 6 and was unable fend him off. Nate the Great issued an impressive 5-0 sweep, avenging Corn Sandwich's battered victim and sending The Chief to an early shower. For the moment, at least, the energy in the room appeared to shift. Dozens of Mouse Trap homers roared and sneered at the Georges, yelling profanities at their captain and tossing greasy tater tots towards their bench.

"I'd like to say that was fun," commented a humble Chief, "but it wasn't."

Sensing an opportunity to deliver the ol' one-two knockout punch, Edie called her own number for match three. It was an unprecedented move, unloading both of her 6s back to back, but she was confident she could use the newfound momentum to dismantle yet another high ranking George. Unfortunately for her, Veto had plans of his own. Reeling from last week's blow, he was focussed and determined to exact revenge upon "any one of those middle aged broad's in their lineup."

And so he did. It took just 13 innings for Veto to administer a 5-1 beat down, effectively quieting the raucous Trap loyalists and setting the stage for an FGPP victory.

"I really didn't know what to expect from Veto tonight," stated a blunt Urquhart afterwards, "but I was soooo hoping for a Todd-rum."

Up 2-1, Urquhart sensed the opportunity for a knockout blow of his own and sent Mixa out to seal the deal. Sadly, however, it was not meant to be. She struggled to find her rhythm and soon found herself on the losing end of an 0-2 sweep.

"Mixa fought valiantly, as usual, but was ultimately let down by that son of a bitch Edward Norton," claimed one Hollywood insider in attendance. Upon hearing the charges, Norton fired back in true diva-like fashion, stating that it wasn't his fault, that his pre-game dressing room was "not stocked with the proper spread of wines and cheeses", therefore leaving him "unable to perform at his usual high level of play."

"I really think she needs to exercise the demons in that cue," sighed one discouraged fan afterwards. "That Edward Norton has turned out to be a bigger byatch than J-Lo on her period."

Tied 2-2 Creepywhite strode to the table with an opportunity to redeem himself, quell the furor of his captain, and win back the respect of the Furious George Nation. Dressed in black, with both hands shaking noticeably, he looked like a man preparing for his own funeral.

"After the train wreck that was last week, I suppose it is only fitting that he's out there for the deciding match tonight," commented Urquhart before the lag. "Lets just hope he doesn't make me want to kill him again."

In the end Creepywhite would not disappoint. After enduring an early defensive battle that was on par with watching paint dry, our hero established control and managed his way to an impressive 4-1 victory.

"He really showed his resiliency tonight," summarized one proud fan in a pink 'Creepywhite For Prom Queen' t-shirt. "OMG, he is soooo dreamy again!"

The Georges leapt from the bench and mobbed their beloved star, who wept openly on Urquhart's shoulder.

"I never thought I'd make another ball again," he sobbed to reporters. "Last week was hell on my psyche, my underpants, and my team. Not to mention all the fans who paid hard earned money to watch me publicly disgrace myself. I'm just happy I was able to bounce back and help us get a win tonight."

"I predicted the Georges would reveal themselves this week," stated an ecstatic Black Widow afterwards, "and they definitely did. They battled mightily on the road and proved they have the mental fortitude to contend in the toughest of all APA divisions."

Said pool legend and recent Hall of Fame inductee Francisco Bustamante, "It was encouraging to see Creepy and Veto rebound and lead the charge, especially after those poor bastards nearly got run out of town on a rail last week."

FGPP fans who traveled for the match celebrated long into the night, dancing on table tops, drinking heavily, and filling the room with chants of "THREE IN A ROW... THREE IN A ROW... THREE IN A ROW!!"

"It was beautiful music to my ears," admired Corn Sandwich, who passed the remainder of the evening with no less than two beautiful women on his lap at all times.

"Watch out NOPO division," The Black Widow cautioned over the noise and chaos of Lombard Street, "there is a sleeping giant out there, and its name is Furious George."

GEORGES WIN AGAIN! CHIEF, CORN SANDWICH, BLACKBEARD LEAD CHARGE... FURY EXPLODES UPON CREEPY & VETO

Monday night boasted the warmest weather of the month, which was fitting given the current state of things in the NOPO division. Coming off a 4-1 win and suddenly finding respectability in the standings, Furious George looked and sounded like a rejuvenated bunch. "I feel virile again," proclaimed Urquhart before the coin flip, "for the first time in a long, long while."

The garage door was open at Binks and it was "hot," described Corn Sandwich, "sticky freaking hot." Fans moaned and waved paper fans in front of their faces. Grown men grumbled and cursed. Women tugged at their bras, trying desperately to generate some kind of ventilation.

When seven o'clock rolled around the place was testy and ready for the action to begin. Urquhart sent The Chief out for match one, and he did not disappoint. He cut through the racks like a hot knife through butter, whipping the crowd into a frenzy and demoralizing some poor guy who probably liked pool a lot before Monday night. Pounding the backs of pockets at breakneck speed, The Chief issued an impressive 9 inning, 4-0 sweep.

"I think we found a lead off man," Urquhart reportedly told Larry King afterwards, via their usual late night texting.

On the official record, however, the captain offered a different spin on things.

"Once again," he grumbled to the local press, "Rob played great.... buuuut, he didn't screw up too bad or annoy me, which is a huge let down. I just don't know what to think of this guy yet."

Big Ben followed suite with a quick sweep of his own, looking like the sharp shooting Corn Sandwich of old. It was clear from the outset that his opponent stood very little chance. "He had the old dead eye tonight," admired snooker legend Hurrican Higgins, who flew all the way from Manchester for the match. The old broad hardly knew what hit her, "but it felt like a firm backhand," she later admitted.

Having won the first 7 games of the night, the Georges were poised and ready to strike at the jugular. Urquhart had planned the lineup perfectly, utilizing his personnel with surprising accuracy. He was up 2-0 and ready to unload Creepy and Veto, both in favorable mismatches.

"I'm always somewhat shocked when Urquhart does something right," commented ESPN Pool Analyst Mark Wilson, "but I must say he set the table nicely tonight."

Urquhart's mouth watered. He licked his lips and rubbed his big belly, which was beginning to growl. 'Domination,' he thought to himself, 'complete strategic domination..." He could taste it now and it was savory, like pork chops with whiskey on top.

Sadly however, his dream meal soon turned to a greasy pile of rotten eggs; one the gassy coach would soon hope to forget. Creepy lumbered around the table like a drunken hunter, misfiring at every duck that sat before his eyes. It was an odd sight to behold. Slowly, the Binks mojo began to veer off kilter. Fans and players alike later complained of a strange buzzing sound in their ears, followed by dull headaches and nausea.

"I don't know what happened in there," stated one young entrepreneur who made a killing selling Advil to sick fans, "but Creepy couldn't hit the broad side of a barn tonight. If he had tried to piss, he probably would have missed the toilet."

Fortunately, his opponent responded in kind, and the innings column began to overflow with scratch marks. "My hand was getting pretty tired near the end there," confirmed Mixa, who's eye's were clearly red and agitated. Her arm trembled, and she became unable to control a twitch in her right eye lid. It was a disturbing scene indeed, worse than any detox I have ever witnessed.

"I think it was some kind of flu," replied Veto, when asked about Creepywhite's performance afterwards. He then waved a hand, faked a cough, and ducked into the George's team van for his getaway.

And make no mistake, Veto had plenty of reason to run and hide. He followed Creepy's lackluster performance with a lackluster performance of his own, giving away easy 8 ball after easy 8 ball.... until there was nothing left to give.

Some say it was lack of concentration. Others quietly grumbled that he had lost his fury. One fan speculated that he wasn't drunk enough. Others claimed he was too drunk. Most in attendance, however, continued to rub their temples and rage at Creepywhite for the horrific energy that had hijacked the room.

"I beat myself real good tonight," Veto stated afterwards, "but truth be told the last one was Urquhart's fault. He just had to go and say something nice about my leave on that last 8 ball. What the f&*K did he expect to happen after he went and did that!?"

"He had his chances tonight," Urquhart fumed, when asked if he had indeed thrown Veto into a tailspin with a mid-game mind trick, "and he blew it."

Tied 2-2, and with the mojo humming at an unnoticeably strange frequency, The Georges summoned Blackbeard for the decisive game. Riding into the night on a string of victories, the old sea captain appeared to have his swagger back. He quickly snapped off the first two wins in a race to three, all the while taunting his opponent with hearty songs of victory, and death.

"It felt like an English soccer game in there," said one transfixed onlooker. "The fans were chanting and singing along, hugging each other, smashing pint glasses high above their heads, spitting in the direction of the Piedmont Place reserves; it was pure chaos."

"Arrr, those are me hooligans," Blackbeard beamed with pride.

Fortunately for the local riot squad, our hero fell cold just as his crafty opponent began to heat up. He grew despondent, and threw back mammoth swigs of rum as he watched her run off the next two racks.

Tied at 2-2, the hill hill match quickly turned grim as she worked her way into an easy two ball out. Victory, it seemed, was assured for Piedmont Place.

"Woe is me!" Blackbeard howled towards the western seas, "I been done in by a lady."

The crowd paced and groaned, chain smoking and pointing fingers in the direction of Creepy and Veto, both who sat at the far, lonely end of the bench. "You two lousy bums!" one old lady screamed in disgust. She flicked a cigarette butt at their feet and waved her walking stick in their faces.

And then - just as strangely as it had disappeared - the Binks Mojo flickered and sparkled and stormed back to life. Electricity charged through the room like a furnace blast. "I felt the hair on my testicles stand up," purred Urquhart afterwards, "and I wasn't even in the pool room."

Confirmed Blackbeard's opponent, "my eyes got all blurry and my hands began to tremble ever so slightly. I thought maybe I was having a heart attack, or an orgasm."

She managed to pocket her last solid before the mojo struck like a ton of bricks, leaving her with terrible position against the far rail. "The cue ball should have bounced out a few inches to give her an easy shot at the 8," Creepywhite recapped, "but it hit a lump or something and stuck to the rail like glue."

The tough leave caused her to miss the 8 ball, and Blackbeard snapped back to life. He jumped from his chair and danced a little jig to rally the crowd before chalking his cue and nailing the final 8 ball of the night, salvaging a much needed 3-2 victory for the Georges.

Creepywhite clenched a fist and whispered a heartfelt 'yessss' as the crowd erupted in spontaneous release. Veto bowed his head, clasped his hands, and offered a moment of thanks to the great pool god Earl.

"Blackbeard really picked us up tonight," Veto sighed, "and thank God he did, because I don't think this crowd would have me out alive. Though in my defense, if anyone deserves mob justice its Creepy."

"Sure its a win," Urquhart bellyached after the match, "but I'm not happy with the way we finished tonight. It should have been 5-0 or 4-1 at least." He slammed down an empty whiskey glass, threw his head back and spit. "I soooo hate Veto and Creepy right now."

Despite the missed chances and lost opportunities, back to back wins have thrust the Georges into the thick of the race, and electrified a sleeping neighborhood.

"It looks like its going to be a dog fight in the NOPO division," commented Bob Costas, who was seen leaving the bar with a team of body guards and three beautiful women, "but then again, what else is new?"

Next up for the Georges: a big test on the road against The Mouse Trap. "Sweet," beamed Corn Sandwich, "I love that place!"

In other news, Captain Urquhart shocked friends and foes alike by shaving his trademark goatee before this week's match. While some in the media have speculated that he did so over a bet involving a bottle of whiskey, the fiery FGPP leader remains adamant that his reason was much more philanthropic: to raise awareness for a favored support group, The AWTLUL (Americans With Tiny Little Upper Lips).

"See," commented his press secretary via a Tuesday morning email, "he really does care."

GEORGES BLAST RANGERS 4-1! MIXA RETURNS FROM CHINA TO SPARK RALLY... VETO TANGLES W/RON JEREMY... URQUHART FALLS TO CRACK WHORE, AGAIN

Six days ago I was lying in a methadone clinic in Albuquerque, chain smoking Marlboros and praying for the apocalypse to hurry up and get here already. Then I heard the news come across an old transistor radio: 'Furious George reunites! Pandaemonium in Northeast Portland! Chaos and nudity expected! Tickets going fast, get em while you can!'

I sat straight up in my cot and brushed the cigarette ashes from my bare chest to my lap. Hot damn, I thought to myself, if the Georges can rise from the ashes of forgotten history to reclaim their rightful place in the pool world then by God, I can surely rise from this piss stained room. I threw open the curtains and let the sunlight burst upon my pale skin. My eyes burned, and my mouth screamed for water. For the first time in nearly a year I felt, well, alive.

'Its time to move Pinkerton,' I heard that old familiar voice in my head say. So I did.

I arrived at Binks on Monday afternoon (via hitchhiking, Greyhound, and eventually grand theft auto) and immediately became intoxicated by that old familiar feeling, and of course scotch. Fans arrived early, swelling through the doors, off the patio and into the streets. The energy was electric, just as I had hazily remembered.

Furious George started the fall session amidst turmoil (they lost founding member and FGPP legend Chewy Webb for the session, as well as dozens of his devoted female fans) and with back to back losses, but none of that seemed to matter now. "We keep our eyes on the present moment," Urquhart scowled. "In the end the points will take care of themselves."

And so the night began, full of tension, excitement, and fury.

Fresh off the plane from red China, where she did her part to fight communism with a two piece pool cue and a red dot ball, Mixa stepped up and set the tone for the evening in match one. She stalked the table like a panther, igniting the crowd and making quick work of some middle aged rookie who clearly didn't know what he was getting himself into.

"I thought this league was supposed to be fun, I thought maybe I'd get laid or something," the poor bastard whined afterwards, before hanging his head and slumping into the corner of shame for the remainder of the evening.

The crowd exploded, and chants of 'MIX-A, MIX-A, MIX-A' began to ring in the air, warming the room like an old familiar coat. The Georges blocked out the ruckus, of course, remaining focussed, united, and committed to follow in her lead.

Black Beard went to work next, determined to end his recent slide. "It has been a tough run of late," he told one reporter from ESPN News, "but runs are for my kid's underpants. I'm here to pocket 8 balls tonight."

Facing a dangerously under-ranked 3, Black Beard reverted to his crafty pirate ways, commanding the match from the outset and earning a decisive 3-1 victory.

"ARRRRRRRR!!!", the crowd roared in unison, as he sank the final 8 ball and waved his cue towards the heavens. Veto and The Chief slapped him high fives. Mixa offered up a bare knuckled fist bump. Urquhart patted his buns gently, and for an uncomfortably long period of time.

Up 2-0, and smelling blood in the water, the Georges sent Rob "The Chief" Joseph up for match 3. While new to the FGPP roster, he is no stranger to big time pool action in the Binks arena. Playing with a beautiful new McDermott cue, as well as a headful of steam after dismantling that SOB Burt last week, The Chief ran balls in formidable fashion and quickly locked down a 3-1 victory of his own. More importantly, he sealed the first team victory of the young session.

"Ya knoooow," Urquhart complained afterwards, "I'm happy that Rob won and all, but his innings were too short, he won too easily, and he clearly played with no regard for suppressing his ranking. Plus, I didn't get to yell at him tonight, which really pisses me off."

Nonetheless, the fans erupted outside of Binks and for 17 long minutes traffic ground to a halt on Alberta St. Strangers hugged one another, beautiful women kissed, and rowdy teenagers mooned cars and fired pistols into the night sky. The po-pos sat upon their horses, shrugging their shoulders and grinning helplessly at each other. They knew better than to go for their side arms or tear gas, not on this night. The crowd was far too amped and modern weaponry was unlikely to contain them.

"There is nothing we can do now boys," shouted Chief Wiggums into his walkie talkie, "except let these filthy animals have their fun."

"Its been a long time since we've enjoyed a proper celebration around here," beamed neighborhood native Elroy Harrison, who then fell to his knees and began to weep uncontrollably. "Tears of joy my friends," he sobbed through a wry smile, "tears of joy."

Next up, against the Ranger's vaunted captain and deadpan Ron Jeremy impersonator, stood Veto. "Don't be the only one to lose tonight", Urquhart blathered as he approached the table for the lag.

The pair battled back and forth, with Veto eventually coming out on top of a 5-3 win. He shook Ron Jeremy's hand, admiring his portly figure and greasy black hair.

"I had to step up my game tonight," Veto acknowledged afterwards,"because frankly, I didn't want to get pounded by Ron Jeremy. With this gang of perverts around, that joke would have haunted me for years."

Up 4-0 and with a sweep well in their cross hairs, Urquart called his own number for the final match. At first glance it seemed like a sure bet, a no brainer, a done deal. He faced a toothless 2 who was clearly a broken down old crack whore. What could possibly go wrong?

Unfortunately, the whore had it out for Urquhart from the start, and understandably so. She came out with both pipes blazing, pocketing balls and mumbling some kind of strange street gibberish in his direction. The legendary captain appeared flustered, and she slowly stole game one. He now faced a 1-3 race, and the whore refused to let up on her offensive barrage. Our hero was feeling the heat. Beads of sweat began to form on his bald dome, and his jaw clenched tight with fury.

Urquhart eventually pulled it together and put himself in a position to win game 2, staring down the easiest of 8 ball tap ins... and then the wheels came off. Somehow, some way, the veteran allowed himself to be distracted by a patron, and then decided to humiliated her.

Said one confused witness: "I don't know what happened. A female came into the room and put quarters on the table, and Urquhart didn't seem to like that."

"Don't you know there is a league going on!?" he exploded at the poor girl. He stood up from his stance, scooped her quarters off the felt, and dumped them back into her tiny hands. They shook noticeably and the crowd fell hush as she stood there frozen, unable to breath.

Perhaps his better judgement had eluded him. Or perhaps it was the whisky, yet again. Either way it cost him his focus, the easiest of 8 balls, and the match.

The crack whore kissed a few unsuspecting street walkers before wrapping her legs around the chrome of a motorbike and roaring off into the fall night, hooting and hollering all the way down Alberta Street.

"This time anyway," commented one disappointed fan afterwards, "Urquhart's fury appears to have backfired."

Nonetheless, this old beat writer couldn't be happier. A 4-1 victory and a reunion with my beloved Georges - hell, its more fun than a Wheel of Fortune marathon at a halfway house in New Mexico, I can say that much with certainty. Sure, some might say I'm taking a big gamble by jumping head first off the wagon to cover another smokey, drunken, profanity laced pool session, but I say: why the hell not? Who needs sobriety or an exit strategy when a man has this kind of action to cover? Life is short, the Georges are back, and for the first time in a long while it feels good to be alive and back out on the APA trail.

Of course, that could just be the booze and pills talking...