VETO CLOSE TO LANDING MAJOR RECORD DEAL... SINGS SONGS ABOUT PAIN, SUFFERING ABOARD THE FURIOUS GEORGE EXPRESS

Reports are coming out of Northeast Portland that Binks pool player Veto Molinari is close to landing a major record deal. Said one Rolling Stone editor, who recently obtained a rare bootleg copy of Veto's work: "His songs are deep and insightful, powerful and bold. They cover every genre of music from country to polka to rock and roll. By God, its a masterful, sprawling body of work! His songs sear through the clutter of our everyday consciousness and cut right to the very core of our existence."

Said Veto, "These songs are based on my own personal experiences and hardships - mostly those with my Furious George teammates. They are raw, intimate, graphic snap shots of my reality. Listen if you dare."

The singer-songwriter plans to record his album in the south of France sometime during the winter months. It will include such underground hits as I Still Hate Urquhart On Tuesday Mornings. With its big sing-along chorus, this country western diddy boasts the following lyrics:

I stiii-iiil

hate Urquhart

on Tuesday mor-nings

He stiii-iiil

really pisses

me off

Other songs include the punk rock favorite Toby Drinks Too Much...

Toby drinks too much
Toby drinks too much
Toby drinks and fights and f*cks too much
God help you
if you cross him on a bender
He'll drive off
with your dog tied to his fender

Then there is the moaning, Delta blues version of Hey Willie, Can I Bum One More Cigarette....

Its ten o'clock and I'm drunk as heck
Hey Willie can I bum a cigarette
Please Willie
PLEASE WILLIE!
Just one more
Please Willie
PLEASE WILLIE!
Just one more

And finally, Veto croons at his finest througout the twelve minute folk anthem, The Old Red Dragon Got Me High Out Back...

My eyes are red
and my minds a wreck
The old red dragon got me high out back
Oh please Andy, don't ya make me smoke no more!
Dear God Andy, don't ya make me smoke no more!

Record execs from two major labels are currently involved in an intense bidding war over the rights to Veto's music. Said Jon Halverstein of Virgin Records, "This material is remarkable. Veto's whiny voice, snarling lyrics and choppy phrasing style sends chills down my spine. Neighborhood dogs begin to howl and moan every time I play the demo tape. Its going to be a beautiful record."

Said Frank Donkowski of Columbia Records, "I laughed, I cried, I felt strangely compelled to learn more about Veto's plight. Who is this lone wolf, I found myself wondering, and why does he associate with this strange band of maniacs whom he refers to as... Furious George?'"

When asked if this is going to be the most important record of the year, Veto replied, "Absolutely. At least for my family. We expect it to be a big hit in Japan."

FINAL CURTAIN COMES DOWN ON FALL SESSION.... URQUHART SECURES WIN AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR, TAKES LONELY BOW

Alas, the curtain has finally come down on the NOPO division's fall session. Now that it is over, let the debate rage and history cast the final verdict: for Furious George, was it a tragedy or a comedy?

Coming into the last night of the session, Furious George found themselves riding a four game losing streak. Their playoff hopes had long since been squashed. Was the session tragic? On some nights, painfully so. Was it funny? Quite possibly hysterical, depending on your vantage point. Only one thing is known for sure, the session was a mess. Bam Bam mentally checked out to raise his goats; Chewy disappeared due to lack of funds, and could not even be lured back with bribes of free beer, or herbal remedies; Waylund still could not get any flexibility from those hideous grocery store pit bosses who control his schedule; Veto was frequently absent, yet still remained a sharp, constant, nagging thorn in Urquhart's side; Willie couldn't drink enough beer to mask the pain of it all; Mixa couldn't shed enough tears; and Creepy still just continued to annoy his captain to no end. Indeed, the session was almost too much for Urquhart to bear. The fearless leader retreated to Europe in the middle of it all, hoping to find some peace and solitude. One could argue that he never really returned.

Hoping to finish off the session with a win - and end their horrible losing streak - Furious George started the night with a unified, loose mindset. And then the match started, and it opened with horror and disappointment. Blackbeard was sent out against a six, and lost in a sweep. "Arrrr!" he cried afterwards, shaking his fist and spitting through his teeth, "ye filthy swashbucklers will pay for this in blood and treasure, er my name is not Blackbeard Willie Ryder!! Arrrr!!"

Though his ranking has gone up to a five and he has been playing solid pool all session, things just didn't go Blackbeard's way on this night. Sometimes, unfortunately, that is just the way it goes. But the firey pirate did not hang his head and sulk. He remained resolute, diving into pint of beer after pint of beer and cheering on his teammates for the next three matches; until the tap ran dry and his final cigarette burned down to the charred black skin on his nubby little fingertips.

Bam Bam played second. His opponent was a senior with beautiful, sagging breasts and an ass the size of an Excursion. He fought hard to avoid these powerful distractions, but it wasn't easy. The Bam, after all, is only human. His teammates counseled him, trying desperately to keep him focused on the table. He hid in the corner between shots, talking about bank shots, and goat milk. In the end, The Bam maintained just enough of his composure to rattle in the final eight ball and secure the win.

Tied 1-1, Mixa too was paired against an aging blue hair. The first game lingered on for hours, and her dastardly old opponent outlasted her for the win. But she was not to be rattled. Finally feeling warmed up, she stormed back and won the next two games, sinking a long, beautiful cut shot on the eight ball for the win. Mixa ended her session on an impressive two game winning streak.

Furious George 2, The Mouse Trap 1.

After a heated debate with Urquhart, Veto finally got the okay to play next. Before long, however, he was wishing he hadn't. Paired against another six, he quickly fell behind 0-4 in the race to 5. His head was nowhere to be found; his confidence lay dead on the ground like a steaming pile of road kill. But Veto refused to give in without a fight. He mounted a brilliant comeback, winning the next 4 games and picking up a break-and-run patch along the way.

The momentum had swung like a pendulum, and Veto felt poised to finish with a win. The hill-hill match was a barn burner, and it came down to several innings of flawless defensive play in the end. Finally, Veto broke the stalemate by sinking a beautiful kick shot on the seven ball and leaving himself a bank on the eight. He eyed the angle carefully, and chalked his cue for several minutes. "At some point," he thought to himself, "you just gotta go for it." So he did. Sadly, however, it was not meant to be. He missed the bank high on the rail and the eight ball trickled - slowly and painfully - into the opposite corner pocket for the loss.

"That wasn't how it was supposed to end," said his exhausted opponent as they shook hands afterwards. Each had lost massive clumps of hair during the match, and big black bags hung below their eyes. Veto had battled back valiantly, but could not overcome the huge hole he had dug himself early.

The Georges and The Mouse Trap were now tied, 2-2.

As Urquhart screwed his cue together, the room immediately emptied out. Creepy and Willie slipped out like a pair thieves in the night. Bam Bam had long since disappeared. Veto hung around for the first game, but could not extend his curfew past eleven. Mixa had a strapping man waiting for her at home. The candles were lit and he lay waiting in his leopard print thong. She, too, had to say goodbye.

The Captain was left all alone. Sensing his vulnerability, the beasts from The Mouse Trap hovered like a pack of hungry dingos over a helpless baby, poised and anxious for the kill. Urquhart's hands shook, and beads of sweat began to drip from the thin, wirey strands of hair that are left on his head. Some witnesses claimed that his eyes grew red and watery, and a few even claimed to have seen tears. "There was an awful stench in the room," one woman confirmed. "It smelled kind of like fear, and stale urine."

Like a wounded animal cowering and fearing for his life, Urquhart did the only thing he knew how to do: missed shots. Lots and lots of shots. And while it may have looked bad to the untrained eye, I can assure you it was all part of his carefully crafted strategy: to steal the momentum - slowly and surely - by dragging out the games and sucking the energy from the room, like helium from a balloon. His plan worked to perfection, and he turned the short 3-3 race into an unthinkable 52 innings marathon. As the clock struck 2am, Urquhart had finally outlasted the zombies and cinched the win.

Furious George 3, The Mouse Trap 2.

The Captain - alone and forsaken - had done the impossible. He had sealed the win against all odds, and broken the team's horrific losing streak. "Even without the rest of those rat bastards around to cheer me on," Urquhat said afterwards, "I still managed to hold onto one thing: my pride. Pride for my game, pride for my bar, and most importantly, pride for my team. I wanted to break the curse and end the session with a win, and I did that. Even though I was all alone and so, soooo scared."

"Next session is a new day, a fresh slate, a new act," commented Veto during a Wednesday morning phone interview. "It was a tough session, sure, but we know two things for sure right now: one, we're a humble team. And two, we're a hungry team. This, I believe, is a dangerous combination. So to all the fans who have lost hope and abandoned the Furious George ship, I say this: stick around for next session, things are about to get interesting again."

FURIOUS GEORGE LOSES AGAIN... URQUHART'S COACHING RECORD FALLS TO 0-4 SINCE RETURNING FROM ITALY... FANS ABANDON TEAM

Furious George lost again on Monday night, falling 2:3 to The Corner Spot Players. It was the George's fourth straight loss, and their fifth in the last six matches. Their last win came 5 weeks ago, under the stern leadership of interim head coach Veto. Since Urquhart's return from Italy, the team has gone 0-4 and is a dismal 6-14 in individual match play.

When pushed for comment on the rapid decline of his coaching skills, the fiery captain replied, "I don't know. I wasn't even keeping score, Toby was. Who cares? Screw you. What difference does it make? Its only a bar league anyway."

"Well," summed up Creepywhite afterwards, "a wise man once said that 'wisdom is knowing how little you know'. If that's the case, then I suppose Urquhart must be a freaking genius."

In a related story, attendance has sunk to an all time low as fans appear to abandoning their local billiards team in mass numbers. Once the pride of the neighborhood, Furious Georges now finds themselves reduced to the laughing stock of Alberta Street. Hipsters and hippies alike chuckle and sneer as they pass the garage door that separates the Binks pool room from the sidewalk. Drunks spit on the windows and hurl profanities towards the players. Young children - once proud and excited to see their heros - now whimper and cry, begging their parents not to make them walk past the famous pool room. "Suck it up son," one father was overheard telling his pathetic, sobbing young son as they tip toed down the avenue. Urquhart's bloated, lifeless body lay in front of them on the pavement, passed out in a pool of his own blood and vomit. Vultures circled above. "Life is full of disappointments."

WEIRD, WILD TIMES IN NORTHEAST PORTLAND... FURIOUS GEORGE BOTTOMS OUT?

Its weird, wild times in Northeast Portland; strange days indeed. The Georges dropped four out of five for the second week in a row, this time to the lowly American Legion. It was a bad scene, something out of an old Greek tragedy from the start. Bam Bam, Creepy and Veto all lost to opponents whom they should have beat, and all in embarrassing fashion. The only debate is over who pissed it away worse.

"What is it in the air tonight," asked one portly little journalist, and to no one in particular. "Its as if the life has suddenly been sucked from the belly of the great beast."

Mixa was flat out robbed. Her opponent double hit the cue ball in game one, then proceed to pocket the eight ball and celebrate as if all was right with the world. When asked if she comitted the foul, the con-woman replied, "I don't think so." Oh really, you don't think so? Puh-lease! Mixa fought back honorably, but could not overcome the foul stench of dishonesty that came in from the rain and smeared to the walls like sweat. It dripped from the ceilings, clung to her clothes, stuck in her hair; it burned her eyes like pepper spray! Oh dear God, she must have thought, WHAT JUST HAPPENED?

"Who would have ever thought we need instant replay in our own bar?" bemoaned one keen observer.


Willie was the lone beacon of hope for the Georges, a true shining light in an otherwise dark and stormy sea. Then again, who would expect anything less from Black Beard? Stormy seas are his muse. He played with confidence and command and won impressively, 3-1. If not for him, well, God only knows how ugly things could have gotten on this night. Anxiety and tension hung in the air like dust bunnies, floating erratically in the fog of cigarette smoke. "Clearly, something is not right here," cried one paying fan, who stubbornly ripped up his ticket stub and demanded his money back. A brief scuffle broke out as he engaged the event promoters with pointed words and flailing arms.

"Oh, where have you gone Joe DiMaggio?" pondered one witness. "He's dead," someone else sighed.

Has Furious George bottomed out? If so, then there is surely only one way to go from here: Up. If not, then hold on because the ride could get bumpy. Who knows, these are bewildering, heartbreaking times. For those who may have doubted it, the old weird America is still alive and well, brewing just beneath the surface in places like Binks on Alberta; The MouseTrap on Lombard; places like my street corner and living room, and yours. While no one can quite put their finger on the mystery of the old ghost, perhaps the words of a lost song can best sum up the feelings of this dejected fan, beat-writer, small time gun runner, and weekend bookie:

Grow old, I'm told

Things will come around you'll see

But I think I'll hedge my bets

Against my memory

These are the strangest days

Strange days indeed

Hunker down and stay dry friends.

All the best,

RJ Pinkerton

URQUHART RETURNS! SUSPENDS VETO, LOSES CRUCIAL MATCH AGAINST DIVISION LEADER

With little explanation, Captain Urquhart suspended Veto from Monday night's key match up against their divisional rival - and current first place team - the dreaded NOPO Ten Show. "I don't know why he suspended me," said a perplexed Veto afterwards, as hoards of reporters jockeyed for position on his front porch. "You all saw the text message he sent to the team. He didn't give a reason. I can only presume it had something to do with my performance as interim head coach two weeks ago. Maybe he didn't like the fact that I won by restoring discipline and pride to the team. He is, after all, a coach who prefers fear and intimidation over unity and a collective team spirit. What can I say, he's a ruthless dictator when it comes to stuff like that."

For reasons unknown, Urquhart forged ahead without Veto on Monday night. Unhappy, but respectful of his coach's decision, Veto stayed home. He sat on the edge of his bed for hours, gnawing on his finger nails and praying to the pool god Earl to watch over his team. The Georges were lingering towards the middle of the standings in the NOPO division, and their showdown with the first place team was a potential turning point in the session.

Sadly, it didn't take long to see that the team was not going to rally around their long lost, jet-setting captain. Instead, they watched in horror as his ship took on water and began to sink. Panic quickly ensued! Urquhart shouted orders in broken Italian, but no one responded. The team - alone and confused - took on the look of deer in the headlights. "What the hell did he just say," Creepy asked. "Does he even know what country he's in?" cried a confused Mixa. "Oh dear God, coach is rustier than an old gate," sighed Bam Bam.

The coaching was poor to say the least, and fans collectively gasped as Mixa, Creepy and Bam Bam fell quickly, and with little resistance. Then, as if to add insult to injury, Urquhart himself was swept in humiliating fashion.

The NOPO Ten Show 4, Furious George 0.

Thank God for Waylund, who was able to squash the Ten Show's momentum and salvage a small piece of Furious George's pride by winning the final match of the night. "Well, us grocers have an old saying," reflected the hero of the night afterwards, "don't worry about the spills in the first four isles when its time to stock isle five. You just gotta get out there and stock those shelves."

Waylund had prevented the sweep, but his win could not quell the discontent that was boiling within the team ranks. As the night wound down, controversy buzzed around the Georges like a pack of angry bees. Reporters flashed pictures and demanded answers. Did Urquhart come back too soon? Why was Veto suspended? Are Britt Hume and Creepywhite really Siamese twins who were separated at birth? And finally - and most important of all - is it too late for Furious George to recover in the standings? How bad, their loyal fans are now left to wonder, do they even want it this session?

VETO RESPONDS TO URQUHART'S RIDICULOUS FINE, ASKS COACH: 'WHO'S GAY NOW?'

In response to Urquhart's outrageous comments and fine, Veto released the following statement on Thursday morning: "Urquhart says my six dot ball is 'the gayest cue ball ever made', but if that's the case why do the pros use it on TV? Looks like the joke is on you Urquhart. Who's gay now?"

VETO FINED!

In a shocking twist, Head Coach Urquhart has fined Veto. In a blantant display of dis-respect; Veto did not give credit where credit was due. As all in attendance know; without Urquhart there would have been no victory. In a statement released, Urquhart stated "That stupid idiot tried to use the use the gayest cue ball ever made. I had to come down at the last minute and save his ass. Without me, the little bastard would have made creepy look like brilliant. Little bitch owes me some respect. Next week he's buying the entire team a round as punishment. Or he's sitting for the rest of the season!"

VETO VICTORIOUS IN COACHING DEBUT... RESTORES PRIDE AND DISCIPLINE TO GEORGES... BAM BAM, MIXA LEAD CHARGE AGAINST METH HEADS FROM SWEET HOME

After last week's infamous 1-4 disaster that occurred on Creepywhite's watch, new interim head coach Veto vowed to bring changes in week 9. "This team needs discipline," he said with the grizzled look of a Marine Corps Drill Sergeant, "old school goddamn discipline!"

When the team arrived at Binks, Veto took them behind the pool room and lead them through a series of intense calisthenics. They did jumping jacks, sit ups and push ups. They stretched their quads and hammies, their triceps and gluts. The blood began to flow through their terribly out of shape bodies, their muscles loosened, and their foggy minds slowly began to crackle into focus.

Next they grabbed their cue sticks and headed out for a run. Resembling a military platoon jogging with their rifles, Veto lead them through the streets of Northeast Portland. They held their sticks firmly in front of their chests, and maintained a single file formation throughout. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU BEEN TOLD," they chanted in unison, "BUT CREEPY'S WAY IS GETTIN' OLD!"

They jogged for blocks, but it felt like miles. The team grow weary and confused. Willie gave in and hurled up his bean burrito lunch on the corner of 17th and Alberta. Overcome by the foul stench, Mixa gagged and began crying aloud for her momma. Chewy grabbed his cramping stomach and folded over in agony. Fortunately Bam Bam was behind him in formation, and was able to pick him up and keep him moving. Chewy's legs dragged on the pavement as The Bam carried him along. "NEVER LEAVE A TEAMMATE BEHIND," Veto snarled, "EVERY MAN COMES HOME!"

When they finally made it back to Binks - sweaty and stinky, with blood and vomit on their shoes - Veto broke out his portable chalk board and walked the team through some x's and o's. They went over cut shots, kick shots, caroms, combos, tangent lines, deflection, defensive strategies and more. Bam stood up and gave an eloquent dissertation on the art of the bank shot, and then Veto closed with a lecture on mental toughness that he likes to call: seizing the win when it's within your grasp.

"The team is finally exhausted and numb, both physically and mentally," Veto thought to himself. "By God they're ready!"

When the clock hit seven, Veto sent Bam Bam up for match one. His nerves were calm and his bank shot was steady. He set the tone for the evening, executing several flawless run outs and quickly engineered a victory for his team.

Mixa heard her name called next and jumped to attention. She screwed together her trusty cue Norton and walked to the table. She had the tall task of taking on Sweet Home's captain Caveman, but Veto knew she was ready for the challenge. "I was too tired to think," she said afterwards. "I just reacted to each situation and relied on Veto's intense training to take me home."

She looked confident and graceful, fully in charge of her destiny. After a brilliant time out by Veto, she put the eight ball right through her opponents blocker, sinking both balls and winning game one. The crowd erupted in applause! "Wow, what a tick shot by Mixa!" one man screamed. Fans cheered and whistled. One old lady fainted, and Binkstenders had to bring her back to consciousness with smelling salts and multiple smacks to the face. It was more than just any one win that drove the fans into this state of nirvana. Alas, the Binks mojo appeared to be back. A sense of hope had returned!

Mixa had to wait several minutes for the mayhem to die down before she could break in game two, but she would not look back from there. She maintained her momentum and closed out the victory in convincing fashion.

Furious George 2, The Meth Heads from Sweet Home 0.

The Caveman put his six up next, forcing Veto to called his own number. After a terrible mental error that cost him game one, the interim head coach charged back, at one point coming within one ball - and a mere fraction of an inch - from two consecutive table runs. He was determined to seal the win for his team. The pair of sixes blazed through 8 games in only 18 innings, with Veto coming out on top 5-3.

The Georges were up 3-0 and the win was secure. Veto had already surpassed the low expectations set by the previous interim head coach Creepywhite, but he was still not satisfied. They needed the points, and Veto wanted the sweep. "Go for the jugular boys!" he cried, as he paced the sidelines and rallied his troops.

But the sweep was not to be. Black Beard fought valiantly in match four, but lost the deciding hill-hill game in a heartbreaker. Chewy then fell in hill-hill battle of his own. "I would just assume jump on a hand grenade than lose a match for interim head coach Veto," declared a despondent Chewy afterwards. "Hell, I'd take a bullet for that coach!"

All in all, it was a solid win for Furious George. Veto had whipped the team back into shape and turned them into a respectable fighting unit once again. Confidence and pride was restored. "I knew we needed to turn this thing around, and fast," the interim head coach said during his Tuesday morning press conference. "We were slipping in the standings and, after the mental hell that we all endured during the Creepywhite regime, it was crucial to break the cycle and set a new tone around here. If nothing else, I feel we accomplished that tonight."

In other news, ex-interim head coach Creepywhite was not in attendance on Monday night. The ousted leader was reportedly at a mental health facility Oregon City, undergoing a series of intense psychiatric treatments. "He suffered a terrible blow two weeks ago during that epic meltdown," confirmed Nurse Ratchet, "and he is going to require therapy. Lots of therapy. And pills. And several pairs of clean underwear. And a white room with thick, padded walls. Perhaps even some electro-shock therapy. We'll just have to see how it goes. Coach Urquhart is very concerned and has authorized us to use any means necessary."

FURIOUS GEORGE ANXIOUSLY AWAITS URQUHART'S RETURN... TEAM LOSES MOMENTUM, PRIDE DURING CREEPYWHITE REGIME

After spending the week at Furious George's practice facility in Northeast Portland, beat writer RJ Pinkerton was appalled at the state of the team. "The Georges are in disarray!" he warned. "Their hearts are black and their minds are bent, its even worse than before Urquhart went!"

At first, last week's meltdown against U&I appeared to be directly linked to yet another Urquhart blunder. He did, after all, leave for Italy with the red dot ball stashed securely in his carry-on bag. "I like to have it close to me," the captain admitted to reporters via e-mail. "Its kind of like my security blanket. I like to touch it, caress it, rub its cold hard surface against my cold hard head... Sometimes I even sleep with it tucked between the rolls in my belly. Its my everything."

After further review, however, it appears that the red dot ball fiasco was probably the least of their worries. "Last week was awful," said Mixa. "Terrible," moaned Bam Bam. "No energy at all!" cried Chewy. Black Beard choked back tears, and refused to even discuss it. "It gives me a headache when I think about it," he whimpered, "and frankly I'm tired of crying in front of my kid."

"I never thought I would say this," commented a perplexed and desperate Veto, "but we need Urquhart back. The discipline has disappeared. The passion is nonexistent. The pride has evaporated like vapor in the wind." He then paused, wiped a stream of running snot from his gaping nostrils, and began to weep openly. "Oh dear God!" he howled, "I thought for sure things would be better with Urquhart out of the country, but now Creepywhite has forced me to rethink my every view in life! Damn it," he sobbed, "I never thought I would hate another coach more than I hate Urqhart, but now I fear I was wrong about that too... I don't even know what's going on anymore. Its like the Twilight Zone around here."

Indeed, the Creepywhite regime has been a taxing and brutal one indeed. Players are losing morale by the minute. Fans are seething and beginning to take on a mob-like mentality. "DOWN WITH CREE-PY, DOWN WITH CREE-PY," one protest group chanted in front of his home on Friday evening. The angry mob screamed profanities and slurred personal attacks toawards his family. They carried torches and wore white hoods over their faces. Some even threw rotten fruit at his garage door and set bags of dog poo ablaze on his front porch.

"These are tough times for Furious George," summed up a dejected Waylund, who has taken several unexplained personal days off of work this week. "My head just feels tired and achy," he explained, "my arms too heavy to lift another box of produce off the truck."

Try as he might, interim head coach Creepywhite is no Urquhart. Much like the 2008 Dallas Cowboys, Furious George is a team loaded with talent and idiocy alike. The players need a coach who can impose his steely will upon their weak and impressionable minds; someone who understands discipline, direction, and fury! In a conference that is perhaps the toughest in all of sports - comparable only to the AL East in baseball and the NFC East in football - fans and owners in the NOPO division have little tolerance for failure.

"This is a today business," said Binks owner Justin, who held a press conference from his bar on Saturday morning. His wife stood by his side, holding his arm and wiping tears from her cheek as he spoke. "And today I am appalled at the state of my franchise. Urquhart, if you are out there listening, I beg of you, PLEASE come home soon. The session is slipping away, and your team needs you."

U&I SNAPS FURIOUS GEORGE'S FIVE GAME WINNING STREAK... EVEN FROM ACROSS THE POND, URQUHART STILL MANAGES TO SCREW HIS TEAM

Even from the distant shores of the Italian Riviera, Urquhart still managed to cost his team a victory with one of his famous blunders. "I thought we were safe for the next few weeks," stated interim head coach Creepywhite afterwards, "but I guess I was wrong."

Urquhart left the country on vacation last week, leaving his team without an official red dot ball. When the boys showed up to play first place U&I on Monday night, panic quickly ensued. "Sweet God!" one fan cried aloud, "Without a red dot ball, there won't be a match!" Creepy's mind went blank and he began to stutter incoherent nonsense in strange tongues. Mixa gnawed uncontrollably on the butt of her pool cue, Norton. Bam Bam removed his glasses and used the sleeves of his t-shirt to wipe away tears. Chewy unleashed a slew of Irish curse words that mostly rhymed with 'buck' and 'feet'. Waylund, from depths of a meat freezer in his secret grocery warehouse, let out a blood curdling scream and then proceeded to beat on the hanging cow carcases like punching bags. Willie, thank God, picked up the phone and called the one person who could possibly undo one of Urquhart's boneheaded blunders: Veto.

Though not in attendance for the night's match, Veto temporarily saved the day by agreeing to let the team borrow his six red dot ball. Creepy drove through the streets of Northeast Portland at breakneck speed, desperately seaching for Veto's secret lair. When he finally arrived, Veto met him out front. Like an Olympic relay team handing off a baton, they made a clean, flawless exchange. In one swift motion, Creepy had the ball and was back in his truck, racing towards Binks. The time was already 7:10.

Creepy made it back by 7:15 and they began the match late. Sadly, however, the psychological damage had already been done. Urquhart's blunder had taken the team out of their pregame routine. Their fragile minds had been shaken and distracted; their momentum cut off at the knees. They tried to recover from the terrible opening moments of the night, but it was too late. U&I was too good, and the damage done by Urquhart was too severe. Save one tremendous victory from Bam Bam (over a six), Furious George collectively went down in flames. They lost 1-4 and their impressive five game winning streak came screming to a halt.

"Give credit to U&I where credit is due," said interim coach Creepywhite afterwards, "but make no mistake about it - the blame for tonight's epic meltdown lies squarely on Urquhart's shoulders. He screwed us good with this latest blunder of his, he screwed us REAL good."

BINKS WINS 5TH STRAIGHT AT BLUE PARROT... VETO UPSETS URQUHART IN CHALLENGE PLAY... THE FURY RETURNS!

Refusing to be intimidated by the blue felt, the cold room, or the crazy people all around them, Furious George won their fifth straight match at The Blue Parrot on Monday night. Willie Don't-Call-Him-Winona Ryder started off the night with his second consecutive victory. His opponent came out red hot and dialed into the back of the pockets, but Black Beard hung in there, maintained his composure, eventually regained the momentum, and closed strong in a 3-1 win. "He's becoming quite a solid lead off man for us," commented Coach Urquhart afterwards, who has struggled to fill this role since Waylund disappeared into the vast grocery world abyss.

Next up was the near train wreck of the night. Much like a football team who upsets a top ten rival one week and then falls to a lesser skilled opponent the next, Creepywhite nearly suffered a tragic let down in match two. "Its hard to get all geared up for some mediocre, middle aged skank once you've shared the big stage with The Mail Man," he said afterwards. "Once you've felt the heat of the bright lights, the glory of TV cameras, and the thrill of the roaring crowds... I tell ya, its hard to get too excited about anything else."

Paired against a much weaker five, The Georges sat back and expected a quick, effortless kill from Creepywhite. But they should know better by now, as nothing comes easy in the high stakes NOPO Division. He soon found himself in a fierce battle and the match dragged deep into the night. One game actually reached double digits in the innings column. Our hero was clearly not himself. He appeared dazed, shaken, perhaps still hung over from his big victory over The Mail Man. It was a terrible scene and his teammates struggled to watch. Some looked away. Others paced the room. Chewy put on his head phones and buried his face in a pint of beer.

But somehow, by the grace of the pool god Earl, he woke up just in time to avoid a truly awful melt down. "I thought he was going to crawl in the corner and curl up into the fetal position," admitted a shocked Chewy Webb afterwards. But their hero refused to surrender. No indeed. The pink kitten came out and prowled like it was dinner time. He eyed the angles closely. He stretched, quietly going through his calisthenics routine between shots. He ground it out until the very end, and was rewarded with a 3-2 victory.

"A win is a win," said Urquhart afterwards when questioned by reporters about the mental state of his top star - and most hated person. "I don't believe in ugly wins. Except in Veto's case."

Up 2-0, The Finger chalked his cue and stepped to the table, determined to seal the win for his team. He eyed his opponent up and down like she was dancer at an all male review, and wasted little time setting the tone in game one. He peppered her with a flurry of defensive shots, keeping her flustered, confused, and clearly out of rhythm; like a skilled matador waving his red flag in her darting eyes. "Just setting her up for the kill," admired on reporter from the sidelines, "she's red meat now."

Urquhart had the old bull by her mullet, and he wasn't about to let go. Sensing his opportunity to take the match, he switched gears like a finely tuned Mercedes Benz, slipping from defense to offense without so much as a stutter, cough or a sneeze. With the graceful touch of an old Italian oil painter (whom he hopes to find on his vacation next week), he feathered in a long cut shot, brought the cue ball off of one rail, and left himself perfect position on the eight ball. Blue Parrot fans sat stunned with their jaws and knuckles scraping the floor boards. The Georges erupted in applause! It was a fantastic celebration. Patrons in the poker room scurried to see what all the excitement was about. Drunks at the bar turned away from the TV and looked towards the tables. A karaoke singer stopped in mid verse, her voice suddenly drowned out by all the commotion.

Furious George 3, The Blue Parrot 0. Their fearless leader had accomplished his mission and sealed the win! He came back to the table and celebrated with a greasy cheeseburger, a pack of cigarettes, and some particularly harsh words for his most-hated person Creepywhite. "Happy?" Urquhart asked aloud, "what the hell do I have to be happy about? I won my match and this is what I come back to... a missing player and a money envelope that's $7 light?"

He flew into a tirade of curse words that cannot be relived in print - at least not here. Those in attendance will soon pray to forget the horrific scene that followed. The Captain raged with thunderous conviction. For the second week in a row Creepy had walked out on his pool tab. "This is unacceptable!" shouted Urquhart. "UNACCEPTABLE!" His temper flared up like a bad case of Scottish hemorrhoids. His fists clenched around the thin wad of cash, which had already been counted four times. It was still light, and Creepywhite was still to blame. Beads of sweat began to form on the top of Urquhart's bald head. The skin on his neck turned purple and blotchy. The crumpled one dollar bills shivered between his shaking, stubby little fingers. "Creepy will pay for this," he announced through clenched teeth and FURIOUS anger, "Creepy will pay..."

The rest of the team cowered in fear as Urquhart's inner Robert Dinero (circa Goodfellas, of course) unleashed itself yet again. He hollered threats, scowled, and broke a beer bottle on the bar. He threatened to crush heads, and began to speak in strange Italian tongues. And why? All because of Creepywhite and his blatant disrespect to The Code.

Sadly, the fall 2007 divisional champs were unable to win another match. Mixa and Chewy fell in quick succession, and The Georges were forced to settle for a 3-2 win.

"Mixa and Chewy showed a fine display of mercy and compassion towards our Parrots at the end," commented one grief stricken family member afterwards.

"Coming into the night, this team was ahead of us in the points column," summed up Willie Ryder, who looked particularly dapper in a pair of pressed dress slacks and a fine collared shirt from Macy's, "so we just picked up a big point in the standings."

In other news, Veto shocked the world by upsetting a highly favored Urquhart in challenge play. It was deep into the dawn of morning - on the back table - before the match got underway. The room was full of smoke and stench, drunkenness and bone headed debauchery. Unshaven men in filthy clothes bet the last of their paychecks on The Showdown. They were out of their heads on whiskey and whippits, and saw The Finger as a winning horse. Cash flew around the room as bets were placed. Veto was a heavy underdog and was taunted mercilessly by the crowd. But he forged through the conditions and stunned the hooligans, playing completely immune to Urquhart's timid defensive style of play. The new number one ran away and won easily, 3-1.

"A lot of people lost a lot of money on Urquhart tonight," said one angry bystander who had just lost $100 on the fiery Captain to win.

"He was number one coming in," summed up another dejected gambler, "which made him a heavy favorite with the rail birds. Damn that sonovabitch," he mumbled to himself, scratching his head in disbelief, "how am I going to explain to my kid that I just lost her lunch money on some bum named The Finger?"

"It was one hell of an upset," acknowledged Chewy afterwards, "but I guess it all worked out like it was supposed to in the end. Veto just restored the natural order of things around here: he is back on top, and Urquhart isn't."

VETO ISSUES RETRACTION, HALF-HEARTED APOLOGY TO ARCH NEMESIS URQUHART... GOES UNDERGROUND IN PREPARATION FOR BIG MONDAY NIGHT SHOWDOWN

Veto has retracted his most recent posting about his arch nemesis Urquhart. Said his spokesman, confidant, and part time legal consultant RJ Pinkerton: "We begged Veto for days to tone it down, to show some mercy. He was just so angry, so foul, so perverse in his accusations... I don't know any right minded person who would print something like that."

Pinkerton then paused for a breath, sipped from his morning cup of gin, and scratched the last thin patch of hair on his splotchy head. "Sweet God almighty," he went on, "doesn't he know there are women and children who read this blog?"

Veto himself has refused comment and is not responding to phone calls or text messages. One report has him holed up in a pool hall on the south side of town, practicing around the clock in preparation for his big Monday night showdown with Urquhart. He is said to be sleeping in three hour stretches on a cot in the back room. The lighting is bad, the food is greasy, and the whole place reeks terribly of cigarette smoke and stale urine.

Said one witness, who claims to have spotted Veto by his green tennis shoes and gray top hot, "I'm pretty sure it was him alright. He was in the back corner, practicing by himself for hours. I tried to strike up a game with him, but communication proved to be a problem. He was bleary eyed, crazed almost. He just kept practicing the same shot over and over, all the while mumbling incoherent gibberish about some son of a bitch named Urquhart."

"Its true," confirmed a cocktail waitress named Dusty, "Veto has been here for 3 days now. He claims he is practicing a special trick shot that will assure him victory over some guy named Urquhart on Monday night. He's a strange one that Veto... doesn't seem entirely right in the head to me."

FURIOUS GEORGE HIJACKS MAIL TRAIN BOUND FOR REGIONALS... WINS EASILY IN UPSET ROUT

Portland, OR (AP)

"I ride on a mail train baby

can't buy a thrill"

As the old saying goes, life shrinks and expands based on courage. On Monday night, Furious George hosted The Mail Man and his gang of henchmen (aka, The Smooth Slimsters), who had recently knocked The Goerges out of the summer playoffs, won their way through Tri Cups, and were currently en route to the regional playoffs. To say this was a hot team loaded with talent would be an understatement of the highest proportion. The boys were going to need plenty of courage for this challenge, and not just the liquid kind that Urquhart usually relies on.

Fortunately, their fearless leader decided to show up and do his job for once. Urquhart was sober and tuned into every nuance of the room. His will was unwavering, his mind strong and sharp like a steel trap. He sized up his players and The Slimsters' players alike, and instinctively knew the right match ups to pursue.

First up was Black Beard Willie Ryder, who was paired against Crazy Carl. Willie was sober, focused, and determined to avenge his most recent heart-breaking loss to Cherry Pie. Urquhart's ears twitched like a tuning fork as Willie walked to the table, a tell tale sign that he was at one with his coaching moves.

"Who is this new Zen master of pool?" asked Veto afterwards, when questioned about Urquhart's coaching strategies on the night, "and why doesn't he have his mug on a t-shirt already?"

Willie shot smooth and controlled pool. His aim was deadly, his leaves smart and manageable. He was unyielding in his accuracy, and ruthless in the pressure he applied to his opponent. Crazy Carl stood little chance. He just stood there like a deer in the headlights, befuddled and confused, tugging at his beard and scratching at the awful scar tissue on his cheek. Willie remained poised and hungry throughout, finishing off the sweep in speedy fashion.

Urquhart's first coaching move of the night had worked out masterfully. He looked across the table at The Mail Man, who shifted in his chair and looked surprisingly uncomfortable. A terrible scowl consumed his face. "Like a spider to a fly," Urquhart thought to himself. He rubbed his hands together and grimaced his evil grimace. "Eggggselent," he whispered to no one in particular. "Things are going exactly as planned." Full of optimism and adrenaline, he hopped up and ordered Creepywhite to the bar. "Another whiskey," he snapped, "and make it stiff!"

Furious George 1, The Slimsters 0.

Sticking with a strategy that appeared to be working, Urquhart sent Bam Bam to the table next. He, too, was still relatively sober. Paired against an old World War II tail gunner, Bam Bam struggled to find his A-game. He scraped and clawed, showing typical moments of grit and brilliance along the way. The Mail Man, meanwhile, berated the old corpse at every turn. He flew out of his chair time and again, making sure to point out the obvious mistakes. "You dumb fool!" he shouted, "You should have used two rails for position, NOT ONE!" The poor bastard clenched his fake teeth and adjusted his bifocals, struggling in vain to block out the terrible static coming from his angry leader. In the end, however, a victory was not in the cards for him on this fateful night. The Binks Mojo was never far from The Bam's reach, and he held on for a 3-2 win.

Furious George 2, The Slimsters 0.

Down 0-2, The Slimsters had little choice but to call out their big gun. The Mail Man screwed together his cue, cracked his neck from side to side like a boxer preparing for a fight, and blew a giant green snot rocket from his left nostril. Victory or defeat hung in the balance, and NOPO's favorite villain was ready to impose his will on the situation.

Urquhart refused to flinch, immediately summoning Creepywhite for a rematch against his nemesis. Their last battle had ended in a stunning playoff upset, which angered The Mail Man to no end. The horrendous taste of Creepy Stew still lingered in his mouth like fresh vomit. "Time for some sweet revenge," one of his teammates muttered to him as he stepped up for the lag. "Indeed," thought The Mail Man. He could barely stomach the thought of losing to this quiet man in a blue and pink elephant shirt - this lowwwwwly little five - twice in a row.

The Mail Man squeaked out a win in game one, then sank the eight ball on the break in game two. His confidence soared. Creepywhite, he thought, was finally in his cross hairs. Then, like the famous Yankee Stadium ghosts who are said to come out during World Series play, The Binks Mojo crept in beneath the garage door and hugged Creepywhite like a warm blanket. He caught fire, coming within one ball of two consecutive table runs. The crowd was alive and wired like the english on our hero's cue ball. Clearly, he had found his speed and had worked his way deep inside his opponent's psyche. Flustered, The Mail Man missed an opportunity at a run out and left Creepy with an easy hanger on the eight ball. With victory assured for the good guys, the famed villain sulked back to his chair in agony. Humiliation would soon set in, followed by anger, depression, and denial.

The Furious George bench exploded and Creepywhite beat on his exposed chest like an alpha-male gorilla. His teammates surrounded him and bathed him in praise. Urquhart tried to kiss him on the lips, but he turned his head just in time. Fans pulled out clumps of each other's hair and screamed like it was Beetle-mania all over again. It was our hero's second consecutive victory over The Mail Man, and the crowd soaked up every second of the glory. For the moment, anyway, Creepywhite pushed aside the ugly thoughts of a dirty bomb arriving in the mail box at his house.

Furious George 3, The Slimsters 0.

Resurfacing from the deep abyss of his grocery store's warehouse facility, Weigh-lum made his first appearance of the session in match four. He was stiff and rusty, like a quarterback during the first hours of spring practice. There was little doubt that his talent was still there - hiding just beneath the surface - but he struggled to adjust to game speed. "In the world of high stakes NOPO divisional pool," commented ESPN analyst and Billiards Hall of Famer Alan Hopkins, "there is no substitute for match play."

Furious George's long lost lead off man fought valiantly and energized his teammates with his presence, but in the end suffered their first loss of the night.

"That loss was good for him," said Urquhart afterwards, recycling his favorite cliche, "in the sense that it seemed to ignite his fire again. Now that he has a match under his belt, he's gonna be tough to beat."

Urquhart then paused, and his eyebrows grew slanted and mean. Perhaps it was the realization that his precious sweep was no longer attainable. Or perhaps it was four matches worth of whiskey. "All that being said," the fiery eyed zen master continued, "he really PISSES ME OFF when he loses like that!"

Furious George 3, The Slimsters 1.

Not expecting to play, Veto was shocked when he heard his name called for the final match. "Spaghetti Sauce!" Urqhuart howled, pointing his famous finger towards the end of the bench, "YOU'RE UP!"

Veto grabbed his cue and struggled to find his bearings. He was drunk - and even worse - paired against another old blue hair. This one looked like some kind of strange Hobbit, only she was shorter, and rounder. "Damn all these old ladies," Veto thought to himself. "Where DO they come from?"

The squatty little troll could barely see over the rails, yet she came out shooting like a true money player. Ranked a three, she revelled in the short 2-4 race and was determined to close out the night with a second win for her team. Veto, on the other hand, stumbled out of the gates. Game one dragged on, and the crowd finally gasped in horror as the old wench sank the first eight ball of the match.

With his back now firmly against the wall, Veto took stock of the situation. He looked over at his shaken teammates. Then he glanced to The Mail Man and watched as he showered encouragement on his new golden child. "Listen up now Frumpy-Dumpy," he told her, "you're on the hill. All you need is one more win, just ONE MORE WIN!"

That was all the motivation Veto needed to hear. He dug down and regained his focus, determined to right his ship and close things out for his team. The rest of the match went quickly, as he calmly managed the table and reeled off four consecutive wins for the victory.

The upset rout was complete. Furious George 4, The Slimsters 1.

As the final eight ball fell, the home town crowd erupted in celebration. Ash trays flew across the room like dangerous missiles. Pint glasses shattered on the floor. Fans chanted in unison: "NA NA NA NA, HEY MAIL MAN, GOOD-BYE!!" The proud, savvy fans had been on the edge of their seats all night. They knew exactly what was at stake during this historic match: redemption, pride, and an opportunity to make a statement to the rest of the league. When the Georges finished off their incredible 4-1 victory, all of the emotion in the room spilled over and culminated in the wildest celebration of the session.

The Mail Man's train had been hijacked, derailed, and robbed of all its precious cargo. He and his henchmen were ambushed, plain and simple. "There was no way they saw this one coming," said one of the Asians from The Mouse Trap, "and I highly doubt they will forget about it anytime soon."

The Slimsters are still on their way to the regional playoffs, this much is true, but they are not the same team they were on Monday morning. With their confidence shattered and their reign of terror finally over, their battle for APA cash in Vegas now appears to be a steep, uphill one indeed.

In a related story, the US Postal Service has announced that The Mail Man has taken a personal leave of absence. "He has the recovery blues," said Postmaster Al Feldman, "and he's going to need some time to get over it. All deliveries have been postponed indefinitely, and we ask that you please contact Fed Ex for your immediate shipping needs."

FURIOUS GEORGE WINS 3-2 AT PIEDMONT PLACE... CHEWY, BAM BAM AND VETO MOUNT COMEBACK... THE FINGER PUTS ON CLINIC IN CHALLENGE WIN OVER CREEPY

Portland, OR (AP)

Furious George - riding a two game winning streak and lingering just 5 points out of first place - tangled fiercely with Piedmont Place on Monday night. Possibly distracted by the gals from the Red Hat Society, who were barnstorming through the pool room and raising a little hell before their 8:30 bed time, things started slow and shaky for the Georges. Mixa and Creepy fell in quick succession, putting the hometown heros in an early 0-2 hole.

When Chewy stepped to the table for match three, he knew he had to slow things down and take his opponents out of rhythm. Playing against a weak two, he dragged out the innings and put the Piedmont bench on cold ice. "I could have easily won those first three games in 25 to 30 innings," said Northeast Portland's favorite underground cult hero, "but I chose to drag it out a little longer, let them really feel the pain of a slow dagger."

His plan worked perfectly, as usual, and Chewy coasted to an easy 3-0 victory. By the time his two hour marathon match had ended, Piedmont Place had fallen into a near comatose state. Players nodded off in their chairs, pleading with each other to wake up and snap out of it. Some woke up startled, asking what day it was and where they were.

Chewy had masterminded the beginnings of a perfect comeback. "It was a brilliant plan to slow things down a bit," said Coach Urquhart afterwards. "It helped us seize back the momentum. I tell you what," he went on, "those are the kinds of moves that don't show up in a box score, but they win games for the team."

Trailing 2-1, Bam Bam took the table for match 4. Fresh off the plane from Tijuana, he was red eyed and rail thin. "Four days in a Mexican holding cell will do that to a man," commented Veto, shaking his head like a man who had also seen such horrors. Urquhart, who had been negotiating for days with Mexican authorities, finally worked out a deal to get him back to the States; though the details are still fuzzy and unknown. Some close to him have suggested that he used personal funds to bring Bam Bam home. "He felt so bad about stealing all the money from the scratch jar," said one longtime associate, "that he raised Bam Bam's bail money on his own, dancing at Embers."

Running on tequila fumes and adrenaline, The Bam battled out of the gates and picked up steam with each successive game; his innings decreasing and his precision increasing with each passing inning. "It was an impressive performance indeed," commented ESPN Billiards Analyst Ava "The Striking Viking" Mataya-Lawrence afterwards. Showing her toothy smile, she summed it all up nicely: "After four days of hell in that God foresaken third world country, The Bam was able to step into a must win situation, block it all out, and play winning pool. He really showed his fans and teammateswhat he's made of tonight."

Furious George 2, Piedmont Place 2.

Meanwhile, on the side tables, some of the most spectacular pool action of the night was taking place. The Finger and Creepywhite were dead locked in challenge play when The Finger unleashed out one of the greatest pressure shots of all time. Seemingly snookered after a strong defensive play by CW, The Finger calmly eyed a kick shot and executed it with perfect technique and aim. The railbirds exploded in applause, with at least one metrosexual man passing out from all the excitement. "That Finger is just soooo cool under pressure," he said upon being woken up with cold rags and smelling salts.

"That was an amazing shot, no doubt about it," said Billiards legend Earl Strickland, who just happened to be at attendance for the big inter-divisional showdown. "Not many people can pull that one off, but The Finger used his secret weapon: the flimsly finger bridge. It enables him to generate just the kind of deft touch necessary to pull off a shot like that."

Victorious and feeling confident, Urquhart poured back shots of whiskey like water. Before long he was drunk and glowing with the warm rush of success. His new nemeis Creepywhite was, for the moment, his bitch. "I challenge you, Veto!" the new number two declared, poking his famous finger in his new target's chest. "You're next Spaghetti Sauce!"

Veto, however, had other business to attend to at the moment. Tied 2-2, he stepped to the table for the final match of the night. For the second week in row, his game would decide Furious George's fate. Paired against a six, Veto nearly saw a break and run executed against him in the first game. But he refused to be intimidated, and battled back courageously in the games that followed. He ran balls, kept the innings short, and - in the end - applied just enough pressure to pull out a 4-2 win.

The comeback was complete! Furious George 3, Piedmont Place 2.

After being down 0-2, Chewy, Bam Bam and Veto had mounted a charge for the ages and given Furious George their third straight victory. The boys slapped high fives and celebrated their dramatic, come from behind win. Down on Alberta street, fans rejoiced and gathered around the pool room at Binks, hoping to catch a glipse of their heros as they returned for the after-party. "Do you think The Bam will be here," one small child was overheard asking his father as they waited together on the sidewalk. It was past his bed time, and he shivered in the cool fall night. "Maybe son," he replied, "just maybe."

"The session is young and we're looking good," summed up Coach Urquhart on Tuesday morning. "If we keep racking up wins, we'll stay in contention."

Wise words indeed Coach, wise words indeed.

"Sometimes it just feels good to kick some ass," said Chewy afterwards, cigarette planted firmly between his pursed lips. "Tonight, I suppose, was just one of those nights."

Bam Bam being traded? Leanne's Boyfriend is real?

Notice from the Captain.

I know you've all been talking about it, so I just wanted to clear up a few items.

#1. We could not add Leif to the team mid-season. I have since stopped trying to kick Waylund off. If he would stop screwing around at work, he might actually be able to get off early and come hang out.

#2. Toby has been elevated to triple probation. No reason; guy just bugs me.

#3. I'm in discussions with Cherry Pie for her to 'take care' of Bam Bam. After watching her with Bill last week, she may be the only one that can keep him in line.

#4. I've met Leanne's Boyfriend. He is quite shy and startles easily. No sudden movements, no raised voices and be very careful making eye contact.

#5. Brandon, Leanne, Katie and I learned a new trick from some creapy guy (not Toby). Buy us a drink and we'll show you how to do it.

See ya all at Piedmont tonight.

BAM BAM SURFACES IN TIAJUANA... UNSHAVEN, GEEKED UP ON TEQUILLA

PORTLAND, OR (AP)

Working with trusted contacts south of the border, Veto's reporters have confirmed that Bam Bam - or at least a man closely fitting Bam Bam's description - has surfacced in Tiajuana. Unshaven and raging mad after a week long tequilla bender, he is reportedly wandering the streets in a despondent haze. Witnesses claim the American gringo is red eyed and stinking terribly of BO. "We don't think he has changed clothes or brushed his teeth in several days, and the women are starting to complain," said the owner of one well known brothel. "Even by Mexican standards," said a local official, "he is a real mess."

No one knows for sure how The Bam got to this state. Some close to him speculate that he was greatly shaken by his last meeting with Veto at Binks. The two met for a friendly lunch time match, and Veto proceeded to run off five straight racks in record time. "Veto robbed him of his dignity like a thief in the night," said one friend and witness to the aweful slaughter. "The Bam never saw it coming, and his bearings haven't been the same since."

"Well, we believe he is alive," said Veto's lead reporter, "although only barely."

Said a spokesman for the APA, "We are working diligently with the Mexican authorities to have him extradited back to the States before Monday night's big show down at Piedmont Place. We have run into some resistence, however, as they are wanting a significant amount of bribe money to make this happen."

Confirmed Coach Urquhart, "This is true, we are currently in negotiations with the Mexican government over Bam Bam's worth. Sadly, they are demanding more money than we currently have on hand in our scratch jar."

When asked how much money they have on hand in their scratch jar, Urquhart dodged the question, saying only that "I was hung over and thirsty, and I needed coffee and breakfast. And two bloody mary's. And cigarettes. What can I say, get of my damn back about it already!"

OH NO HE DIDN'T!

Oh snap, Toby just got served!

Said teammate and practice partner Veto, "Its about time Urquhart wised up and put Toby on notice. Its been a long time coming for that guy."

In other news, it has now been 43 hours and STILL no sign of Bam Bam. Veto's reporters - exhausted and frustrated - are claiming that the trail has gone colder than Willie's game against Cherry Pie.

Poor team play

I have a couple of players on warning....basically double secret probation.

TOBY----basic disregard for supporting team player. He's all sweet to the other team, but then when one of his own players struggles, he mocks! Bad Form.

Andy----Missing in Action. I've put Todd on his scent. That blood hound won't stop until he tracks that boy down!

Good job on Monday. Next Monday is at Peidmont Place.

AP WIRE: FURIOUS GEORGE BEATS SENIORS IN MARATHON

FURIOUS GEORGE WINS IN MARATHON AGAINST SENIORS FROM MOUSE TRAP... CHERRY PIE SWEEPS WILLIE, THEN TELLS HIM TO 'QUIT STINKIN AND START THINKIN'... CREEPY REPLACES VETO ATOP URQUHART'S LIST OF 'MOST HATED' PEOPLE

Portland, OR (AP) Furious George played the seniors from The Mouse Trap on Monday night, and were quickly drawn into their slow, clumsy, atrophic style of play. Creepy stepped up first, paired against Old Man Winter himself. He stuck to his callisthenic routine and played consistent pool, though at times he struggled to put the old timer with cataracts away. But in the end, Old Man Winter gave Creepy one too many ball-in-hand opportunities (all the while blaiming his air balls on the mysterious table rolls), and our hero managed to finish him, 4-3.

Next up was Black Jack Willie Ryder, who would not fare so lucky on this night. He faced the dreaded Cherry Pie, and fell straight into her trap. Like a spider to a fly, Willie stood no chance. He mistook her lovable-old-gradma jibber jabber for weakness, and quickly paid the price. The Pie stuck like lightning, throwing Willie's internal campus into a spin. She laughed and carried on talked subtle trash - and sank two quick eight balls in a row. Willie began to panic, as any sane minded man with a backbone would. 'Oh no', he thought, 'I can't get swept by Cherry Pie'. But it was already too late. She stood there grinning with those two big cherries hugging her massive, drooping boobs, working Willie over like a fluffer on a porn set.

Willie was confused, shocked, appalled; slightly dizzy even. The trap had been laid, her venom injected into his veins. He was stuck in The Pie's web and some sort of gooey, cherry flavored desert filling was smeared all over his face. He couldn't move, couldn't breath, his mind was flashing static like an empty tv screen. It was awful. Fans mumbled amongst themselves and quietly left the room. His teammates hid their eyes. Binkstenders gasped in horror. And then, like the snap of a finger, it was over. Cherry Pie 3, Willie 0. Our despondent comrade retreated to Taco Bell, searching for solace in a bean burrito and a Mexican pizza. It is doubtful, however, that he found it.

In fairness to Willie, let me now state for the record that he was not the first Binks player to face humiliation at the hands Cherry Pie, nor will he be the last. 'I still have nightmares about my first match with Cherry Pie,' admitted Veto afterwards. 'Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, crying like a child.' Furious George 1, Seniors 1.

Leeann stepped to the table for match three. It did not start good, and she quickly fell behind 2-0. Her teammates did not have the heart tell her that her opponent only had one eye. Rumor has it that the ancient World War One vet lost it to a German bayonet. 'It took him several years to learn to play again after losing that eye,' Cherry Pie explained, 'due to the problems with his depth perception and all.' A loss by Mixa would assure humiliation for many sessions to come. But the newcomer battled back from her slow start, pushing the match to the hill and sinking a brilliant cut shot for the win! The fans and the bench exploded simultaneously, with roars and cheers spilling onto the street and drowning out the jukebox.

When asked about her beautiful cut shot - one that was surprisingly similar to the one that she used at The Mouse Trap last week - Mixa explained her thought process to a roomful of reporters. 'I was just setting myself up for the full table cut on the eight ball,' she said. 'Yup, that's the one I wanted in the end. I do like that full table cut shot.'

'Her signature shot', gasped a journalist from Billiards Digest. 'The Cut Shot.' Perhaps, she thought, a new nickname has been born.

Furious George 2, The Seniors 1.

Up fourth, and with a chance to seal the victory for The Georges, Urquhart strode to the table. His stroke was silky smooth like the flesh on a young man's bones. He fought valiantly as game one got under way. But The Finger proceded to mangle ball-in-hand opportunity after ball-in-hand opportunity, blowing the first two games and essentially handing Serial Killer Dave the victory.

Our fearless leader lurked back to his bar stool at the end of the bench. He fumed and searched for a target to release his fury upon. Veto cowered like a dog who has been kicked too much, expected to take the brunt of it. But surprisingly, Urquhart took aim at someone other than Veto. Tonight, it would be Creepy. 'I'll tell you what', Urquhart exclaimed, 'I've had it up to here with that guy! The nerve of him, screwing up that timeout earlier tonight. And who does he think he is, coming here every week, acting all polite and quiet and respectful towards those around him. I've had enough of his act, and it ends NOW!' he declared, slamming down a closed fist against the bar. 'Creepy has officially replaced Veto on my list of most hated people!'

By this time Willie had come back from Taco Bell and Cherry Pie had him cornered. With a stiff drink in hand, she chastised him for his play, bluntly telling him to 'quit stinkin and start thinkin!' She lectured him on all the nuances of the game, pointing out his flaws and mocking his techniques as she rambled on and on into the night. Willie took his medicine, as they say, and handled the beating with grace. Though down tonight, he knew he would be back for his chance at redemption; someday, somehow... and only if Cherry Pie doesn't die first.

'Surely this loss will sting for Willie,' Urquhart would say afterwards, 'as it should. The Pie worked him over good tonight, REAL good. But he'll think about this and grow from it. Yes, it'll burn a hole in his memory for years to come and it will haunt him in his dreams. But I'll tell you what,' he snapped, pointing a finger at the crowd of reporters, 'I sure as hell wouldn't bet against Willie next week. He'll be out for vegence after this one, I goddam guaranty it!'

Furious George and The Seniors were tied at two as Veto stepped to the table for the final match of the night. After giving away game one with a scratch on the eight ball, Veto played steady for the rest of the way. He applied pressure and beat his opponent to Old Blackie in every game. He would not miss another eight ball attempt. He won 4-1, closing out a 3-2 team victory for Furious George.

'It was a long, tough win tonight,' reminisced Coach Urquhart at his Tuesday morning press conference. 'If it felt like this match lasted for four and a half hours, that's because it did. But we pulled through with a victory in the end, thanks to Creepy, Mixa, and especially Veto - who picked up the shattered pieces of my loss and closed it out for us at the eleventh hour.'

In a related story, Furious George player Bam Bam has officially been missing for 36 hours. Texts and phone calls have gone unanswered, and there was no sight nor sound of him on Monday night. 'If you see The Bam,' warned Police Chief Wiggins, 'proceed with extreme caution. We have reason to believe that he is armed and dangerous. He carries a secret weapon that the street kids like to call... the sneaky pete. And he is not afraid to use it.'

FURIOUS GEORGE CHARGES THROUGH FIRST ROUND OF PLAYOFFS

FURIOUS GEORGE CHARGES THROUGH FIRST ROUND OF PLAYOFFS WITH MASTERFUL PLAY.... CREEPY, URQUHART AND WILLIE LEAD THE CHARGE... TRI CUP BIRTH WITHIN REACH!

Portland, OR (AP)

Furious George vs. The Post. The match up is a rivalry enough on any given Monday. Add playoff intensity and the win-or-go-home stakes, and it suddenly becomes one of the greatest rivalries in all sports. The Cowboys and the Redskins? Not even close. Celtics and the Lakers? While tasty, still a far cry. Yankees and the Red Sox? Fuh-get about it! Monday night at Binks saw the most exciting sporting event since the Thrilla In Manilla, hands down! Said ESPN radio talk show host Dan Patrick, 'It made the Giants 4th quarter, come from behind Super Bowl victory against the undefeated Patriots look like a girl scout cookie sale. Holy jumpin' Jesus, my adrenal ine is still pumping, my mouth is still dry, and my pits are still sweaty!'

Let us cut right to the details. First up was a clearly under-ranked Creepy White. He quickly and swiftly swept another four, making it look easy as only Creepywhite can do. With his dreams of playoff glory crushed, his helpless opponent sank back into his plastic patio chair. He looked dejected and humiliated as his teammates offered half hearted hugs and empty words of encouragement. Said a spokesman for the APA, 'After Creepywhite's match last night, we have received several complaints about possible sandbagging. Let me be clear: while we agree that his ranking is grossly inaccurate, we currently do not have enough proof to convict the team of sandbagging. But the investigation is ongoing and, as always, any opportunity to nail Urquhart for league infractions will be thoroughly pursued. Rest assured, no stone will be left unturned in this inquiry.'

Next up was Veto. Coming into the night riding a six match winning streak, Veto may have been a little too loose, perhaps even a bit overconfident. He figured he would just pocket a bunch of balls and find a way to win for his team, as he had been able to do in the previous weeks. Unfortunately, Robert had other plans. Playing the dreaded cluster break strategy time and time again - where one breaks very softly, leaving a massive cluster where the rack once sat - Robert's strategy to draw out the games and force Veto into a defensive drudge match paid off nicely for him. The matches were close and several games saw Veto jump out to big early leads, but in the end he simply gave Robert one too many opportunities to take him down. The cluster break strategy, which originated on the south side of Chicago during the Great Depression, is rarely seen in these parts of countr y and clearly was a problem for Veto all night long. 'I gotta tip my hat to the old timer,' said a humble Veto afterwards. 'Robert had my number tonight. It was a close match and I had my opportunities, but in the end it was just not meant to be. I'm grateful to the boys for picking me up.'

Next up was Urquhart. Sitting on a 1-1 tie and knowing that the Post's dreaded seven awaited on deck, the stakes in his match could not have been higher. Needing to win three before Miles won two, Urquhart jumped out to an early 2-1 lead. Then came heartbreak. After Veto coached him through a brilliant defensive play that led to ball in hand ('It was the only good timeout he's ever called, EVER' admitted Urquhart afterwards), our hero orchestrated a beautiful 5 ball run. His position play was perfect on ever ball except for the eight, where he left himself a long, gut-testing bank. But Urquhart was not t o be denied. With the poise of a champion and the eye of an eagle, he lined up the bank and executed it perfectly! The eight ball dove into the corner pocket and the home crowd erupted in deafening applause!

Sadly, the celebration was short lived. As if the terrible ending was stolen from a Greek tragedy, the boys watched in horror as the cue ball slowly slid into the opposite corner pocket for a scratch. 'It was fantastic run out indeed,' commented Veto afterwards. 'Unfortunately the slickness of the new felt just jumped up and bit us on that one.' This led to a hill-hill showdown. Urquhart quickly put the heartbreak of the previous game out of his mind and brought his focus back to the present moment, as all great athletes do. 'I thought that scratch may have shattered his resolve,' admitted Miles afterwards, 'but sadly I was wrong. Urquhart showed the heart of a champion in that final game.' He then paused, wiping back a tear and choking back a throat full of sour defeat. 'It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't taunted me with his Cubs hat like that,' continued the die hard Cardinals fan. 'Damnit... I need a stiff drink.'

Once again the crowd erupted in applause and his teammates circled around their fearless leader in praise and adoration. Rarely had their historic bar seen such a dramatic and historic moment. Time stood still. A crowd of people had gathered on the streets, and the buzz of excitement was palpable. They, too, exploded when Urquhart put the final eight ball down. 'You could have cut the tension with a knife,' said one clearly drunken fan, 'but when Urquhart sank that final eight ball, it was like pandamonium out here!'

Next up was Willie. Showing up out of the blue with rolled up jeans a nd a black fanny pack, the boys did not know what to make of their long lost teammate. But Willie proved to have more than just cigarettes and car keys in that fanny pack. He had some big-time game packed away in there as well. Paired against a seemingly unbeatable seven, Willie charged out of the gates strong, sending a clear message that he would not roll over without a fight.

The tension grew amongst the crowd. Somewhere, in the distance, a beer bottle shattered on the ground. Willie, however, barely heard a sound. He focused on the job at hand and never allowed himself to be shaken. Taking his opponent to a hill-hill match, he entered what athletes call 'the zone', going on a masterful runout and leaving his opponent with five balls left on the table. Once again the capacity crowd erupted! Willie had shocked the sporting world, putting a masterful finishing touch on the team's first round playoff win. David had essentially sleighed Goliath and victory was assured for Furious George.

With their great comeback session still in tact and the Banks mojo clearly on their side, they anxiously await the final round of the playoffs next week. 'Tri Cup or bust,' said Bam Bam once again, 'Tri Cup or bust.'

Late into the night sweat continued to drip from the hallowed walls of the Banks pool room. The bartenders smiled as they swept up the broken glass and spit from the floors. 'There was a bit of magic in here tonight,' said a smiling, blissfully happy Sydney afterwards. 'I almost don't want to go home.'

Fortunately for the fans, bartenders, and players alike, Binks will see another round of playoff action next week. 'What could be sweeter,' commented Captain Urquhart during his Tuesday morning press conference , 'than the opportunity to come back here and do it again next week.'