Portland, OR (AP) They say pool is a game of recovery. Sometimes from shot to shot, sometimes from match to match. For Furious George, they have been recovering from a nasty hangover that all started during the final curtain call of the summer session. With the pain lingering and the memory refusing to fade, they opened the fall session with a lackluster 3-7 start. Forgotten in the standings and fading in their fans' hearts, Urquhart was furious. Confidence had sagged. Momentum had stalled. And Willie nearly lost an elbow in a terrible drunken bike accident. The team had fallen on hard times indeed.
But much to The Mouse Trap's surprise, Furious Furious George did not hobble into their house on Monday night. They strolled in with the quiet confidence of Divisional Champions. And why shouldn't they? In just four short sessions (or somewhere thereabout, blame Coach Urquhart if you will for not maintaining sufficient team records), they have taken home a Divisional Championship AND a second place trophy. Not too shabby. And that second place finish was only by a whisker in the standings. Oh so close, oh so close...
Furthermore, they rarely - if ever - fail to put on a show at the Mouse Trap. Yes indeed, The Georges were confident, poised and ready to reclaim their grasp on the division.
First up at the table was Miss Mixa. She brought a smooth stroke and a soft touch, and quickly jumped out to an early 1-0 lead. A masterful cut shot on the eight ball put her higher ranked opponent squarely in the frying pan. Just warming her up. Like a cracked egg on a buttery skillet.
Said Alison Fisher, winner of an astounding 50 WPBA tournaments and widely regarded as on of the best players alive, 'Umm, I dunno whot to say, really. Not bad for a young Yank. In all truth yes, she played like The Duchess tonight.'
The Duchess quickly delivered the knockout blow and won the match, setting the tone for the night. Then came the put-up for game two, where Urquhart displayed his first masterful coaching move of the night. Sensing that Bam Bam was tipping back the vodka martinis with a little too much ease, he wisely chose to send him to the table. Bam Bam was, possibly, at the peak of his perfect buzz! He played loose, confident, near flawless pool. 'It was a clinic on shot making, cue ball control, and execution,' admired Veto from post game news conference.
The match was all over before his sad, sad opponent knew what hit her. The Bam swept her 3-0, putting it away with a routine kick shot on the eight ball into the side pocket (Routine, that is, for the BANK SHOT KID!!).
Furious George was loose and rowdy, on the verge of perfection in the wins column. They lead 2-0, and the tension just continued to mount on The Mouse Trap's side of the table. Furious George, the long lost battalion who had been written off given up for dead, had marched back and showed little sign of letting up on the pedal.
Willie strode to the table next, playing despite a terrible, painful wound to his left elbow; the bandage constantly reminding him of the scars. He wasted little time, picking up right where Bam Bam left off and jumping to an early 3-0 lead. His opponent was clearly shaken and baffled, as she knew that no amount of sweet talk could rattle Willie tonight (she had, after all, made some sort of lesbian come on to Leeann, and later told Veto he had nice legs while he was leaning into a shot. No one knew for sure what she whispered to Willie in that lost moment before the lag, as his icy stare gave away little sign of emotion). No sir, the man with the bum elbow was not to be denied tonight. He wasted little time, and finished off the sweep in convincing fashion.
'Hot damn, Willie even played a few nice defensive shots tonight,' said Urquhart afterwards, quizzically scratching his bald head in clear disbelief. It was just all so surreal, and he struggled to make sense of it all. And then it hit him! 'Indeed', he wondered to himself - silently and without expression - 'perhaps the fury has worked again!'
Furious George 3, The Mouse Trap 0. Veto stepped to the table for game four. Ah yes, the string of sweeps hummed a seductive tune in Veto's mind, and he later acknowledged that it was a strong motivational factor for him. As well was pride, redemption, and the fear of getting beat by another old lady with white hair and a bad hip. He would not have any thought of it tonight. Veto charged to an early lead, sinking the first three eight balls on his first three tries. It took only 6 innings to secure a 3-0 lead. Things appeared to be well under control. And then, suddenly and without warning, the old white hair mounted her attack! She put together a glorious five ball run-out to win game 4.
'Oh No!' Veto's mind began to race. Had she sensed his acquilles heel: his fear of elderly female pool players? 'Sweet God, NO!' he thought to himself. 'Don't move a muscle! She'll know, SHE'LL KNOW!!'
But the Binks mojo ultimately come to Veto's rescue, and the granny scratched on the eight ball to end the game five. Furious George 4, The Mouse Trap, 0.
Finally, it was the final match of the night. The pairing that everyone had been waiting for and talking about! Creepywhite versa Fast Eddie Hothead, ranked an impressive 7. To say Fast Eddie has a temper would be like saying Bam Bam has a bank shot. It is fast and powerful, unpredictable in all its raging glory. Yes, and one could easily understand why Eddie had reason to be agitated tonight. Things clearly weren't going his team's way, and he now had to face his arch nemesis, Creepywhite. Creepy had already whupped him one, and how could anyone forget? With the last game of that legendary first match at its apex, with Creepy poised to tap in an easy shot on the eight ball for the win, Fast Eddie suddenly exploded, sending pool balls flying and F-bombs sailing. Cleary, our hero had worked his way into Eddie's psyche under his skin. He forfeighted with little honor left in tact.
At first, it appeared that tonight would be no different. Creepy gained early control and Fast Eddie cursed at balls, candidly telling the 14 to 'Fu@*' iteslf after a close miss in the side pocket. He lashed his cue above the table like a saber, sending his pocket marker into flight with a direct blow. 'That M&M guy went flying off the table like a missle,' said one stunned onlooker. Fast Eddie was boiling over, about to explode! The crowd could sense it, and people began to move away. Slowly at first, and then quicker, with a more urgent pace. One worried patron - some would say a hero - grabbed an old woman's arm and quietly escorted her to safety. She thanked him, and offered to repay him with a homemade fruitcake. Veto moved away from the bench, fearful of the spit and stink that appeared to be coming his way. It was a terrible scene by any standards!
But in the end, by some tragic twist of fate, Fast Eddy prevailed. Creepy took him to his breaking point, and then kindly took his foot off his throat. It was a rare a gift in the end. And perhaps it was for the best. God only knows what kind of fury Eddie would have unleashed on that barfull of her helpless victims. 'Fast Eddy makes Urquhart look like a peacful Buddhist Monk,' commented one Furious George teammate, though he still demanded to remain anonymous.
'It was a strong team effort tonight,' said a strangely content Coach Urquhart afterwards, 'a good team win. We all played with focus, pride, determination, will... I don't see any reason why we won't keep this up.' 'They're just doing what they always do,' commented one sports talk radio host from 1080 The Fan, 'charging up from the middle of the pack and going after a divisional title.'
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