GEORGES FIND A LEAD OFF MAN... REBOUND AT PIEDMONT PLACE... RIDE SWEEPS BY WEIGHLUM, VETO AND MIXA TO 3-2 VICTORY

Behind an explosive barrage of shock and awe that would have made Dick Cheney and Don Rumsfeld proud, Furious George stunned Piedmont Place and jumped out to an insurmountable lead on Monday night. Weighlum, Veto and Mixa all swept their opponents in convincing fashion, winning the first 11 games of the night.

Weighlum set the tone with a quick 4-0 victory. He was so dominant - so in command of his craft - that he chose, for kicks I would presume, to finish his opponent by nabbing the win and two prestigious awards, all with one swift stroke of the cue. Unthinkable? Perhaps. Impossible? For most, probably. But for Weighlum, on this night, well, he made history without even breaking a sweat. The returning hero - and original passenger aboard the Furious George Express; formerly known as The Battling Bastards of Binks - put an explanation point on his victory by sinking the eight ball on the break in his final game, earning both the sweep certificate and the eight on the break patch.

"Hot SU-EY!," sang one drunken patron. "That Waylon Jennings is one slick dancer! He was slicin' and dicin' and zig zaggin' all over the table out there. Hoo-WEE-damn!"

The home crowd gasped. Piedmont Place's bench groaned. And the Georges swelled with confidence and pride. Finally, they had found their lead off man. No more of the usual match one shenanigans to worry about (such as Veto losing to a 90 year old 3, Creepy forgetting to mark his pocket, or Chewy puking on his shoes).

"At last", sighed Urquhart afterwards, "a true point guard who can set up the offense - and set the tone - without dribbling the goddam ball off his foot."

"Its nice to put down the grocery store vest and pricing gun and pick up cue stick and a pint glass again," said Weighlum during a Tuesday morning phone interview.

Weighlum's Monday night work schedule had been like a prison sentence until recently when - perhaps by the grace of the great pool God Earl - the cosmos aligned, strange energies transpired, and finally - FINALLY! - those evil grocery store pit bosses released their shackles and set him free.

"Its a great, symbolic moment for Binks pool and for all of mankind, really," wrote one keen observer from the Carefree Republic Times, "kind of similar to when Nelson Mandela was released from prison."

Ah yes, free at last, FREE AT LAST!

Urquhart summoned Veto to the table for match two. Fueled by beer and adrenaline, a few cigarettes, and the awesome performance he had just witnessed, Veto rode the wave of momentum to 5-0 win. It took just 10 total innings to beat one of the most feared 4s in NOPO history (at least for Veto, who openly admits his 'issues' with middled aged ladies and white haired grandmas).

"Weighlum's performance really pumped me up," said Veto afterwards. "Suck at that one Burt."

Mixa jumped to attention like Demi More from GI Jane when she heard her name called for match three. She carefully picked up her trusty cue Norton, and held his shaft close to her cheek as she whispered sweet, encouraging words to his tip. The pre-game pep talk worked like a charm, and Norton did not let her down. The two worked in tandem like a well oiled machine, winning 2-0 and extending the George's streak of sweeps to 3.

More importantly, Mixa had assured a team victory at Piedmont Place. The Georges were up 3-0, and had won the first 11 games of the night. It was as dominant of a three game stretch as any team could ever hope for. Even Urquhart seemed, well... slightly happy, sort of.

Sensing Urquhart's equilibrium was skewing dangerously out of whack, the pool gods had no choice but to step in and intervene. During the next match, sadly, Numero Uno became their sacrificial lamb. Inexplicably - so it seemed - he struggled with bad breaks, tough rolls, and untimely scratches.

Just as the gods had expected, Uno's poor play did the trick. Urquhart clenched his teeth. His face turned from a tan brown to a burnt red. Blood vessels began to pop and crackle in his head, triggering hideous flame-ups from dormant blood blisters. His head was like a volcano waiting to erupt. The vein in his neck bulged. He scratched dry skin from his scalp and laced his vocabulary with awful profanities. Spit flew from his nostrils and his eyes glared. The gods smiled. A balance between optimism and fury had once again been restored to the team. They had pulled Urquhart's strings like a puppeteer, and sent a powerful message to the team - yet again - through their captain's fury.

Numero Uno went down in flames but, for the moment, a brief sense of humility returned to their swelling heads.

"Up 3-1, the fiery Captain sent himself up for the final match. Piedmont Place had to recall a player, so he squared off against the same old hag who had just taken down Uno. The gods smiled upon this fitting twist of fate. They sat neutral, and let the match turn to a blood bath of epic proportions.

It was a classic battle of guts and brawn. Urquhart, surprisingly sober and present, quickly found himself down 0-1. Then in game two he summoned one of the best runs of his career. With his opponent down to the eight ball - which hung like low lying fruit in the corner pocket - Urquhart stared down his six remaining balls. Defense was not an option, he realized, so he did the unthinkable: he went offensive.

Urquhart prowled around the table like a beast over her prey. He took his time and stayed in rhythm, calmly eyeing down each shot; and then executing with perfection. His stroke was true, his leaves were impeccable, and his desire to close never wavered. He ran out the table and the Georges were once again flying high.

"Wow," raved Veto, "he really can play an offensive game. It was a glorious display, a true sight to behold."

The team erupted in support and Urquhart forged on, eventually pushing the match to a scintillating hill-hill finale. What ensued was one of the toughest table layouts in APA history. "It was the dog gone craziest thing I eva' seen in ALL my years," said 87 year old Quick Fire Perkins, best known for his backroom hustles and trick shot shows on the Oklahoma circuit.

The eight ball hung next to the corner pocket, and four balls - two stripes and two solids - clung to it like a pack of wet snowballs on a freezing day. A defensive battle was inevitable, which normally plays right into Urquhart's hands. But something inside of his head had gone terribly awry by this point. Perhaps that beautiful run out in game two had caused him to go 'offensive minded', and he had forgotten how to bring the famous Urquhart D when he needed it.

The cat and mouse duel went on for innings, but it seemed like hours. Starvation and dehydration eventually set in and began to play funny tricks on their minds. Uquhart swatted at the tension in the air, like a cow swatting away flies with this tail! He stumbled around and began to sweat profusely. There were no easy moves. No safe plays. Madness was taking hold.

Then, like a peace offering from the gods, he was given a gift. He was down to the eight ball and had no makeable shot, but the setup was custom made for his patented brand of sneaky D; and then an easy kill. After a timeout and some coaching advice by Veto (Urquhart's first mistake), he stood over the shot and did the unthinkable: he needlessly hit his opponent's ball and mangled his golden opportunity, handing over ball in hand and essentially gift wrapping the win for Gimme (Yes, that is her nickname. Insert your own Urquhart joke here).

"Veto's plan during the timeout was solid," confirmed a surprisingly humble Urquhart afterwards, "but the execution was piss poor. God damnit," he sneered, after a brief moment of reflective silence, "somebody get me a whiskey before I snap!""

"Gimme was tough tonight," admired Veto, scratching at the fuzz on his chin. "She took down Uno and Urquhart, back to back, which is no small task. I do believe a new nemesis has been born."

In the end, the Georges got their three wins and remain in a two way tie for first place. Next week the schedule brings them back to Binks, where the garage door will be open, the beer will flow fast and cold, and the rejuvenated fans will probably end up spilling onto Alberta Street in wild, drunken hysteria."

"Ah yes," smiled Weighlum, "its good to be back."

RELAPSE! FURIOUS GEORGE FALLS TO CORNER SPOT PLAYERS IN HOME OPENER

Coming off of an impressive 4-1 victory at the Kenton Club, Furious George suffered a terrible let down in their Summer session home opener, falling 2-3 to the Corner Spot Players.

Said Veto, "I wasn't there, but my guess is the coaching was to blame."

Numero Uno and Mixa fell in quick succession to start the night. "We missed last week's match due to our anniversary," confirmed Uno afterwards, "so we were a little rusty. This is mostly due to the fact that we stayed in bed all week making sweet, sweet love."

Urquhart raged. "No practice? NO PRACTICE?!! That is completely unacceptable. Just because I never practice doesn't give the rest of these peons the right to slack. God damnit, GET OUT AND PRACTICE! No more love making, do you hear me? If I don't get to have any sex, none of you do!"

Waylund and Urquhart battled back valiantly, winning the next two matches and evening things up at two matches a piece. For a moment, the excitement at Binks reached a fevered pitch. Women screamed. Old men yodeled. A bartender pulled up her shirt, exposing her glorious tattooed breasts to the team.

"I didn't look," said Urquhart, "because I'm gay."

But in the end it was not meant to be. Blackbeard, while an expert at raping and pillaging and creating all sorts of general pirate-like havoc on the high seas, could not muster up the strength to beat a three with the match on the line.

"Arrr," he said afterwards, despondently. "I deserve to walk me own plank."

"It was a swell comeback," sighed Creepywhite, "at least while it lasted."

"Am I pissed?" asked Urquhart at his post game press conference. "You bet your ass I am. I'm pissed at Dave and Mixa for losing, I'm pissed at Blackbeard for losing, I'm pissed at Creepy for annoying me, I'm pissed at Chewy for having better hair than I do, and I'm pissed at Veto because, well, mostly because I just really hate that guy."

"I guess we better rebound next week," commented Chewy, "or coach is going to be pissed."

Next up for the Georges: Piedmont Place.

AMBUSH AT THE KENTON CLUB! FURIOUS GEORGE IS BACK... FOR THE MOMENT

Sorry friends, but I have been gone for a long while. As my editor likes to say, 'life moves fast for a freelance beat writer'. One day you're covering a high stakes billiards match in Portland, the next day its a horse race in the Tulsa, a tractor drag in West Virginia, or a bass fishing tournament in Florida. It ain't always easy, but times are tough and the recession is on, so what can a poor man do except pack a typewriter in his Lincoln and drive?

Ah, but save your tears for a better story. Old RJ Pinderton is back in high spirits. The layoff between sessions was much needed. It takes a few weeks, after all, to forget about all those terrible beat downs. There were so many. And they were all so painful. It was an awful session indeed. There was bitterness, infighting, anger... and the losses kept coming. The Georges finished a distant memory in the standings, and people around the league began to openly question their condition; mental and otherwise.

But hot dammit, I am here to report that Furious George is back! The summer session began last Monday against their arch rivals, The Kenton Club; where the weather is always grey and the bad blood runs like electricity through the walls. Perhaps these very conditions caused Burt to fire 'The Shot Heard 'Round The NOPO Division' last session when he called out Creepywhite for not marking his pocket on an eight ball; though it was the easiest of all easy hangers, with virtually no chance of error for any player of ANY skill level. His bush-league move tipped the series, and ultimately the match for the Kentonites, who slipped away with a 3-2 win.

Urquhart was furious for months. He paced around the house in a tattered bath robe, mumbling and sneering about those low down suns a bitches and their dirty tricks. "Burt thinks he can play us for fools?" he would snarl at himself. He pulled at his chest hair and spit as he screamed profanities. God forbid he caught a passing glance of himself in a mirror. Many ended up smashed to pieces on the ground. It was a terrible scene, by all neighborly accounts. He once put a whiskey bottle through a picture frame while an innocent girl scout stood on his front porch with a wagon full of cookies; petrified, frozen with terror.

Upon setting his eyes on the Summer schedule, his feelings of pent up anger suddenly changed. Urquhart's psyche shifted a few degrees to the north and the fury slowly turned to determination. Some say he was on a quest for redemption. Others say it was revenge.

Said Urquhart, "When I found out we were opening at the Kenton Club, I was like, 'oh-my-god, I so want to kill these guys'. Okay, so how am I gonna get these id-iots on my team to (1) show up on time, (2) not screw it up, and (3) not annoy me while I get drunk?"

"The fury runs deep," confirmed Veto afterwards. "I think its safe to say that the old codger wanted this one bad. Real bad."

The Georges rolled into the pub and received the Kenton Club's usual brand of icy cold hospitality. No words were uttered, no pleasantries of any kind exchanged. Both teams wanted nothing more than to screw their cues together and get down to business.

For the Georges, it was the business payback.

From the opening match, their was little doubt about who was in control. With a flurry of body blows and daunting jabs, the Georges jumped out to a convincing 4-0 lead. Blackbeard, Creepy, Veto and Urquhart all won in succession. Each showcased impressive moments, took advantage when opportunities presented themselves, and sealed their wins. It wasn't always perfect, nor pretty, but it was never really in doubt either.

Burt fumed, silently. The night had turned into a nightmare of epic proportions. When Willie jumped out to a 3-0 lead in match one, he instinctively knew that it was going to be long night. Creepy stepped up next and gave their ringer - and highest ranked player - a bad case of whiplash. The Kentonites were down 0-2 and there was little hope in sight. When Burt sent up a 4 to play Veto , the room was stunned. Everyone thought for sure he would put up himself - a five - to avenge the 1-5 thrashing Veto gave him the last time they played. But Burt wanted no part of Veto on this night. He later claimed the '23 rule' as his defense, stating, "I had no choice, other than to sack up and play Veto, and then forfeit the last match. We were down 0-3 so some would say, 'what the hell, why not? Be a man Burt.' But I tugged on my lip ring and thought about it, and ultimately chose to take the cautious route."

Afterwards, when the stunned crowd had dissipated and the last reporter had packed away his camera, Burt approached Veto and said, "When did you go up to a six, at the end of last session? Hmm. I think you played better as a 5."

Class move Burt, class move. When asked about the incident afterwards, Veto responded, "It just confirms why we were so motivated to embarrass them on their home table tonight. But I'll give Burt one thing, he is a bold dude to make a statement like, especially after the beating I gave him last time we played. I just have one question: if I'm a 5 by his standards, what does that make him, a weak 4 or a strong 3?"

Said Urquhart of the team's win, "Its about time these guys started a session the way I told them too. And its about time the Kenton Club got the bitch slapping they deserved." When asked about the prospects of success for the Summer session, he replied, "Just win three. That is our new battle cry. If we win at least three matches each week - which we all know we can do - you'll be seeing us in Tri Cups."

Ah yes, the passion is back. The fury has returned. And the bitter rivalry with the Kentonites continues. All in all, it was a great opening night. Much better than a chili cook off in Tuscaloosa or a strong man competition in Milwaukee, I can tell you that.

The Georges came and they conquered, reminding us all along the way of the spirit and tenacity they once entranced the masses. And, in the end, they left with a blunt statement plastered right upon the Kentonites wall: 'we're back, and the summer session is ours to win.'