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."
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