The garage door was open at Binks and it was "hot," described Corn Sandwich, "sticky freaking hot." Fans moaned and waved paper fans in front of their faces. Grown men grumbled and cursed. Women tugged at their bras, trying desperately to generate some kind of ventilation.
When seven o'clock rolled around the place was testy and ready for the action to begin. Urquhart sent The Chief out for match one, and he did not disappoint. He cut through the racks like a hot knife through butter, whipping the crowd into a frenzy and demoralizing some poor guy who probably liked pool a lot before Monday night. Pounding the backs of pockets at breakneck speed, The Chief issued an impressive 9 inning, 4-0 sweep.
"I think we found a lead off man," Urquhart reportedly told Larry King afterwards, via their usual late night texting.
On the official record, however, the captain offered a different spin on things.
"Once again," he grumbled to the local press, "Rob played great.... buuuut, he didn't screw up too bad or annoy me, which is a huge let down. I just don't know what to think of this guy yet."
Big Ben followed suite with a quick sweep of his own, looking like the sharp shooting Corn Sandwich of old. It was clear from the outset that his opponent stood very little chance. "He had the old dead eye tonight," admired snooker legend Hurrican Higgins, who flew all the way from Manchester for the match. The old broad hardly knew what hit her, "but it felt like a firm backhand," she later admitted.
Having won the first 7 games of the night, the Georges were poised and ready to strike at the jugular. Urquhart had planned the lineup perfectly, utilizing his personnel with surprising accuracy. He was up 2-0 and ready to unload Creepy and Veto, both in favorable mismatches.
"I'm always somewhat shocked when Urquhart does something right," commented ESPN Pool Analyst Mark Wilson, "but I must say he set the table nicely tonight."
Urquhart's mouth watered. He licked his lips and rubbed his big belly, which was beginning to growl. 'Domination,' he thought to himself, 'complete strategic domination..." He could taste it now and it was savory, like pork chops with whiskey on top.
Sadly however, his dream meal soon turned to a greasy pile of rotten eggs; one the gassy coach would soon hope to forget. Creepy lumbered around the table like a drunken hunter, misfiring at every duck that sat before his eyes. It was an odd sight to behold. Slowly, the Binks mojo began to veer off kilter. Fans and players alike later complained of a strange buzzing sound in their ears, followed by dull headaches and nausea.
"I don't know what happened in there," stated one young entrepreneur who made a killing selling Advil to sick fans, "but Creepy couldn't hit the broad side of a barn tonight. If he had tried to piss, he probably would have missed the toilet."
Fortunately, his opponent responded in kind, and the innings column began to overflow with scratch marks. "My hand was getting pretty tired near the end there," confirmed Mixa, who's eye's were clearly red and agitated. Her arm trembled, and she became unable to control a twitch in her right eye lid. It was a disturbing scene indeed, worse than any detox I have ever witnessed.
"I think it was some kind of flu," replied Veto, when asked about Creepywhite's performance afterwards. He then waved a hand, faked a cough, and ducked into the George's team van for his getaway.
And make no mistake, Veto had plenty of reason to run and hide. He followed Creepy's lackluster performance with a lackluster performance of his own, giving away easy 8 ball after easy 8 ball.... until there was nothing left to give.
Some say it was lack of concentration. Others quietly grumbled that he had lost his fury. One fan speculated that he wasn't drunk enough. Others claimed he was too drunk. Most in attendance, however, continued to rub their temples and rage at Creepywhite for the horrific energy that had hijacked the room.
"I beat myself real good tonight," Veto stated afterwards, "but truth be told the last one was Urquhart's fault. He just had to go and say something nice about my leave on that last 8 ball. What the f&*K did he expect to happen after he went and did that!?"
"He had his chances tonight," Urquhart fumed, when asked if he had indeed thrown Veto into a tailspin with a mid-game mind trick, "and he blew it."
Tied 2-2, and with the mojo humming at an unnoticeably strange frequency, The Georges summoned Blackbeard for the decisive game. Riding into the night on a string of victories, the old sea captain appeared to have his swagger back. He quickly snapped off the first two wins in a race to three, all the while taunting his opponent with hearty songs of victory, and death.
"It felt like an English soccer game in there," said one transfixed onlooker. "The fans were chanting and singing along, hugging each other, smashing pint glasses high above their heads, spitting in the direction of the Piedmont Place reserves; it was pure chaos."
"Arrr, those are me hooligans," Blackbeard beamed with pride.
Fortunately for the local riot squad, our hero fell cold just as his crafty opponent began to heat up. He grew despondent, and threw back mammoth swigs of rum as he watched her run off the next two racks.
Tied at 2-2, the hill hill match quickly turned grim as she worked her way into an easy two ball out. Victory, it seemed, was assured for Piedmont Place.
"Woe is me!" Blackbeard howled towards the western seas, "I been done in by a lady."
The crowd paced and groaned, chain smoking and pointing fingers in the direction of Creepy and Veto, both who sat at the far, lonely end of the bench. "You two lousy bums!" one old lady screamed in disgust. She flicked a cigarette butt at their feet and waved her walking stick in their faces.
And then - just as strangely as it had disappeared - the Binks Mojo flickered and sparkled and stormed back to life. Electricity charged through the room like a furnace blast. "I felt the hair on my testicles stand up," purred Urquhart afterwards, "and I wasn't even in the pool room."
Confirmed Blackbeard's opponent, "my eyes got all blurry and my hands began to tremble ever so slightly. I thought maybe I was having a heart attack, or an orgasm."
She managed to pocket her last solid before the mojo struck like a ton of bricks, leaving her with terrible position against the far rail. "The cue ball should have bounced out a few inches to give her an easy shot at the 8," Creepywhite recapped, "but it hit a lump or something and stuck to the rail like glue."
The tough leave caused her to miss the 8 ball, and Blackbeard snapped back to life. He jumped from his chair and danced a little jig to rally the crowd before chalking his cue and nailing the final 8 ball of the night, salvaging a much needed 3-2 victory for the Georges.
Creepywhite clenched a fist and whispered a heartfelt 'yessss' as the crowd erupted in spontaneous release. Veto bowed his head, clasped his hands, and offered a moment of thanks to the great pool god Earl.
"Blackbeard really picked us up tonight," Veto sighed, "and thank God he did, because I don't think this crowd would have me out alive. Though in my defense, if anyone deserves mob justice its Creepy."
"Sure its a win," Urquhart bellyached after the match, "but I'm not happy with the way we finished tonight. It should have been 5-0 or 4-1 at least." He slammed down an empty whiskey glass, threw his head back and spit. "I soooo hate Veto and Creepy right now."
Despite the missed chances and lost opportunities, back to back wins have thrust the Georges into the thick of the race, and electrified a sleeping neighborhood.
"It looks like its going to be a dog fight in the NOPO division," commented Bob Costas, who was seen leaving the bar with a team of body guards and three beautiful women, "but then again, what else is new?"
Next up for the Georges: a big test on the road against The Mouse Trap. "Sweet," beamed Corn Sandwich, "I love that place!"
In other news, Captain Urquhart shocked friends and foes alike by shaving his trademark goatee before this week's match. While some in the media have speculated that he did so over a bet involving a bottle of whiskey, the fiery FGPP leader remains adamant that his reason was much more philanthropic: to raise awareness for a favored support group, The AWTLUL (Americans With Tiny Little Upper Lips).
"See," commented his press secretary via a Tuesday morning email, "he really does care."
