The Kickball Diaries

Providence Kickball: The Weekend of Kickball Insanity
By Raoul Duke - PKL New York Field Office

This is it: The culmination of our Collective Hopes and Dreams; An
Entire Season Decided; One Last Chance for Honor, Glory, God and
County; A Final Salute to the Sport of Kings; A Fever Pitch Whirlwind
of Athleticism and Alcoholism; A Vulgar Display of Raw Hedonism and
Depravity. Something far, far better than the Super Bowl, the World
Series and the Cranston Inner City Bocce Finals all rolled into one.
This is the Absolute Pinnacle of Semi-Organized Sport. Face Your
Demons Providence: This is the Weekend of Kickball Insanity.

Day One: Saturday August 13, 2005

Game One: Liberty Division Wild Card - Dynamite Pubcrawlers vs.
BSRmadillos
The Liberty Division Wild Card Game was a rematch of Last Week’s
Game between the Dynamite Pubcralwers and BSRmadillos. And let’s
be honest: That Game was pretty boring and no one had Uniforms. So I
did what was any self-respecting Kickball Journalist would do under
those circumstances. I began to drink - heavily.

Now I’d like to tell you about the back and forth Kickball Action; the
Precision Kicking and Heads-Up Defense; the Human Drama that unfolded
on the Field as these two Teams battled it out for a trip to the
Liberty Division Championship.

But I can’t. By the time the Players took the field, I was totally
and completely shit-housed. The entire Game was One Big Blackout.
The last thing I remember was looking at the Dynamite Pubcrawlers New
Uniforms - White T-Shirts with Duct Tape Logos - and thinking: That is
Kickball at its Finest! And after that: Nothing. I think Mad Dog
asked me to join “Mad Dog’s Wolf Pack” in 2006. I think Pedro may
have asked me to join NAMBLA. But that’s it. And then - just like
that - the Game was over. Final Score: Dynamite Pubcrawlers 9 -
BSRmadillos 7.

Game Two: Freedumb Division Wild Card - Sharks v. Jets vs. Trauma
Center
Just as Game Two was about to begin, I heard the awful wail of a siren
as the Doctors and Nurses of Trauma Center - their faces grim, somber,
devastated; covered in sweat and blood - slowly wheeled a Gurney on
the Kickball Field. But this was not a rush to the E.R., this was a
Death March. The crowed gaped in horror as the Staff of Trauma Center
carted Adam “Cold War” Boretz to the Hospital Morgue.

“Why? Why? A thousand times why?” screamed Bad Nurse, shaking her
fist at the Heavens. “What more could we have done?”

“We tired everything - everything and then some” said Head
Gynecologist Jed Arkley as tears streaked down his broken face. “We
just couldn’t save this one. We can’t save them all.”

“The Hell we can’t,” said Head Surgeon/Team Captain Jason “Death Foot”
Pontius, pulling a Beer Bong from his Medical Bag. “I’ve got an idea.
Does anyone have a Narragansett? Goddamn it. I need a Narragansett.
Someone get me a Tall Boy - STAT.”

The Crowd was silent. Everyone stared - frozen with fear and hope -
as Dr. Naughty poured the Tall Boy into the Beer Bong. And then I
watched as the sweet amber liquid was sucked into Cold War’s lifeless
body. At first: Nothing. Then: a twitching in the fingertips; some
small, flickering movement in the legs; and suddenly Cold War was on
his feet tearing around the Aldo Frado Ballpark - reborn thanks to the
Marriage of Modern Medicine and Cheap Beer.

After that, I was sure that the Freedumb Division Wild Card Game had
all the makings of a Classic Battle for everything right and true in
the National Character. Trauma Center against the Expansion Team
Sharks v. Jets in a terrible clash for a trip to the Division
Championship. And I had bet a bundle on the Veteran Trauma Center -
led by Death Foot and Hall of Fame First Baseman Arkley - to trounce
the Rookie Sharks v. Jets. [ed note: Arkley was inducted into the Hall
of Fame before the Game and honored with a 21 Kickball Salute � the
PKL’s Most Prestigious Tribute. Arkley is the first Player to be
inducted into the PKL Hall of Fame.]

But wait. As I looked out onto the field, it appeared that Trauma
Center had lost several key Players - Doctors and Nurses whose
Residencies were completed; Candy Stripers and Interns who crumbled
under the incredible Life and Death Pressure of a Career in Modern
Medicine. I phoned my Attorney at once:

“What the Hell happened to Trauma Center?” I shouted. “Where’s the
Angel of Death? Where’s the Latex Warrior? This Team is doomed.”

“You idiot - didn’t you get my Telegram?” he said. “Don’t worry.
Trauma Center’s Head Office has been recruiting the best and brightest
Surgeons and Nurses from all over New England. They’ll field a Team.”

I hung up, sat back on the Grassy Knoll and pounded a Tall Boy as the
Game got underway. And as Death Foot strode confidently onto the
Field, one thing became abundantly clear: This wasn’t going to be a
Game. This was going to be an Ass-Kicking of Epic Proportion. He
smiled a strange, distant smile and then - just like that - Trauma
Center exploded all over the Aldo Frado Ballpark. Doctors and Nurses
scored run after run after run and kept Sharks v. Jets at bay with
Tight, Heads-Up Defense. And with each Inning, Trauma Center turned
up the Heat, led by Resident Podiatrist/NLPOTW Doug Ganey who powered
his Team to Victory with Multiple Home Runs in one of the most
lopsided Games in PKL History. Final Score: Trauma Center 28 - Sharks
v. Jets 5.

Game Three: The Degenerate Cup - Decatur Defenders vs. Daggers United
This Game was basically a terrible battle between Providence’s Most
Foul and Despicable Lowlifes. Drunks vs. Other Drunks. Burglars vs.
Thieves. Murderers vs. Rapists. Pedophiles vs. Serial Killers.
Stalin vs. Pol Pot. Mad Dog and Pedro vs. Dagger Lee and Wolverine.
The Decatur Defenders vs. Daggers United. Make no mistake: This was
going to be very, very ugly. That’s right. This was going to be the
Very Essence of Kickball.

And so the Players took the Field - drunk, armed, belligerent; ready
to taste blood and pound beer; to murder and cripple and maim. And -
Sweet Jesus - this Game didn’t even begin with a Coin Toss; it began
with Shot-Gunning Beers on the Pitcher’s Mound. The Crowd gaped in
Horror, waiting for the Inevitable Bloodbath. And then: Zang!

Nudity. Violence. Gore. Hate. Explosions. Beer. More Beer.
Fight after Fight after Fight. Lust. Greed. Pride. Sloth. This
Game delivered the Very Best from All Seven Deadly Sins. And when the
dust settled and the Dead were carted from the Field, the Decatur
Defenders had proven - once and for all - that they are by far the
Biggest Bunch of Sleaze-Bag Degenerates in all of Providence. Final
Score: Decatur Defenders 4 � Daggers United 3.

Day Two: Sunday August 14, 2005 (The Lord’s Day)

Game One: Liberty Division Championship - Cunning, Baffling, Powerful
vs. Dynamite Pubcralwers
Let’s get one thing straight about the Liberty Division Championship:
The Stakes were Sky Fucking High: Win and advance to The Championship
of the World. Lose and KILL YOURSELF. The tension was palpable - the
Veteran Cunning, Baffling, Powerful vs. the Expansion Team Dynamite
Pubcrawlers in one last Liberty Division Battle. An entire Season
decided in Five Short Innings of Kickball. And as the Players took
the Field, I knew we were about to bear witness to Classic,
Fundamental, Textbook Kickball.

Before a Sellout Crowd at the Aldo Frado Ballpark, the Game got
underway with both Teams battling back and forth with tight defense,
heads-up base running and timely kicking. And after Four Nail-Biting,
Barn-Burning Innings, the Game was tied. And it all came down to this
One Moment in Sport.

The Season was on the line. Cunning, Baffling, Powerful was at the
Plate. Dynamite Pubcrawlers were in the Field. The pressure was
intense. The bases were loaded. And then one word; three letters;
the Man, the Myth, the Legend: jHo. He strode to the Plate and gazed
out at the Field. This was it. One last chance for Honor and Glory.
One last chance for a shot at the Stephan T. Olney Cup.

The pitch rolled fast and tight toward Home Plate. jHo’s foot made
contact with the ball. There was a terrible explosion. And then all
Time stood still. I watched as the ball soared higher and higher and
higher toward deep Center Field. And then - like a Smart Bomb
carrying with it Kickball Shock and Awe - the ball dropped in with
Lazar-Like Precision. Everyone one was running; the Crowd was
screaming; dust filled the air. It was madness in every direction.
And as the Aldo Frado Ball Park erupted into Chaos, I watched as jHo
rounded First Base, Second Base, Third Base and finally crossed Home
Plate. Perhaps Color Commentator Stan McNabb put it best when he
said: “Holy Shit. That was a fucking GRAND SLAM!”

After that, Cunning, Baffling, Powerful was unstoppable. They scored
Twelve Runs in the Fifth and propelledthemselves to the Championship
of the World. Final Score: Cunning, Baffling, Powerful 16 - Dynamite
Pubcrawlers 5.

Game Two: Freedumb Division Championship - Trauma Center vs. Guerilla
Gardeners
Let’s be Honest: The Freedumb Division Championship amounted to an
Awful Suicide Mission. It was Kickball Hari-Kari. An opportunity to
lose to Rich “Green Lightening” Pearson, NLPOTW Chris Ackley and the
rest of the Guerilla Gardeners. All I can say is Pray for Quick
Death. The Guerilla Gardeners were a Team that was Undefeated in the
Regular Season. A Team that had lost only Two Games in Three Years.
A Team that won the 2003 Championship of the World. A Team that was -
at all times - totally and completely Fucking Stoned on “Dank Nugs.”
Trauma Center vs. Guerilla Gardeners? This wasn’t a Kickball Game - it
was a Death Trap. And everyone knew it.

But wait. There is a Storied Rivalry between these two Kickball
Franchises. The last Team to beat the Guerilla Gardeners in the
Regular Season was The Uniballers. [ed. note: The Hellrazors beat the
Guerilla Gardeners in the 2004 Post Season. However, most of the Core
Gardener Players were at the Fucking NOFA Conference and missed that
Game. In their stead, the Guerilla Gardener Head Office sent a
Rag-Tag Practice Squad comprised mainly of Street Urchins, Junkies and
the Elderly, forever casting a Shadow of Doubt on the legitimacy of
the 2004 Post-Season. Some Kickball Historians, therefore, argue that
the last and only Team to REALLY beat the Guerilla Gardeners in was
the 2003 Uniballers.] And Holy Mother of Christ, several
Ex-Uniballers � including Team Captain Jason “Death Foot” Pontius,
NLPOTW Doug Ganey and Adam “Cold War” Boretz � were all taking the
Field for Trauma Center. Could Death Foot do it again? Could he lead
Trauma Center to Victory? Could he possibly beat the Guerilla
Gardeners one more time?

As the Game got underway, both Teams came out swinging. It was a
clash of Doctors and Nurses against Dirty Hippies and Other Dirty
Hippies in a mad race forthe Championship of the World. This was Immortal
Kickball - two Proud Franchises matching wits in a Kickball Fundamentals Chess
Match. This Game would be won the Old Fashioned Way: via
precision-run-producing-kicking, balls-out base running and rock-solid
defense.

The Crowd looked on in awe - hypnotized by the Stunning Offense and
Stifling Defense of both Teams. But there can be Only One. And this
was a day that - from the very beginning - belonged to Trauma Center.
In the end, Death Foot and Trauma Center powered their way to the
Upset of the Century and beat the Guerilla Gardeners in one of the
Finest, Most Well-Played Games in the History of the PKL. Final
Score: Trauma Center 12 - Guerilla Gardeners 7.

Game Three: The Festival of Losers - Word Nerds vs. Bike Panthers
The Festival of Losers was - as it has always been and will always be
- a battle between Sucks-A-Lot and Sucks-A-Lot in a Final Sucks-A-Lot
Showdown to determine Who Sucks-The-Most. The Word Nerds vs. The Bike
Panthers fighting it out in a bungling, wretched, piss-poor Showdown
of Kickball Ineptitude.

This Year, the Kickball Kommission had instituted New Rules in order
to preserve the Sanctity of the F.O.L and Vincent A. Cianci Cup: Both
Teams would start with twenty-nine runs and would lose a run every
time they scored a run so that the Team that scored the most runs would
win but appear - based on the Box Score - to have lost, thus indicating
just how fucking bad they really were. Clearly this was Classic
Kickball.

And so the Word Nerds - with a Daggers United Phalanx in their Dugout
- and the Bike Panthers took the Field. Balls were dropped; people
fouled out; base running errors were committed; confusion and
incompetence reigned supreme. And just when I thought it couldn’t get
any worse - it did.

Daggers United stormed onto the Field, chasing down Shirtless Ray in
an effort to force him to WEAR A SHIRT. This could have been pretty
entertaining. But instead, feelings and ankles were hurt and
everything turned sour. What follows is an excerpt from a Screenplay
Version of the Events between Shirtless Ray and Daggers United titled “Of
Kickball Mice and Men” or “Why Daggers United Doesn’t Play Well With
Others.”

Daggers United: Hey. Look at the Pretty Bunnies. Let’s play with
the Pretty Bunnies. They’re so soft and cute and cuddly. We just
want to pet the Pretty Bunnies.

Other Teams/Pretty Bunnies: Um - hey. Wait a minute. That kind of
hurts. I think you’re crushing our Lungs. Wait. Hold on. Please
stop. You’re hurting us.

Daggers United: The Pretty Bunnies are soooooo soft and soooooo cute.
Let’s stroke them.

Kickball Kommission: You’re hurting the Pretty Bunnies. Please stop
it. Look, you’re crushing the Pretty Bunnies.

Daggers United: We love the Pretty Bunnies.

Other Teams/Pretty Bunnies: Stop. We can’t breathe. Help. Help.

Daggers United: Why are the Pretty Bunnies laying in a heap and not
moving? What happened? We don’t understand. We just wanted to play
with the Pretty Bunnies.

Kickball Kommission: For the Love of Christ, stop killing the Pretty
Bunnies.

END SCENE

And so after a lot more General Incompetence, the Bike Panthers “won”
the Festival of Losers. Final Score: Bike Panthers 19 - Word Nerds
26.

Game Four: The Championship of the World - Cunning, Baffling,
Powerful vs. Trauma Center
Sit down, shut up and hold on for Dear Life. This is it. The
Greatest Moment in the World of Semi-Organized Sport: A terrible Jihad
between the Forces of Freedumb and the Forces of Liberty. A Final
Showdown for the Kickball Supremacy. One Last Battle for the Stephan
T. Olney Cup. Trauma Center vs. Cunning, Baffling, Powerful in the
Championship of the World.

As the Players took the Field, one thing was clear: The Game was too
close to call. This was the Absolute Cream of the Providence Kickball
League, fighting it out in the Last Game of the Season - a Classic
Match-Up between Two Veteran Squads. Make no mistake about it: This
was Kickball at its Finest!

And from the First Pitch, the Capacity Crowd at the Aldo Frado
Ballpark was treated to a Classic Example of Textbook Kickball:
Tenacious Defense; Timely, Precise, Powerful Kicking; and Heads-Up
Base Running - the likes of which only comes with Experience, Practice
and Discipline.

Both Teams kicked the Long Ball; they blooped Singles and Doubles into
the Outfield; they put Runners in Scoring Position with Precision
Bunting. Both Teams burned around the Bases; they turned Singles into
Doubles; they stretched Doubles into Triples. And Both Teams made
spectacular catches in the Outfield; ran down Grounders and played
Tight Defense. And for a while, it looked like these two Squads might
just battle back and forth forever.

But in the end, it was Cunning, Baffling Powerful - led by
Narragansett Lager Playoff Most Valuable Player (NLPMVP) jHo - that
pulled away for the win. Simply put: Cunning, Baffling, Powerful was
just Too Good. They were a Team of Destiny and they could not be
denied. And in winning the Olney Cup, Cunning, Baffling, Powerful
established themselves as one of the Most Successful Teams in PKL
History and the Only Team to ever be Undefeated in the Regular Season
and Win the Championship of the World. Final Score: Cunning,
Baffling, Powerful 12 - Trauma Center 8.

And so ended the Fourth and Finest Season of the Providence Kickball
League. The Sun dipped into the Bowels of Olneyville. Heat Lightning
flashed against the gray sky. A hot wind blew across the Field. And
as the Players left the Aldo Frado Ballpark, I sat back on the Grassy
Knoll with One Last Tall Boy. And in that moment, I felt secure in
the knowledge that all of us had given rise to something larger and
more important than ourselves; to something pure and decent and right.
It was that Fleeting Comprehension of Life - a conscious recognition
of being right here-right now in a very special moment in time.

Tomorrow all of us will go back to our Jobs and Wives and Children and
Husbands; Mad Dog will go back to Butler Hospital; Daggers United will
go back to Jail; Pedro will go back to trolling the Middle Schools.
We will take out the trash and walk the dog and wash the dishes. But
all the while, we will be waiting � waiting for Next Summer when
Kickball finally returns to Providence.

Providence Kickball Week Eight: A Novel
By Raoul Duke - PKL New York Field Office

Prologue
Holy Mother Fucking Shit! Wait. Let me say it again for all of us:

HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT!!

Never before in the World of Semi-Organized Sport, witnessed a frenzied, deranged, atavistic spectacle on par with the Providence Kickball League’s Eighth and Final Week. It was beyond comprehension; beyond the limits of decency; beyond the scope of rational thought. This was the Crucifixion, Hiroshima, Watergate, the Metallica/Guns N’ Roses Stadium Tour and Kevin Costner’s “Water World” all rolled into one.

Don’t fucking fool yourselves people: This was the Kickball Apocalypse.

Chapter One: Trauma Center (2-2) vs. Sharks v. Jets (3-1)
Game One was a race to the Playoffs. A must win for both Trauma Center and Sharks v. Jets. Two Seasons culminating in one, tenuous moment in Sport; a lifetime of hopes and dreams decided on a dusty Kickball Field on the West Side of Providence.

As the Players took the Field, I knew one thing was clear: Kickball Zen Master Jason “Deathfoot” Pontius would raise the Collective Consciousness of Trauma Center to new heights of Athletic and Alcoholic Splendor. This was a Team that would not - nay could not - be denied. My money was on Trauma Center to trounce the Expansion Team Sharks v. Jets and secure a Freedumb Division Wild Card Berth and a shot at the Stephan T. Olney Cup.

But wait. Maybe not.

In a move destined to shake the Kickball World to its very foundations, Sharks v. Jets had signed Mad Dog and Pedro to a One-Game-Contract. [ed. note: A Source in the Sharks v. Jets Head Office, speaking on a condition of anonymity, revealed the sordid details of the One-Game-Contract: Mad Dog received an All-Expenses Paid Visit to Rhode Island Hospital; Pedro received the address of Brenda, a local Middle School Girl with Low Self-Esteem.] It was a foul, baffling and possibly illegal move. This was Kickball Brinkmanship at its Most Perverse. And as Mad Dog and Pedro swaggered onto the Field, it was anybody’s Game.

The Game got underway and Trauma Center took control early with timely kicking, heads-up base running and tight defense, led by Head Gynecologist Jed Arkley and The Latex Warrior. Inning after inning rushed past as Trauma Center put on a Defensive Clinic. And looking out at the Field, I knew that this was no longer a Kickball Game. This was Death Valley.

Sharks v. Jets were stunned; their eyes wet and wide with Fear. There was nothing they could do - and they knew it. And even as Mad Dog castrated himself on the Pitcher’s Mound and Pedro fantasized about the sweet caress of an Unborn Child, one thing was undeniable: Trauma Center was headed to the Playoffs. Final Score: Trauma Center 11 - Sharks v. Jets 5.

Chapter Two: Guerilla Gardeners (4-0) vs. Word Nerds (0-4)
Game Two had all the makings of a terrible, lopsided, bloody Liberty Division Ass Pounding. This was a battle of the Undefeated vs. the Defeated. The U.S. Military vs. the Military-Of-Some-Poor-Oil-Rich-Third-World-Nation-That-Is-Armed-Mainly-With-Slingshots- And-Where-Most-Of-The-Population-Doesn’t-Have-Indoor-Plumbing-And/Or-Running-Water. Clearly a Classic Showdown for everything Right and True in the National Character. And I think I speak for all of us when I say: God Bless America.

As the Game got underway, it was pretty clear that The Guerilla Gardeners and their Kickball Machine were going to fucking throttle the Word Nerds. This was going to be very, very ugly and everyone knew it. But as the Word Nerds took the Field, they appeared calm, peaceful. This was a Team that had accepted its Fate. Kickball Death was coming for the Word Nerds. But they would not struggle. They would simply surrender to the inevitable [read: not try at all].

And so the Guerilla Gardeners devoured the Word Nerds like a pack of Wild Dogs [read: got wicked fucking stoned]. And as for the Word Nerds? They slipped quietly into the darkness. They didn’t have a Center Fielder. They read books in the Infield. Right Fielder Lee Burman didn’t try to catch the ball - he just punched at it, staggered backward and expired in the hot sun.

It was a sad, despicable, butchering of epic proportion - and Sweet Jesus it was only the Second Inning. Something had to be done. Someone had to stop the insanity. And so Head Umpire Jesse von Doom pounded a Narragansett Tall Boy and took matters into his own hands. I looked up at the Scoreboard and suddenly, mercifully it was the Bottom of Fifth Inning. With the Laws of Time and Space rendered impotent, the awful slaughter that was Game Two ended and the Dead were carted from the Field. Final Score: Guerilla Gardeners 15 - Word Nerds 2.

Chapter Three: Decatur Defenders (1-3) vs. Productivists (2-2)
Game Two was the Last Chance for Productivists: Win and maybe - depending on the Freedumb Division Wild Card Points Scored Differential - secure a Wild Card Berth. Lose and GO HOME AND CRY YOURSELVES TO SLEEP. The Stakes were high. The challenge great: Defeat Mad Dog, Pedro and the rest of the Decatur Defenders. Not an easy task. And to make matters worse, it was Decatur Bartender/Utility Infielder Pete Burr’s Birthday. A Kickball Event that meant only one thing: The Decatur Defenders were Totally-Completely-Utterly-Black-Out-And-French-Kiss-Your-Sister-On-Christmas-Eve-Drunk.

As the Players took the Field, I knew the Decatur Defenders had all the momentum. They were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave of Narragansett Lager. And as they tossed Jager and Heineken Swag into the Crowd; pounded Tall Boys; and hooted, it was clear that we were about to witness an unprecedented Display of Kickball Bacchanalia.

Make no mistake about it: The Productivists were doomed. And they knew it. I could see the desperation in their eyes. It was Fight or Flight Time. And the Productivists chose to fight � to battle it out one last time for Pinko Commie Hippies everywhere. The Game was close. The pressure was incredible. And just when it looked like the Productivists might mount a comeback, the Defenders put the final Nail in the Coffin.

Pete Burr strode to the Plate. It was his Birthday. He was wasted. His Team was winning. And � under the circumstances - he did what was required of any self-respecting Kickball Player: He tossed his Birthday Crown into the dirt and charged the Mound. Both Dugouts emptied as the Field exploded into a terrible, beer-soaked, bench-clearing brawl. Head Umpire Jesse von Doom sighed, pounded another Tall Boy and watched the madness � it was anarchy; all semblance of control was lost. In short: This was Classic Kickball.

After that, the Defenders were pretty much unstoppable. Mad Dog proved once and for all that - yes - he does in fact have Munchausen�s Syndrome: He slid head-first into every base/fence/car/cactus/wall/etc. He ate Spoiled Mayonnaise. He broke his nose. He gave himself a Tracheotomy. He contracted SARS. He kidnapped himself; rubbed lotion on his skin; made a Woman Suit from his flesh; and stuck a Rare Dung Beetle down his throat.

And so the Decatur Defenders won the Game, ending the Productivists�s Season, stumbling around the Infield and dumping a cooler of Ice Water on Pete Burr. Happy Birthday Pete! Final Score: Decatur Defenders 5 � Productivists 2.

Chapter Four: Bike Panthers (0-4) vs. KEVIN (0-4)
Game Four was a counter-intuitive, enigmatic, mad dash for the Liberty Division Festival of Losers Playoff Berth. Both Teams were terrible � that much was clear. But everything else was sheer, unadulterated Kickball Insanity. The stakes were sky high: Win and go home. Loose and move onto to the Post Season. And as the Players took the Field, I knew they would have to make the Ultimate Kickball Decision: To Play for Pride or to Play for the Post Season.

But wait. There�s more. For a moment, contemplate this Age Old Kickball Conundrum: If everything you have done all Season in an effort to win has resulted in loss after loss and you need to lose in order to go to the Post-Season, do you try to win assuming that you will � as history dictates - lose or do you try to lose and run the risk that your efforts - all of which have previously failed to this point - to lose with somehow inexplicably result in a win?

It was Madness in every direction. Total Kickball Lunacy.

As they Game got underway, both Teams were definitely playing for Pride. KEVIN roared out of the gates, scoring early and often to take an early lead. But Shirtless Ray and the Bike Panthers battled back, chipping away at KEVIN�s lead and tying the Game in the Top of the Fifth Inning.

The Bike Panthers took the Field. KEVIN was at the Plate. It all came down to this moment. A chance for redemption - sort of; for honor - kind of; for Glory -in a way but not really if you thing about it logically. A chance to actually WIN a Kickball Game. One last chance for KEVIN to break �The Curse of the Hellrazors.� [ed. note: To this point, KEVIN had not won a game since losing to the Hellrazors in the 2004 Championship of the World, prompting many Kickball Analysts and Players to espouse the theory that KEVIN was in some way �cursed� � perhaps by Carrie Cannon herself. The idea of this �curse� gained popularity during the 2005 Season and became widely referred to as �The Curse of the Hellrazors.�]

This was it: The Final Countdown. A hot breeze blew up from Olneyville. Dust swirled across the Aldo Frado Ballpark. A distant Church Bell cried out to the Heavens. Everyone was silent. All eyes were on the Field. And then - with runners in scoring position and two outs - Tom �KEVIN� Frawley slowly marched to Home Plate. He gazed out at the Bike Panthers � his eyes glassy, almost vacant; devoid of fear or pressure or tension. And I knew he was staring at a Season of Missed Opportunities, Disappointment and Defeat. All of it � the indignity, the humiliation, the sorrow - flashed before him in that moment and suddenly his path was clear.

The pitch came fast and tight. His foot made contact with the ball. There was a terrible explosion at Home Plate. The ball soared over the Infield. I watched as it dropped in for a Single. KEVIN scored and just like that the �The Curse of the Hellrazors� was broken. Tom �KEVIN� Frawley [2-3; 2RKI; 2 Unassisted Double Plays; 1 Game-Winning Kick] was named Narragansett Lager Player of the Week and KEVIN finally tasted the Sweet Nectar of Victory. Final Score KEVIN 10 � Bike Panthers 9.

Chapter Five: Dynamite Pubcrawlers (3-1) vs. BSRmadillos (3-1)
Game Five was perhaps the most boring, unnecessary, useless, terrible, pain-in-the-ass Ordeal in the History of the Providence Kickball League. Simply put: it was an Exercise in Kickball Masturbation. Both Teams � win or lose � were guaranteed Liberty Division Wild Card Berths. And to make matters worse, neither Team - after Seven Consecutive Weeks of Kickball � was able to come up with anything resembling a fucking Team Uniform.

Let�s pause now to say WHAT THE CHRIST? Seriously. What is wrong with you people?

The Game was an incomprehensible muddle of Guys/Girls in Shorts and T-Shirts chasing other Guys/Girls in Shorts and T-Shirts. [ed. note: The BSRmadillos should be given credit for making a Paper Mache Armadillo. Unfortunately, you can�t WEAR a Paper Mache Armadillo.]

Question: How hard is it to come up with a Team Uniform?
Answer: Not very fucking hard.

Here are some suggestions.
BSRmadillos: You�re from Brown University - wear something BROWN; wear Brown University Shirts; wear Alligator Shirts, Dockers, Boat Shoes and Cable Knit Sweaters tied loosely around your shoulders/necks; dress like Armadillos; smear feces on yourselves � anything for the Love of God.

Dynamite Pubcrawlers: Wear the SAME Bar Shirt; dress like Napoleon Dynamite; wear the SAME Napoleon Dynamite Shirt; wrap your team in dynamite and kill yourselves, providing us with a bloody, broken but recognizable mess.

Final Score: BSRmadillos 9 � Dynamite Publcrawlers 3.

Chapter Six: Daggers United (2-2) vs. Cunning, Baffling, Powerful (4-0)
Eight weeks ago - in a Closed Door Meeting at the Decatur Lounge - the Kickball Kommission issued an Executive Order. An Executive Order that would affect the fate of the Providence Kickball League, the State of the Union, and the Future of the Universe. The Executive Order was hermetically sealed and locked in an Underground Bunker by The High Kommissioner Himself.

Executive Order 0001: Daggers United vs. Cunning, Baffling, Powerful MUST be the Last Regular Season Game of 2005.

This Executive Order was issued for YOUR PROTECTION. The Kickball Kommission understood one thing: After Daggers United vs. Cunning, Baffling, Powerful, there would be no Survivors. A Kickball Game of this magnitude would incinerate the Aldo Frado Ballpark in a terrible Thermo-Nuclear Explosion leaving nothing but rubble, dust, and broken, bloody bodies � a terrible landscape of severed limbs, melted flesh and shattered skulls. The Kickball Kommission was certain that a Race of Post-Nuclear Zombie Mutants would emerge from the wreckage and roam the empty, broken streets of Providence feasting on the brains of fallen Kickball Players.

Make no mistake about it: Game Six was the Countdown to Extinction. This was Kickball Armageddon!

Long before Game Six began, wild rumors and terrible questions were being whispered in the dark corners and back alleys of Providence:

-Had Daggers United traveled to Brooklyn to expand their Kickball Syndicate by recruiting the BKL�s �Immaculate Daggers?�
-Did Cunning, Baffling, Powerful really gun down Daggers United during their Practice in some sort of terrible Kickball Drive-By Shooting?
-Had Cunning, Baffling, Powerful Team Captain Jonathan Wisehart defected to the Daggers? Had he really been up for 72 Consecutive Hours drinking Night Train and Natural Ice at the Daggers Providence Compound?

Everywhere was confusion, speculation; terrible waves of fear and loathing. And as Game Six Approached, things looked grim for Cunning, Baffling, Powerful. I stared out at the Field and � Sweet Jesus on the Cross � Jonathan Wisehart stumbled onto the Field, dressed in the Daggers Red and Black and swilling an Old English 800. The crowd gaped in horror as Wisehart spilled Malt Liquor down his shirt and staggered into a trash can.

�Cunning, Baffling Powerful sucks,� he shouted, rolling around in the dirt and pissing himself. �I�m cold. So cold. So cold.�

Wisehart�s former Team looked on in horror. But there was nothing they could do. Cunning, Baffling, Powerful NLPOTW jHo tried to talk to Wisehart; to reason with him - but it was useless.

�Daggers fucking rule!� Wisehart yelled, tossing dirty diapers onto the Field. �You don�t know me. You don�t fucking know me.�

It was a terrible spectacle: Wisehart wandered out onto the Field. He shouted profanities at the Crowd. He sexually harassed the BSRmadillos. He crashed into the Eagle�s Nest; heckled the Announcers and finally passed out in a pile of empty Tall Boys.

And then, just when I thought things couldn�t get any more desperate of depraved � ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE.

From somewhere distant, I heard the rhythmic slam of drums and the shuffling, forced march of Kickball Army. A hot wind roared across the Aldo Frado Ballpark; blood rained down from the sky; everything faded to black - and then Daggers United appeared on the horizon: A Battalion of Classic Cars, Choppers, Flags, Spires: Street Warriors armed to the teeth and ready to fight to the Death for Kickball Honor and Glory.

But wait. For a moment � maybe, just maybe - we were saved. Cunning, Baffling, Powerful had locked the Gate. Daggers United were trapped outside of the Aldo Frado Ballpark. Maybe we would survive. Maybe we would live to tell the tale.

No one spoke. All eyes were on the Daggers. Time seemed to stand still. Blood dripped from their terrible, black mouths. Demons and Devils and Fallen Angels roared out of Hell, screeching and howling across the Field. Dagger Lee � his face smeared with blood and war paint - emerged from the pack of rabid Gangstas. He looked down at the Gate, smiled and raised his clenched fist toward the Heavens.

There was a terrible snarl of insane laughter and the spastic wail of kill-crazy shouting. And then Daggers United stormed over the fence, pillaging and looting; raping and killing; drinking and shouting and waving shanks and butterfly knives. Everywhere was death and destruction; a trail of carcasses and blood and hate as the Daggers took the Field.

Make no mistake about it: This was Kickball at its Finest!

Suddenly, Jonathan Wisehart pulled himself from the pile of trash and vomit and empty beer cans. He tore onto the Field, tossed the OE 800 into the Crowd and ripped off the Daggers Red and Black to reveal his Cunning, Baffling, Powerful Uniform.

And just like that, the momentum shifted and Cunning, Baffling, Powerful was back in the Game. Gazing into the CBP Dugout, everyone looked calm, collected, confident. This was a Team that had come to the Aldo Frado Ballpark with a single purpose: Destroy Daggers United. There was no backing down. No turning back. No Mercy.

This was a Kickball Jihad.

As the Game got underway, both Teams shouted and taunted each other. The Daggers yelled �Tiny! Angry! Tiny! Angry!� at Wisehart and tossed Smoke Bombs onto the Field. Cunning, Baffling Powerful shouted back, holding up Mirrors � but would Daggers United look? Could they face the grim reality that was The Man in the Mirror?

As the Third World War of Kickball dragged on, one thing became abundantly clear: Both Teams were playing Solid Fundamental Kickball. [ed. note: In case you forgot, this was a Kickball Game.] Cunning, Baffling, Powerful and Daggers United battled back and forth � with timely kicking and solid base running - in what turned out to be a Classic Defensive Chess Match.

And so it went until the Bottom of the Fifth Inning. Cunning, Baffling, Powerful was clinging to a Two-Run-Lead. But could they hold on for the Win? Could they stop Daggers United? Could they end the Season with a Perfect Record?

Yes � on all counts. And really, the Game should have ended right there. [ed. note: The same is true for this Official Kickball Re-Cap]. But it didn�t. With the Final Inning all but over, the Whole Shithouse went up in Flames.

Members of KEVIN � Ryan �KEVIN� Fitzpatrick, Dave �KEVIN� Lefieri and Mike �KEVIN� Riley � charged the Daggers United Dugout and stole the Daggers Flag. The Elite KEVIN Commando Unit tore up the Grassy Knoll and jumped into a Get-Away-Car � Sweet Revenge within their Collective Grasp. But a Cadre of Daggers surrounded the Car, jumping onto the hood, clawing at the windows; snarling, shouting, frightening other motorists. And then the Daggers ripped the Flag Pole from the Car.

But wait. Where was the Flag?

Looking up, I saw Ryan �KEVIN� Fitzpatrick sprinting down Broadway, the flag clutched in his hand. The Daggers gave chase and the PKL erupted into a terrible Orange vs. Red Gang War all over Providence�s West Side. Lungs burning, sweat pouring, heart ready to explode, Fitzpatrick raced down Broadway, clinging to the Flag and to Life itself.

Exhausted and facing an Inevitable Gang-Style Execution, he ducked into a Bodega and hid � [ed. note: Yes, this really happened. I swear to God] - in the Walk-In-Cooler. Hiding behind cans of Coke and Red Bull, he watched as the Daggers � shanks drawn and ready � searched the store and then disappeared into the Street.

With the Daggers gone, the Bodgea Owner � his eyes wide with fear - opened the Cooler Door and stared down at Fitzpatrick.

�Should I call the Police?� he asked, clutching his cell phone. �Do you need me to call 911?�

Fitzpatrick shook his head, mumbled something about �just playing in a Kickball Game,� and, moments later, emerged from the Bodega - brave, defiant, and ready to face his death.

The Daggers drew their shivs � but wait. Where was the Flag?

Suddenly, the KEVIN Get-Away-Car roared into the Bodega Parking Lot. The Daggers surrounded the car and - not finding their Flag � mugged KEVIN-45, stole his Wallet and returned to the Field. Suddenly, the tables had turned. The Elite KEVIN Commando Unit raced back to the Aldo Frado Ballpark.

KEVIN and Daggers United glared at one another. It was terrible standoff. KEVIN wanted the Wallet. The Daggers wanted the Flag. No one was willing to give an inch. It was like the Israelis and the Palestinians. No common ground. No negotiations. No room for compromise.

But in the end, the Indomitable Spirit of Kickball prevailed. Riz Johnson � who defected from KEVIN to the Daggers in Week Six � brokered a Peace Accord. The Flag was exchanged for the Wallet. And as a sign of Goodwill and Peace, Dagger Lee and Fitzpatrick held hands and kissed gently in the shade of an Oak Tree.

Final Fucking Score: Cunning, Baffling, Powerful 4 � Daggers United 2.

Epilogue
And so it ended. Complete and total insanity; unadulterated decadence; a transcendental mind-fuck of epic proportion - Kickball at its Fucking Finest: something pure and decent and good in this Foul Year of Our Lord; a distant flickering at the end of the tunnel. Something we can carry with us, secure in our knowledge that we were there for that brief moment in time - a part of something bigger and far greater than we will ever understand.

Be afraid Providence: THE WEEKEND OF KICKBALL INSANTIY IS NIGH! There is no escape; no quarter; no way out. This is the Providence Kickball League - Do NOT fuck with us.

Kickball Re-Cap Supplemental Feature:

As we head into the Final Week, here is a look at the Playoff Picture.

Freedumb Division Playoff Picture:

1. Trauma Center: Win (3-2) and get a Freedumb Division Wild Card Berth if the Productivists Lose*. Lose (2-3) and go home.

2. Sharks v Jets: Win and get a Freedumb Division Wild Card Berth 4-1. Lose and get a Freedumb Division Wild Card Berth at 3-2 or maybe not*.

3. Guerilla Gardeners: Win and get the Freedumb Division Crown at 5-0. Lose (to the Word Nerds … yeah fucking right) and get the Freedumb Division Crown at 4-1.

4. Word Nerds: Win (1-4) or lose (0-5) and go to Festival of Losers.

5. Decatur Defenders: Win (2-3) or lose (1-4) and go home. No Post Season for Mad Dog - thank fucking Jesus.

6. Productivists: Win (3-2) and if Trauma Center loses get a Freedumb Division Wild Card Berth*. Lose (2-3) and go home.

* OK, I�m not actually sure what happens if Trauma Center beats the Sharks v Jets and the Productivists also win. All three Teams would be 3-2 with Trauma center having beaten Sharks v. Jets but having lost to the Productivists; Sharks v. Jets having lost to Trauma Center but having beaten the Productivists; and the Productivists having beaten Trauma Center but having lost to Sharks v. Jets. I imagine there is some sort of mathematical way to figure this out, perhaps involving what time the Productivists board an eastbound train while Trauma Center takes and cab carrying 70 lbs. of grain west on I-95 as Sharks v. Jets travel north in a hot air balloon somewhere in the Mountain Time Zone. Clearly a question for the High Commissioner and it will come down to who beat whom during the regular season and by how many runs. When asked for comment, a member of the Kickball Kommission speaking on a condition of anonymity said: “Fuck. I really hope we don�t have to figure that out.”

Liberty Division Playoff Picture:

1. Bike Panthers: Win (1-4), beating KEVIN and go home. Lose (0-5) to KEVIN and go to the Festival of Losers.

2. KEVIN: Win (1-4), beating Bike Panthers and go home. Lose (0-5) to Bike Panthers and go (back) to the Festival of Losers.

3. Dynamite Pubcrawlers: Win (4-1) and get a Liberty Division Wild Card berth. Lose (3-2) and still get a Liberty Division Wild Card Berth.

4. BSRmadillos: Win (4-1) and get a Liberty Division Wild Card Berth. Lose (3-2) and still get a Liberty Division Wild Card Berth.

5. Daggers United: Win (3-2) and go home because they lost to both the BSRmadillos and the Dynamite Pubcrawlers. Lose (2-3) and go home. No Post Season.

6. Cunning, Baffling Powerful: Win (5-0) and get the Liberty Division Crown. Lose (4-1) and still get the Liberty Division Crown.

Providence Kickball Week Seven
By Raoul Duke

[ed note: Due to the importance of fonts and the inability to display them, The PKL Week Seven Re-Cap can only be read at the following address:

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=20248782&blogID=40027401&Mytoken=20050805063910

You will not need a login for this. That is all.]

Providence Kickball Week Six: Insert Sports Clich� Here

By Raoul Duke

The Providence Kickball League�s Sixth Week was nothing short of an epic, high-octane, full-throttle, balls-out, nail-biting, blood-letting, titty-fucking, shit-kicking, gut-wrenching, thrill-riding, atom-splitting, bitch-slapping, pressure-cooking, shock and awe inspiring, jesus-crucifying, no-holds barred, knock-down-drag-out offensive slugfest.

This was the American Fucking Dream in Action.

Somewhere - in an Hidden Bunker deep in the Subterranean Caverns of Nevada - Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld and David Duke were listening to Toby Keith, baking Apple Pies, calling their Grandmothers and wishing that the US Military could harness the pure Offensive Power of the Providence Kickball League.

I think I speak for all of us when I say: Fuck off. You can have Mad Dog - but that�s it.

Sweet Jesus. This is Week Six - Hold on and enjoy the ride!

Game One - BSRmadillos (1-1) vs. the Bike Panthers (0-2) - was a two-hour, extra-inning Liberty Division Shoot-Out. A terrible clash between Anarchy and Indie Radio. A Vegan Pot Luck/FTAA Teach-In vs. Five Watts of Pure Broadcasting Power. In short: A battle for complete and total futility and inefficacy.

This Game was going to be too close to call. Both Teams were flirting with mediocrity - and they knew it. But as the Players took the Field, one thing remained constant; secure - like the cycles of the moon, the changing of the seasons, the ebb and flow of the tides: Shirtless Ray�s pecs were looking fucking ripped.

The Game got underway and run after run after run after run after run scored. Players from both Teams crossed the plate again and again. The BSRmadillos took an early lead. But back came the Bike Panthers. And then the BSRmadillos. And then the Bike Panthers again.

It goes without saying that neither Team had much in the way of Defense.

And so it went, until the bottom of the Sixth Inning. It was hot. The Players were tired. The Fans were drunk; some of them had re-read all of Infinite Jest during the course of this Game. One thing was clear: Someone needed to end it - right here and right now. There were Tree Sits to organize and awkward, on-air ramblings to broadcast.

Finally, with everyone on the verge of insanity; with two outs; with runners in scoring-position, the BSRmadillos squibbed a single through the Infield. A run scored and the Longest Game in Providence Kickball League History was at last over. Final Score BSRmadillos 18 - Bike Panthers 17.

Game Two - Trauma Center (2-1) vs. the Productivists (1-2) - had all the making of a Freedumb Division Rout. In my book, the Productivists were DOA. All Trauma Center needed to do was shut off their Life Support and watch them gurgle a bit, stare vaguely into space and then pass slowly away into darkness.

But hold on. Maybe not.

The Productivists jumped out to a huge lead in the First Inning. Trauma Center was stunned. But make no mistake about it, this Game was far from over. The Doctors and Nurses of Trauma Center face Death on a daily basis - they weren�t going to intimidated by a bunch of Communist Hippies in Burlap.

Trauma Center powered back, scoring run after run with surgically precise offensive strikes. It was anybody�s Game. And just like that, the Offensive Floodgates were opened. Hippies and Pinkos and Doctors and Nurses rounded the bases in a back and forth battle for Kickball Survival. Home Run after Home Run bounced into the Outfield. It was an amazing, high-scoring spectacle and for a while there was no end in sight.

But with the score tied in the Bottom of the Fifth Inning, the Productivists were keenly aware of one thing - a fact that Modern Medicine and Physical Science have always failed to acknowledge: To win at Kickball, the Workers must control the Means of Production.

Armed with that knowledge, the Productivists took control and blooped a single into shallow Center. There was nothing Trauma Center could do - their Stethoscopes and EKGs and Rectal Thermometers were rendered impotent. The Productivists scored the go-ahead run; copies of Socialist Worker fluttered down from Heaven; the folly of Modern Medicine was revealed; and just like that the Game was over. Final Score Productivists 17 - Trauma Center 16.

Game Three - the Decatur Defenders (1-2) vs. Guerrilla Gardeners (3-0) - was a Drunks vs. Hippies Freedumb Division Showdown. This was a Blood Feud. Alcoholics vs. Pot-Heads. Charles Bukowski vs. Jerry Garcia. Jack Daniels vs. Sensimilla. This was the Pinnacle of Athletics. The very best in the World of Semi-Organized Sport.

But let�s be honest: This wasn�t going to be a Game. It was going to be a Slaughter. The Guerrilla Gardeners and their Kickball Machine were going to destroy the Decatur Defenders long before the Pot Brownies had a chance to take hold. Things were going to get very, very ugly. Make no mistake - this was going to be a Kickball Holocaust.

And to make matters worse, Game Three was also a Narragansett Lager Player of the Week Grudge Match. NLPOTW Mad Dog vs. NLPOTW Chris Ackley. Both men playing for honor; for respect; for pride. Sweet Christ on the Cross, they were playing for Jersies.

So, as per usual, Mad Dog dove into poles and slashed his wrists and hung himself from the Backstop. He stuck his head in a gas stove and sat in a parked car with the engine running. He ate a bottle of Sleeping Pills, threw himself off a tall building and shot himself in the face - but all of it was useless. The Guerrilla Gardeners fucking throttled the Decatur Defenders, led my Narragansett Lager Player of the Week Rich “Green Lightning” Pederson, who kicked two In-The-Park-Home-Runs and is, by all accounts, The Fastest Man Alive. Final Score Guerrilla Gardeners 11 - Decatur Defenders 2.

And so the Game ended. Mad Dog handed his Scabies-Ridden Jersey to Chris Ackley. The Defenders stole a “30-Rack” of Natural Ice from the Gardeners� Dugout. And sitting there - watching it all play out before me - the lines between Victory and Defeat blurred and I was left alone and scared; forced to contemplate the soft ambiguities that hide just out of sight in the dim, forgotten corners of this foul land we call America.

Game Four - The Word Nerds (0-3) vs. Sharks v. Jets (2-1) - had all the makings of a terrible, lopsided rout. Jesus Fucking Christ: The Word Nerds haven�t won a Game all Season. They were headed to the Festival of Losers for sure. And Sharks v. Jets? They had their eyes on the Wild Card Race, hoping to make it to the Playoffs; hoping to play for that Greatest Prize of Prizes: The Stephen T. Olney Cup.

As the Game got underway, the Word Nerds shouted at Sharks v. Jets, rattling Boggle Cups and holding up large, felt letters that spelled: FUCK MARIA.

[ed. note: Unbeknownst to The Word Nerds, a member of Sharks v. Jets had a friend, named Maria, visiting from out of town and playing in her very first Kickball Game that day. Welcome to Providence Maria - it doesn�t get any easier.]

But Sharks v. Jets weren�t taking any shit from a bunch of Nerds. They taunted the Word Nerds, stealing one of their Propellored Beanies. And from that point on, it was all out War. But as the Word Nerds suffered through the name calling, the countless wedgies, and the terrible indian burns, I sensed a sudden and powerful shift on the Field. Staring into the tired, bent faces of the Word Nerds, all I could see was raw hate; the cruel desire for revenge; the determination to finally, once and for all STOP THE LIFETIME OF HUMILIATION.

Something deep within the Word Nerd Collective Consciousness exploded into white hot rage. And then - chaos. A rabid, pack of Nerds stormed the field, shouting and yelling, tears of hate stringing from their eyes. The Word Nerds had snapped. And as they ran across the Field, I could see them transforming into their Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Alter-Egos. A fearless band of Magic Users and Rangers and Clerics chased a Shark v. Jet into the Outfield, pinned him to the ground, retrieved the stolen Beanie and delivered the Ring of Power safely to the Fires of Mount Doom. It was like watching a Broadway Version of “Revenge of the Nerds.” In summation: Classic Kickball.

But would it be enough. Sharks v. Jets fought back hard. Both Teams scored; Defenses held; and the Game was very, very close. And then - oh Sweet Fucking Virgin Mary; it couldn�t be - but it was. All of sudden the Game stopped. There was a terrible roar from Center Field. A hush came over the crowd. All eyes were fixed on the Outfield as Daggers United crashed through the Gates and drove onto the Field.

Cars smoking, engines revving, shanks glinting in the hot sun, the Daggers stared - eyes full of malice and fury - at the Sharks v. Jets Dugout. And then a Cadre of Daggers emerged from a hulking, black car and - dressed in red and black suits - slowly marched across the Field to the Word Nerds Dugout. Everyone was frozen with Fear. Grown men urinated themselves. Women wept. A baby crawled back inside its Mother�s Womb.

Word Nerds Team Captain Stewart Linacre walked out to meet the Daggers - and his inevitable death. Everyone stared, waiting for the bloody, terrible shivving that was sure to come. But no. Stewart shook Dagger Lee�s outstretched hand. Both men smiled. It was madness. Total confusion. Horror.

I called my Attorney at once.

“What the Hell is going on?” I shouted. “I need legal advice immediately.”

“Daggers United and the Word Nerds signed some kind of Blood Oath,” he said. “The Daggers declared war on Sharks v. Jets. I think the Word Nerds changed their Team Name. They�re �The Words� now.”

I hung up the phone. It was beyond comprehension. In a move destined to shake the Kickball World to its very foundations, Daggers United had taken the Word Nerds under their protection. It was an unprecedented display of Kickball Organized Crime. And suddenly, the momentum shifted violently in the direction of the Word Nerds, who clung desperately to a one run lead.

Daggers United mugged a few fans, stole a couple of cars and - giving Sharks v. Jets a last, bloodthirsty stare - left the Aldo Frado Ballpark. But it wasn�t, um…wait…what?..no…oh..right… OK…yes, yes….I understand…..

…….and then the Word Nerds trounced Sharks v. Jets for their first win of the Season. Final Score Word Nerds 92 - Sharks v. Jets 12 ……………….

[ed. note: The Final Score of Game Four was actually Sharks v. Jets 12 - Word Nerds 11, with Sharks v. Jets winning in the Bottom of the Fifth on a run-scoring Sacrifice Fly to Center. There is reason to believe that Mr. Duke was writing this under duress; perhaps at shankpoint.]

Well, that�s it. Don�t say I didn�t warn you. There�s no turning back now. The Championship of the World is only Three Weeks away. Be afraid Providence. Be very afraid.

Providence Kickball Week Five
by Raoul Duke

Alright. Let’s cut the foreplay. Straight to business: PKL Week Five.

Game One - the Bike Panthers (0-2) vs. the BSRmadillos (1-1) - was sure to be a classic: an Anarchists vs. Indie Radio Liberty Division Showdown. But the Bike Panthers had a busy day of “culture jamming” scheduled and the game was postponed. Last year, that would have been “a forfeit.” But not this year. No use being bitter. Let’s move on.

Game Two - KEVIN (0-2) vs. Daggers United (1-1) - was a battle to stay alive in the Playoff Hunt in the Liberty Division. This Game was a must-win for Daggers United; their entire Season hung in the balance. And KEVIN was still searching for their first win of the Season. Hoping to recapture some of the power and glory of Season Three. Hoping to avoid a return trip to The Festival of Losers.
As the Players took the Field, Daggers United did a lot of yelling and shouting and waving of switchblades. But KEVIN had prepared mentally and physically for the Daggers. Protected by a Kickball Secret Service Detail, KEVIN was not backing down. One thing was clear: This Game was destined to be an epic war; a balls out battle for Honor and God and Country. This wasn’t Kickball. This was a Kickball Jihad. No one was fucking around.

And KEVIN took First Blood, jumping out to an early lead, scoring with clutch kicking and heads up base running and holding the Daggers at bay with tight defense. And for a while it looked like KEVIN was on the verge of victory. But then Daggers United murdered a KEVIN-Look-A-Like in Center Field. They paraded around the Field with body parts, guns and clubs. Several Daggers and - Sweet Mother of God is that a Zapatista - murdered the Secret Service Detail while they were on the Mandatory Union Break and left their bodies to rot in the Outfield.

The pressure was intense. The Crowd was terrified. Everywhere children, women and grown men wept and swooned. It was terrible. The possibility of physical and mental collapse was now very real. I was all alone, twisted on drugs and surrounded by armed Gang Members. The weasels were closing in on me. And then it happened: everything went totally and completely fucking crazy.

With the Kickball Secret Service dead in Centerfield, Daggers United attacked. They rushed KEVIN’s Dugout and Dragged ‘KEVIN-Hyphen’ [sic, et al] into the Field. Both dugouts emptied. A terrible bench-clearing street brawl erupted on the Field. Everywhere was blood, broken bodies, beer and knives. ‘KEVIN-Hyphen’ was dragged by his foot across the Infield to the Daggers United Dugout. Team KEVIN stood on the opposite side of the Field, watching, helplessly. Everywhere was terrible waves of paranoia; fear and loathing. Madness.

[FCC WARNING: The Following Section of the Kickball Report has been rated NC-17. It contains graphic violence, gore, explicit language and adult situations. It is intended for mature, adult audiences only.]

The Daggers shoved a blade into ‘KEVIN-Hyphen�s’ hand and dragged a KEVIN Effigy onto the Field. The kill-crazy shouting was deafening. ‘KEVIN-Hyphen’ stared at the knife in his hands and down at the sad broken KEVIN Effigy.

“KILL IT,” shouted the Daggers. “FUCKING KILL IT!”

And then, everything seemed to stop. All of Providence was frozen in time. I looked out across the Field - there was Color Commentator Stan McNabb, pale with fear; there were the Daggers, blood and spittle dripping from their cold, black mouths; there was Team KEVIN, eyes heavy with confusion and horror. I saw a single teardrop bleeding down ‘KEVIN-45’s’ face; I saw a Dragonfly flapping against the pale blue sky; I saw all of Humanity flash before my eye: drugs and bombs and art and war and love and hate and birth and life and death. Everything was right there - in that one awful moment.

And then, ‘KEVIN-Hyphen’ raised a Red Bandana toward the Heavens. He let out a terrible wail - and I swear to God it was the sound of his Soul dying - and then, he thrust a Dagger deep into the heart of the KEVIN Effigy. The Daggers shouted and cheered. Members of Team KEVIN staggered backward. Their mouths dropped; and there, on a dusty Field on the edge of Olneyville, a part of their Team Soul died too; murdered by one of its own.

It was by far the most terrible, god-awful thing that anyone had ever witnessed. And as ‘KEVIN-Hyphen’ put on the Daggers Red and Black and took the Field, I knew what it must have been like to be there on the Beaches of Normandy; at the Attack on Pearl Harbor; on the set of “Encino Man.”

Jesus Dry Humping Christ - this was Kickball at its Finest!

But as the events of Game Two unfolded, there was a lot of bad noise, real violence, ill will, hostility, anger, hurt feelings and trouble. The kind of trouble that cuts to the very heart of the Spirit of Kickball. The kind of trouble that leads not only to the dreaded Jock Virus, but also kills the all important Irony of Kickball.

So, as a Public Service Announcement, the Juilliard School of Kickball Theater had provided the following Kickball Theater Tutorial. Please review it with your Team so that the mistakes of Week Five are never, ever repeated.

Official Kickball Theater Guidelines:

1. Kickball Theater is defined as a branch of the performing arts concerned with acting out stories in front of an audience using combinations of speech, gesture, music, dance, sound and spectacle � indeed any one or more elements of the other performing arts. In addition to the standard narrative dialogue style, Kickball Theater takes such forms as opera, ballet, mime, kabuki, classical Indian dance, Chinese opera, mummers’ plays, and pantomime.

2. Kickball Theater is NOT Real: While killing a Prison Gaurd and throwing his bloody heart into the Crowd; shivving an Announcer; setting up a drum kit in Center Field, birthing a Kickball; and general murder, mayhem, etc. are all encouraged and greatly appreciated, actually hurting people is NOT cool. Don’t do that. Seriously.

3. Respect the Umpires: Irrespective of your Kickball Role - Nerd, Surgeon, Gangsta, etc. - you must respect the Umpires. They exist in a world that is separate and removed from Kickball Theater so leave them alone - unless you have worked out “a bit” with them or just want to kick sand at them in a “friendly-improv-kind-of-way.”

3. Kickball Theater only exists at Kickball. For example, if Player X kills your Sister during a Game, it is not acceptable to hunt Player X down at Julian’s and murder her/him in the Bathroom. Again, Kickball Theater is not real. The events of Kickball Theater didn’t really happen. The Trauma Center Staff didn’t really administer a lethal dose of Morphine to your Grandmother when she was having routine knee surgery. So, don’t show up at Bad Nurse’s place of business and throw a kickball at her head. It’s not real. See Item Number 1 above.

4. If you are taking Kickball Theater personally, you are not “getting it.” For example, if Person A and Person B are in a Canston City Players Dinner Theater Production of “West Side Story” and Person A is playing “Maria” and Person B is playing “Chino” and after the Show, Person A is still pissed at Person B for killing “Tony” even though the whole thing was only a Dinner Theater Production and not real - well, that wouldn’t make any sense at all and clearly Person A is out of control and not “getting it.”

5. THE CHARMING IRONY OF GROWN MEN AND WOMEN DRESSING UP IN FUNNY COSTUMES AND PLAYING KICKBALL IS FOREVER LOST WHEN YOU START TO TAKE THE GAME TOO SERIOUSLY OR BECOME ACTUALLY VIOLENT AND HURTFUL.

In the end, Daggers United came back and won the Game. Everyone apologized to everyone else and, in the end, the Kind and Decent Spirit of Kickball was wounded but not dead. Final Score Daggers United 3 - KEVIN 2.

Game Three pitted Cunning Baffling Powerful (2-0) against the Dynamite Pubcrawlers (2-0) in a battle for sole possession of First Place in the Liberty Division. This was going to be one for the Record Books. Two Undefeated Teams battling it out under the hot Providence sun. Two Teams with their sights set on the Olney Cup. Two Teams. And if Modern Cinema had taught us anything it is this: “There can be only One.”

As the Players took the Field, my money was on Cunning, Baffling, Powerful to throttle the Expansion Team Dynamite Pubcrawlers. But wait a minute. Maybe not. The Dynamite Pubcrawlers jumped out to an early lead, playing hard and fast with precision kicking and tight, heads-up defense. And for a moment, Victory was very close.

But Cunning, Baffling, Powerful fought back hard. Both Teams scored and scored again. It was a terrible back and forth battle. [ed. note: In the end, the fact that the Dynamite Pubcrawlers had no discernable Uniform may have been a factor. I mean come on - get some shirts or sweatbands or hats. Maybe a Team Thong or some Color-Coordinated Pasties. Anything. Jesus Christ - it was like watching a pack of illegal immigrants try to scramble across the border. Very confusing.] And then, when it looked like we could be headed to Extra Innings, I heard a terrible roar.

Cunning Baffling Powerful Team Captain Jonathan Wisehart ripped off his shirt; he climbed the Backstop; he did bare-knuckle push-ups in the dirt. It was a fierce and violent display of Kickball Power. And from that point on, Cunning Baffling, Powerful would not be denied.

Exploiting sloppy play by the Dynamite Pubcrawlers, Cunning, Baffling, Powerful scored run after run, powered by Narragansett Lager Player of the Game jHo who kicked two Three-Run-In-The-Park-Home-Runs and made an Immaculate-Over-The-Shoulder-Catch to propel Cunning Baffling Powerful to the win. Final Score: Cunning Baffling Powerful 9 - Dynamite Pubcrawlers 7.

And just like that, the terrible shit-storm that was Week Five was over. Next Saturday is the PKLMSBBQ at Decatur Lounge at 8 p.m.. Don’t even think about missing it. Oh, and review the Kickball Theater Guidelines. The PKL Motto is “Don’t be a Jerk. Play Kickball.” Emphasis on the “DON’T.”

Providence Kickball Week 4
By Raoul Duke

Let’s be honest about one thing: The Providence Kickball League is beginning to give me The Fear. And Sweet Jesus - it�s only Week Four. But after the preternatural atrocities of the past three weeks, it�s safe to say that in this League anything can happen. That on a dusty Kickball Field on the edge of Olneyville, a mad pack of Kill-Crazy Zombies could rush onto the Field, tear a Hippie to shreds, eat the Umpire’s brains, wash them down with a Narraganset Tall Boy - and no one would even bat an eye. It would be par for the course; business as usual; standard operating procedure.

Well, there’s no turning back now. This is the PKL - buy the ticket, take the ride.

Week Four was the Pinnacle of Sports Entertainment: victory, defeat, rain, beer, thunder, lightening; the entire spectrum of Human Existence played out on a Kickball Field. It was a fantastic, voyeuristic spectacle; the kind of life-altering experience you whisper to your Grandchildren knowing full well that there is no mix of words that will ever capture the moment; realizing finally that no one will ever fully understand what your eyes have seen.

Game One - Trauma Center (1-1) vs. Decatur Defenders (1-1) - was a Freedumb Division Battle for the Top Spot in the Wild Card Race. In my book, the smart money was on Trauma Center to trounce the drunken Defenders for an easy win. But as Trauma Center took the Field, it was clear that something was very wrong. The entire Trauma Center Staff was totally and completely wasted. Doctors and Nurses and Orderlies stumbled around, spilling wine, crashing a Gurney and vomiting all over the Field. The crowd was horrified. [ed. note: the Decatur Defenders didn�t seem to notice anything unusual at all.]

As the Game got underway, Head Octagonecologyst Jed Arkely staggered around with a lampshade on his head, spilling a bottle of Nighttrain and choking on his own puke. It was terrible. The entire Trauma Center had Alcohol Poisoning and the Defenders capitalized, jumping out to an early lead and hanging on down the stretch, with sloppy but effective play.

In a pre-game interview, Mad Dog had predicted a Decatur Victory, telling me that he was (a) hopped up on 2,100 mg of Morphine and Cortisone and (b) wearing a metal brace on his leg that he had fashioned “at work” out of Rebar and Adamantium. I ended the interview immediately, fearing he was on the verge of telling me about (c) the “woman-suit” he�s been working on for a few years now; (d) the time he “had two chicks;” or (e) the night he “passed a stone” in the Decatur Men�s Room.

[ed. note: In his mad quest for victory, Mad Dog intentionally hit Director of Kickball Operations Jed Arkley in the balls after sliding into First Base - later claiming “It was an accident. I was just standing up.” The Director - and Three Time PKL Sportsman of the Year - shook off the injury and gave Mad Dog a solid shot to the balls in return.]

The Game came down to the Last Inning of Play. Trauma Center was down 4-2, with two outs and runners in scoring position. It was their last at bat. One last chance for Salvation. For Victory. For God and Country. Everything was silent. The tension was palpable. Time stopped. Somewhere a baby cried. And then …

Trauma Center Team Captain/Head Surgeon Jason “Deathfoot” Pontius strode to the plate. Dressed in nothing but red hot pants and cowboy boots, he stared out at the Decatur Team and I swear to God he smiled this strange half-smile that said: “Why Mad Dog, you look like somebody just walked over your grave.”

It was clear that Deathfoot would not - nay could not - be denied. The pitch came fast and tight. There was a terrible explosion at Home Plate. And then the ball was in the air. Players were running, beer was spilling, Mad Dog was diving; it was drunken madness in every direction. And when the dust cleared, the Defenders - no doubt blinded by Deathfoot�s ripped pecs and neon red crotch - had committed two drunken errors to hand Trauma Center the win. Final Score Trauma Center 5 - Decatur 4.

Game Two - The Guerrilla Gardeners (2-0) vs. Sharks v. Jets (2-0) - was a winner-take-all clash for sole possession of First Place in the Freedumb Division. This was going to be one for the History Books. But as the players took the Field, it was like some sort of terrible Hippie Deja Vu - kind of like seeing Phish more than once. The Gardeners attacked a Shark v. Jet, stabbing him with trowels, etc. and dumping him into a Compost Bin, etc., out of which grew a pretty flower, etc. One thing was clear: The Gardeners apparently smoke so much weed that their Collective Short Term Memory is shot to the point that none of them can remember that they did the whole “kill-the-other-team�s-player-and-compost-him-to-grow-a-flower-smoke-some-pot-we-love-Jerry-thing” two weeks ago.

Sad? Yes. Pathetic? Maybe. Kickball at its finest? Absolutely.

With the Game underway, I was sure the Gardeners would trounce Sharks v. Jets and be home in time to not trim their beards, not take showers and download Grateful Dead Bootlegs from the Internet. But as a heavy rain began to fall, Sharks v. Jets came alive, scoring fast and often to take a commanding lead. And for a moment, it looked like they were on the verge of the Upset of the Century.

But then, the rain stopped, the clouds parted and Sharks v. Jets Sunshine Daydream of Victory was crushed as the Gardeners took control with precision kicking, head-up base-running and solid defense, lead by Narraganset Lager Player of the Week Chris Ackley, who made the most amazing diving catch that any man, woman or child has ever seen.

The Sharks v. Jets were stunned - victory had been so close; so very close. But the Gardeners never looked back. And as run after run after run scored, there was a good deal of grumbling; some arguing and complaining and a lot of bad noise. Let me say just two things:

1. The chance of any team actually beating the Guerrilla Gardeners is about the same as the chance of me giving Mad Dog a Rim Job - slim to fucking none.

2.THE CHARMING IRONY OF GROWN MEN AND WOMEN DRESSING UP IN FUNNY COSTUMES AND PLAYING KICKBALL IS FOREVER LOST WHEN YOU START TO TAKE THE GAME TOO SERIOUSLY.

When all was said and done: Final Score Guerrilla Gardeners 11 - Sharks v. Jets 5.

The Third Game - The Word Nerds (0-2) vs. The Productivists (0-2) - pitted Shitty vs. Shitty in a Shitty Battle for a trip to the Festival of Losers. Let�s be honest here: This game was probably the most fucking boring and pointless thing I had ever seen. It was like watching a Democratic Party Primary Debate: John Kerry vs. Howard Dean. Not pretty at all.

As the Game got underway, there were a lot of dropped balls, base running errors and general confusion and incompetence. The Productivists scored some runs. The Word Nerds didn�t score any runs. John Kerry outlined his plan for revamping Social Security. Howard Dean discussed his plan for Welfare Reform. It was riveting. I think Kickball Provocateur Bruce Fairchild put it best when he said: “This is boring. Let�s see what�s in Mad Dog�s Wallet*.”

Of course the game wasn�t without some action. Mad Dog - playing for the Productivists - slid head first into every base. Mad dog limped around the Field. Mad Dog tried to dry-hump Head Umpire Jesse von Doom. Mad Dog did his whole “look at me I�m injured and can�t walk thing” while everyone else did their whole “we know you�re faking it and not even limping on the correct leg anymore so please put your shirt back on and stop wasting our time and just knock it off thing.”

But in the end, it was Thunder and Lightening that decided this one. Down by seven runs, soaked with rain, fearing electrocution and low on Hit-Points, the Word Nerds decided to call it quits. They withdrew from the game and headed home - no doubt to curl up in bead with a glass of Warm1% Milk and re-read The Dragonlance Chronicles. Final Score Productivists 7- Word Nerds 0.

And just like that, it was over. Nerds ran for cover. The Productivists stood around, confused by the sweet taste of victory. Wake up Providence. We�re at the half-way point. There�s no turning back now.

——————————————————-

*NAMBLA Membership Card; $2; a 1973 Penny; several pictures of small boys/girls with their eyes cut out; Shopping List - bread, milk, embalming fluid, Funyons.

Kickball. The Sport of Kings. Those words conjure up images of sweet, smiling children chasing a bouncing red ball across the dusty schoolyard. Kids eating ice-cream cones, riding bicycles, holding hands, laughing, dreaming and making daisy chains.

Well let’s make one thing abundantly clear: The Providence Kickball League declares a fierce and terrible Jihad on dreams, daisy chains, laughter and hand holding. Here in the PKL, we play No-Holds-Barred-Kickball - fierce, violent, unforgiving. This is War - not for the faint of heart and not pretty. But make no mistake about it: Kickball isn’t supposed to be pretty. Kickball isn�t the Cute Girl with the Unicorn Trapper Keeper who sat behind you in Social Studies; the one you wanted to take to the Sixth Grade Dinner Dance. Far from it. Kickball is the Working Girl you meet in a blackout at The Decatur Lounge and take home after ten to fourteen Narragansett Tall Boys, only to wake up alone, bound to a chair with electrical tape and covered in your own vomit.

That’s right. The Providence Kickball League is the most fantastic spectacle in the world of Semi-Organized Sport. A gross physical salute to the Game of Kickball. A testament to everything right and true in the National Character. This is Kickball the way Jesus played it. The way Ben Franklin played it. The way Spiro Agnew played it. This is the Providence Kickball League and we are not fucking around.

Providence Kickball Week Three
By Raoul Duke

Insanity. Madness in every direction: explosions, murder, mayhem, beer, resurrection. A fantastic spectacle; an epic journey; a chaotic tale of love, lust, redemption and salvation. No, I�m not talking about the latest Jerry Bruckheimer Production. I�m talking about the Third Week of Providence Kickball League - a week that was by far the most amazing, mind-blowing, crazy thrill ride in the History of Sport.

The First Game - KEVIN vs. The Dynamite Pubcrawlers - was a battle for honor, glory and a chance at the Liberty Division Crown. The Dynamite Pubcrawlers - fresh off their upset victory over the Bike Panthers - were looking to remain undefeated and show the PKL that they are a Team that means business; a team to be reckoned with. But to do that, they would have to go through KEVIN. And after losing an Extra Innings Barn Burner in Week One, KEVIN was fighting simply to stay alive. Fighting for their first win of the Season. Fighting to turn things around and get back into the Playoff Hunt.

As the Players marched onto the Field, one of the Dynamite Pubcrawlers took his bike off some “sweet jumps” and lit some fireworks. It was terrible, illegal and made no sense. Apparently no one had told the Dynamite Pubcrawlers that fireworks are better viewed at night- when it�s dark.

As the Game got underway, I could tell that something was very, very wrong with KEVIN. They looked like a Team that had lost its collective will to live. They were broken, battered, desperate. And the Dynamite Pubcrawlers exploited this fact, scoring again and again; jumping out to an early five run lead on the strength of the Season�s first Grand Slam.

Down, but not out, KEVIN put up a good fight - but they simply couldn�t score. It was like watching the Math Team try to hook up at the Junior Prom. Sad. Pathetic. Despicable. In the end, KEVIN managed to score just one run. And as they limped off the Field, it was clear to everyone that this Team was a shadow of its former self. Gone were the power and glory of Season Three. KEVIN was simply broken; shattered beyond repair by their terrible loss in last year�s Championship of the World. Final Score Dynamite Pubcrawlers 5 - KEVIN 1.

Game Two pitted the Bike Panthers against Daggers United in a Anarchists vs. Original Gangstas Liberty Division Battle. And I had bet a bundle on Daggers United to trounce the Bike Panthers, steal few car stereos, shiv an unsuspecting fan and then disappear into the bowels of Olneyville.

But wait. It couldn�t be. But it was.

As the Bike Panthers took the Field, the Heavens opened up and pure white light radiated across the Field. Sweet Mother of God, it was like the Second Coming out there. Only the Kickball Player who took the Field was far, far better than Jesus Christ and more powerful than the Father, the Son and Holy Ghost. This wasn�t the Lamb of God. This was Shirtless Ray. His jacked abs glistening in the hot July sun, he strode to the Pitcher�s Mound in perhaps the Greatest Personal Comeback in the History of Semi-Organized Sport. And for a moment, all bets were off as the momentum swung violently in the direction of the Bike Panthers.

I called my Attorney at once: “I thought Shirtless Ray broke his ankle. Sweet Jesus, he�s out on the Pitcher�s Mound right now, man. He�s going to crush the Daggers with his tanned pecs.”

“Calm down,” my Attorney said. “If the Daggers know anything, it�s how to handle nude men. If Shirtless Ray wants to make the Daggers his bitch, there’s gonna be one Hell of a fight.”

And for once, that lousy shyster attorney of mine was right. As the Game got underway, Daggers United screamed and shouted; threw smoke bombs onto the Field; shanked a Kickball and jumped out to an early lead. But the Bike Panthers fought back hard, and just as they were on the verge of mounting a comeback IT happened.

I looked out over the Field and everthing in the World of Kickball was right and true. And then: chaos. Play-by-Play Announcer Riz Johnson said something about the Daggers “dropping the soap,” and suddenly he was surrounded by a pack of angry, bloodthirsty Daggers. He backed onto the Infield as the Daggers brandished switchblades and butterfly knives. And then they set upon him, stabbing and slicing and cutting; leaving his bloody, dead body on the third base line. It looked like all was lost. The Crowd gaped in horror. And then, like an Angel from Heaven, Decatur Captain Joann Seddon rushed onto the Field. Was she going to perform First Aid? CPR? Last Rites?

No. None of the above. She held a glistening Narragansett Tall Boy up to the Heavens and then poured the Ice-Cold Lager into Riz Johnson�s bloody, lifeless mouth. Tension was everywhere. A distant church bell rang. And then - Resurrection. Riz Johnson�s wounds healed, his heart started beating and he sprung back to life. And maybe it was the Mescalin, but I swear to God the first words out of his mouth were “Narragansett Lager: Sweet Elixir of Life and Official Sponsor of the Providence Kickball League.”

After that, pretty much anything was possible. The Bike Panthers fought hard, but the Daggers threw explosives at them and “accidently” started a small fire in Left Field. But Decatur Defenders Bartender/Utility Infielder Pete Burr charged the fire, stomping on the flames and saving the day - all without spilling a drop of his Narragansett Lager.

In the end, the Daggers hung on for the win, beating the Bike Panthers 9-6 and improving their record to 1-1, due in large part to fifteen-year-old Kickball Prodigy Chelsea Flynn, who was named Narragansett Lager Player of the Week for her brilliant play in Centerfield.

Game Three - The Decatur Defenders vs. Sharks v. Jets - was a Freedumb Division battle between two undefeated teams. As the players took the Field, my money was on the Sharks v. Jets. Sure they’re an Expansion Team. Yes, their only win came against the Cianci Cup Favorite Productivists. And it’s true: their T-Shirts are kind of lame. But The Defenders had drawn the Late Game and this meant only one thing: by the time they got to the Field, they were totally and completely shit-housed.

As the Game got underway, the Defenders provided proof positive that fifteen Pre-Game Jager Shots is probablly one too many. The Defenders stumbled around the Field, dropping balls and pounding Tall Boys. And Sharks v. Jets took advantage of Decatur’s sloppy play and Alcohol Addiction, jumping on top early, adding run after run and taking a commanding lead into the Final Inning of Play.

But never underestimate the Decatur Defenders. This is a team that, just two weeks ago, scored ten runs in one inning to beat the Word Nerds in perhaps the Most Amazing Comeback in PKL History. But could they do it again?

Three words: no fucking way. The Defenders put up a good fight, but it wasn’t enough. And as Decatur pounded more beer; and Mad Dog pulled every muscle in his body; and the Daggers chased after KEVIN 0.03, pinned him to the Pitcher’s Mound and tagged him with a Stencil and can of Red Spray Paint, the Game ended. Final Score Sharks v. Jets 12 - Decatur Defenders 3.

And just like that Week Three came to a close and I was left to try to make some sense out of everything I had seen and heard. Terrible gibberish. Splintered memories. Madness. It made no sense at all. And then, right when I thought it couldn’t get any weirder, Head Umpire Jesse von Doom carried the badly-injured-wincing-in-pain-out-of-control Kenny “Mad Dog” Somerville off of the Field.

“This is it for me,” Mad Dog grimaced, ripping his pant leg open and holding his exposed thigh. [ed.note: at this point, several young fans began crying; one grown man stated later that the scene caused him to “throw up in my mouth.”] “This is my last game. I just want to touch the bases one more time.”

And so Mad Dog was helped to his feet. And then, he limped - very slowly for about twenty minutes - around all four bases, carrying a small child on his shoulder, his face twisted with pain and covered in sweat.

Seriously. That’s how it fucking ended. I swear to God.

Providence Kickball Week Two
By Rauol Duke

Terrible, colossal, lopsided ass-kickings. Those four
words best sum up the Providence Kickball League�s
Second Week. Huge Victories; Terrible Defeats.
Ecstacy; Agony. This was No-Holds-Barred Kickball -
fierce, violent, and unforgiving. My Attorney and I
hadn�t witnessed defeat on such a vast, awful scale
since the Dukakis/Bentsen Presidential Campaign of
1988. Make no mistake - Week Two wasn�t pretty at
all.

But let�s get one thing straight: Kickball isn�t
pretty. Kickball isn�t the cute girl with the Unicorn
Trapper Keeper who sits behind you in Social Studies;
the one whom you�d like to take to the Sixth Grade
Dinner Dance. Far from it. Kickball is the working
girl you meet in a blackout at The Decatur and take
home after ten to fourteen Vodka Tonics, only to wake
up alone, bound to a chair and covered in your own
vomit.

And, maybe it�s the Ether talking, but I�ll take
Kickball over Unicorns any day.

The First Game - Trauma Center vs. The Word Nerds -
was almost over before it started. Several of the
Nerds were nursing injuries from Week One - no doubt
suffering the effects of their first physical activity
in years. And for a while it looked as if the Word
Nerds would forfeit, going home to eat Doritos and
play Magic-The Gathering. But wait. Is that…sweet
Christ on the Cross…it is - Mad Dog. Showing both a
total lack of loyalty to the Decatur Defenders and an
insatiable desire to injure himself, Mad Dog took the
Field. And suddenly, it looked like the Balance of
Power had shifted to the Word Nerds.

But then there was a terrible, piercing wail that
echoed out across the Field:

“Rat-tailed Jimmy is a second hand hood
He deals out in Hollywood
Got a ‘65 Chevy, primered flames
Traded for some powdered goods
Jigsaw Jimmy He’s runnin’ a gang
But I hear he’s doin’ o.k.
Got a cozy little job, sells the Mexican mob
Packages of candycaine
He’s the one they call Dr. Feelgood
He’s the one that makes ya feel alright
He’s the one they call Dr. Feelgood.”

And Trauma Center stormed onto the Field. The Word
Nerds were stunned. This wasn�t the “Harry Potter
Motion Picture Soundtrack” that they were used to.
Far from it. This was Kickball. And as the game got
underway, it was clear that Trauma Center was in
control. Run after run scored as Doctors and Bad
Nurses rounded the bases, led by Clean-Up
Kicker/Resident Surgeon Doug Ganey who launched two
In-The-Park-Home-Runs to win the coveted Narragansett
Lager Player of the Week Award.

[Advertisement: Narragansett: The Taste of a Kickball.
Narragansett Lager- Official Sponsor of the
Providence Kickball League.]

There was nothing the Word Nerds could do to stop the
bleeding. Mad Dog threw himself about the Field, but
even fracturing his skull and pulling every muscle in
his legs/groin couldn�t help the Word Nerds spell
Victory. Final Score: Trauma Center 17 - Word Nerds 3.

Game Two - the Guerrilla Gardeners vs. The
Productivists - was basically just a one, big
Hippie-Fest. It was like the Burning Man Festival; a
NORML Strategy Session; a Dennis Kucinich Rally.
Clearly a depraved and disgusting display not suitable
for small children or the elderly. This game came
down to Hippies who work in Organic Gardens vs.
Hippies who eat food gown in Organic Gardens. Farmer
Hippies vs. Socialist Hippies. Nag Champa vs.
Pachouli. Jerry Garcia vs. Trey Anastasio. And I think
I speak for all of us when I say: Who really gives a
shit.

But as the players took the Field, things got ugly.
Maybe someone laced the Communal Stash with PCP. As
one of the Productivists tended his crops [read: pot]
in the outfield, the Guerrilla Gardeners rushed him,
stabbing with rakes and shovels and Graffix Bongs.
Then they dragged his bloody body and dumped him in a
Compost Bin out of which grew a lovely, delicate
flower [read: pot]. It was bizarre and terrible. And
things only got weirder and more - dare I say it -
tripped out. The Productivists carried another Dead
Player and dumped him in the Guerilla Gardeners
Dugout. The Crowd gaped, unsure of what was going to
happen next. But I knew that one thing was clear:
Hippies loooooooooove to smoke weed and drop Acid.

As the game got underway, Some Hippies scored runs and
Some Other Hippies didn�t. Some Hippies kicked the
ball and Some Other Hippies caught the ball. After a
lot of bat-hits, hacky-sacking, drum circling and
tuning in to the Universal Love Vibe, Some Hippies
beat Some Other Hippies 19-3 in the worst Hippie
Ass-Kicking since Woodstock III. [ed. note: Guerilla
Gardeners 19 - Productivists 3]. As the Productivists
limped off the Field and headed home to eat Jumbo Size
Bags of Combos and Double Stuff Oreo Cookies, Color
Commentator Stan McNabb summed up the scene: “If The
Productivists are going to Hell in a Bucket, I sure
hope they�re enjoying the ride.”

Game Three - The BSRmadillos vs. Cunning Baffling
Powerful - was, yet again, a lopsided throttling.
Cunning, Baffling, Powerful jumped out to an early
lead - shouting and swearing and shouting some more.
And with each run, things began to look very grim for
the BSRmadillos. Disc Jockeys and Station Managers
milled around the Field shouting and bickering. They
looked confused, disorganized; very pale. One of them
was wearing a Football Helmet. And several of them
were even holding on to the sad, pathetic notion that
Radio is not a dead Communications Medium.

Perhaps My Attorney put it best: “This game is about
as disappointing and terrible as their programming
decisions and on-air personalities.”

The BSRmadillos put up a good fight and managed to
score a few runs. But in the end, they couldn’t stop
Cunning, Baffling, Powerful from securing their second
win of the Season and sole possession of First Place
in the Liberty Division by a score of 10-4.

And as the sun set into Olneyville and somewhere
Paramedics worked feverishly on Mad Dog’s bloody shell
of a body, I popped an Ice Cold Narragansett Tall Boy
[Advertisement: Hi Neighbor … have a Gansett.
Narragansett Lager- Official Sponsor of the Providence
Kickball League.] and looked ahead to Week Three.
Kickball doesn’t get any better than this