Der Tyrant’s Corner July 29th, 2011 AD

Darling 1^st & 4^thers,

I hope this finds you all well.

As we grow better faster stronger in our play of the sport of Subbuteo, it makes me think that we’re missing something. We have a club name, a motto, nicknames, pitches, players, balls, deciders, self-invented verbs, titles, trophies, a blog, movies, a line of fashionable sports wear and a lot of other crap; but we’re missing something that is so simple and yet so vital to a great finger soccer club… and it is the obvious, the club colors.

I hereby set out to correct this bit of oversight. Because I am some sort of fair or touched tyrant, I will open the color choice suggestion up to the members of the club… for one month. If I do not receive any suggestions on the club colors, I will choose them myself and lord it over all of you for the rest of your lives.

So, in keeping with other sporting team color traditions, you may choose a scheme involving up to two or three colors. Please be specific in your description of your team color suggestions. For instance, blue and white doesn’t cut it. We need to know exactly what kind of blue and what kind of white. For instance, I think the blue and white of the University of Kentucky basketball team makes me want to vomit, so if I’m in a bad mood and you suggest “blue and white”, then I’m going to assume you meant the University of Kentucky blue and white, vomit and delete your suggestion… and possibly remove you from my xmas card list as well… and maybe prank you by sending a pizza that you didn’t order to your house. So I caution you to be specific. Other examples which would be acceptable are: Blue like Taylor Swift’s eyes… if they’re blue and if I’m wrong why the hell would I be supposed to know something like that?... Chog poo brown… Yellow like Sasquatch’s teeth because his teeth are yellow and that is a complete and unalterable fact before god, science and country… etc.

My suggestion for our club colors:

Black hole hands black, white as bright as my impeccable soul and red (pantone 19-1763… google image it if you don’t know what I’m talking about).

You have until August 29^th to submit your ideas via comments to this blog, email (timwritesbooks@gmail.com) or the dreaded Facebook message. I will then list all our possible choices and we will vote, thus settling this matter by early September. Or maybe you’ll all slack off and I’ll decide what our club colors will be. Get crackin’.

Your lovely,

Der Tyrant

Subbuteo Man’s Ambassadorial Debut Met With Mixed Reviews

One doesn’t need a trans-Atlantic flight to undergo an international experience. Ergo, Subbuteo Man, bearing his millimeter-high passport, headed north of the border for a Canadian excursion, undertaking an ambassadorial mission of fellowship, sportsmanship, respect, brotherhood and much needed sobriety. This cultural exchange revealed just how far the “most” beautiful game (Subbuteo) has come. Yet, not all “Canucks” appreciated Subbuteo man’s antics.

Case in point, Subbuteo Man’s first stop on his goodwill tour landed him in a Canadian Black Squirrel correctional institution. Hoping to get a few flicks in before feeding time, Subbuteo Man managed to rub the mammalian inmates the wrong way. Using equal parts guile, rub-it-in-your-face provocation and good old American know-how, Subbuteo Man quickly inspired a squirrel prison riot. Canadian officials soon subdued the riotous rodents and asked Subbuteo Man to bid farewell.

Next on his agenda, Subbuteo Man tried to work his multicultural magic at an aviary. The miniature emissary was initially snubbed; however, a gull’s inattentiveness soon turned to resentment and outright disdain. Perhaps it was Subbuteo Man’s tactless comments about William Shatner (Canada’s Sorrow), an overall non-appreciation of the President’s Cup or a refusal to pay 13% sales tax that drove the gulls to rage. Any way you slice it, Subbuteo Man made no feathered friends on this day. As any 1^st & 4th Club member will tell you, a gull in the hand is definitely worth two in the bush.

Even his own entourage couldn't bear the pint-sized envoy’s larking about. Although the photo below shows Harrison and Carter (fresh off their co-Golden Boot awards) mildly amused at Subbuteo Man’s knock-knock joke, (SM-“Knock knock.” E & Avery-“Who’s there?” SM-“Canada.” Avery& E-“Canada who?” SM-“Canada bring me some more money? The exchange rate totally blows here!” E & Avery-“OMG, you totally blow!”) Avery hangs her head in shame, embarrassed to be associated with Subbuteo’s most traveled figure. E barely holds it together in another photo as Subbuteo Man cracks wise.

Surprisingly, the trip wasn’t a total wash. Subbuteo Man made one friend in a butterfly conservatory. It is believed the like-minded companions struck common ground, agreeing to the enjoyment of Der Tyrant's Corner and Ask Professor Plaga. Although wary of the butterfly’s probing proboscis, Subbuteo Man managed to get in a full fourteen-minute friendly, tying his new winged friend two all.

One might ask, what is the lesson to be taken away from all of this? After all, isn’t Subbuteo Man’s confrontational style and overall dismissal of the Canadian public exactly what we don’t need in times like these? This writer believes Subbuteo Man’s travels a valuable asset to both the “Sport” of Subbuteo and to relations with our land-linked nations. In the land of maple syrup and hockey, Subbuteo Man paved the way for future Subbuteo tournament play all while promoting the 1^st and 4^th Club’s philosophy of Plaga, Iuguolo, Adificio. More sophisticated Canadians, who can put down their Molsons and beaver pelts for two-minutes, appreciate Subbuteo Man’s main message: America’s slightly better in all ways, except waterfalls, health care and general governance. And whether you’re a black squirrel, angry sea gull, or brackish butterfly, we all can agree on that.

Avery, First Lady of Subbuteo

Who says girls can't play subbuteo? Oh, wow ... there's a lot of you. Well, you’re all wrong about that. Dude, that’s your sister you’re talking about. Chill.

That certainly is not the stance of this organization. In fact, the 1^st & 4^th Subbuteo Club proudly embraces seven members of the fairer sex (including the Time “Keeper”). They contribute style, poise, and tenacity to tournament play, as well as possess an impressive knowledge of the game and dedication to the Club. But among them, one stands out: Avery (Ave), the first female champion of a Club subbuteo tournament. Avery never lets the haters win, and sometimes not even her opponents. At the MMRSMMDWT, paired with Harrison (2010 POY), she proved an able partner—even netting goals in the championship game! The author caught up with Avery after she’d returned from a post-4^th Tournament expedition to the Canadian frontier.

T-Dexxx: How did it feel to win a championship?

Ave: It felt relieving and awesome to win the tournament.

What does it mean to be the first girl to do so?

Being the first girl to win means a lot, because I really hope to inspire other girls in the club to shoot for the stars and let them know it is possible to win a tournament.

How did it feel to defeat your brother (Dutch)?

I felt victorious defeating my brother because he has played longer than I have, so it just shows I have what it takes.

How do you think your victory has affected the club?

I think my victory has made the club appreciate my subbuteo playing more. I used to be somebody that wasn’t wanted on their team. Now, they'd be lucky to have me play with them

Were you particularly moved by "Macho Man" to win?

I didn't even know Macho Man was a factor in the games until after the tournament. So, no.

How did you manage to consume your can of Slim Jims?
I have not yet consumed my Slim Jim trophy. They are not my first choice in the snack category.

Do you have any female role models that inspire you?

Taylor Swift really inspires me to achieve. So does Hope Solo and other various women soccer stars.

What are your goals in subbuteo? In life?

My goals in Subbuteo are to attempt to win on either the 1st or the 4th. The bigger the tournament, the better publicity. In life, I'd like to become a star and live in Hollywood.

Do you have any words of advice for aspiring female subbuteo players (E, Tea, Mary Beth, etc.)?

My words of advice to female subbuteo players are to keep practicing, invent some kind of verb in the game that uses your name, dream big, and NEVER SAY NEVER. ~avery

Der Tyrant's Corner... July 9th, 2011

Die Tim means "The Tim" in German.

“JC boys delight record attendance at 4^th tournament by nearly winning semi-finals in most dramatic fashion."

There’s nothing like a 25 minute Subbuteo match between determined opponents to stir the patriotic blood on a date chosen by politicians to celebrate major savings at most corporate retail establishments. But I’m getting ahead of myself… Let me tell you about the perfect moment at the 4th of July Classic in America's Sorrow. Slacker Genius… PM Track… Each team showed incredible poise during the tournament, PM Track smashing opponents by greedily scoring on them, while the noble Slacker Genius crushed the will of their opponents with defensive skill which can only be described as surgical. There was a hum in the air as the semi final game between Slacker Genius and PM Track began. At the end of regulation play they were surrounded by handfuls of fans and they were tied, something to something. I mean, it was so long ago who can remember the details… And then they were still tied after a 5 minute overtime. And they remained tied after some sort of HORSE-basketball-style goal scoring competition. Slacker Genius finally sucked it up during the PKs and lost.

With that loss, the tremendous drama that had grown through out the day, nay, since the 1^st of January was released. It was a watershed moment in sports that one had to be there to truly understand. Like the Giants winning the pennant, Lebron losing the championship or the General leading his team to victory in parkour; it was a moment that will live forever in the hearts and minds of this grateful nation.

And apparently there was another game after that… I guess that somebody won.”

--Oliver Plunkett, The New World Time Sports Illustrated Semi-annual, July 7th, 2011

See, isn’t that a lovely article? I barely have anything to add. I guess the only thing I have to say, other than ruing the fact that a Decker still has not won a 1^st & 4^th championship and I know that all eyes are on me to reach that acclaimed position... is that my new “moving dudes on the pitch” offense still needs work. As I mentioned in previous posts, my “no touch” offense is so brilliant that combined with my indomitable black hole hand defense, I would win every game ever played. Being a fair minded tyrant, I used my well inked finger to “bring” a “traditional” offense to the game and my team suffered for it. I must apologize to HBT for not scoring enough goals to shut the Schettlers out of their own tournament championship game. And I will state for the record, pounding a shoe on my laptop for emphasis, I will bury you!

Kitfoa with love,

Der Tyrant

After thoughts:

Will The Thrill did not go home crying and did, in fact, score a goal or two. He even scored a goal on his son, C-Train, which will, no doubt, lead to a serious father and son confrontation at some point in the future, just like Luke and Vader. I’m putting my money on C-Train.

Props for C-Train showing up and playing the full tournament like a champ, despite barely being able to reach the middle of the pitch and staying awake many hours after his bedtime. And with 3 saves to his credit, I foresee a future Black Hole Hands award in the future… you know, once he overcomes the temptations of the Dark Side and cuts off his father’s hand. Props to E and her excellent coaching skilz. Certainly they were the rightful, lawful winners of the President’s Cup and bring a sense of honor to the title (unlike the Mark and HBT losing "partnership" that brought the President’s Cup into existence).

And obviously, we must wait with bated breath for Mark the President to get back from his trip to The Great White North and set the record straight that The Crew did indeed win the President’s Cup during the 4^th Tournament. Sorry, The Blur, but even your most verbose ‘roid rage will not get you the laurels that you do not deserve. Champion, yes, President’s Cup winner, no. If you need me to, I’ll make you a shirt that says you didn’t win the President’s Cup so you can have a constant reminder of that fact.

Suck that.

Bastards’ Cup Co-Champion Bites Back

It’s easy to talk smack when you go down in flames in the tournament -- after all, you've got plenty of company, but don’t go hating the real winners. Sure, The Presidents’ Cup is controversial, and I won’t begrudge Kid Davies for his deft, if not unorthodox, handiwork on the green, but remember “first and foremost” it was the Miami Streetwalkers who were named the "Presidents’ Cup" before the tournament started. You want to take it back after the fact – do what you will (in name only), Indian givers, but we were already branded and as such took not just a second cup when we won the "Bastards’ Cup", but a third “The Ascendants’ Cup” for the hat trick and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give any of them back, so in the immortal words of your Jersey Shore partner “Suck it!” all you tramp stamp wearing haters! Kid Davies, you’re a welcome addition to the Club and I’d go so far to back your title of El Presidente, as I remember Der Tyrant proclaimed you that night post tournament. As for the rest, talk all the smack you want, but we’re the ones holding the trophy. For the propaganda film posing the question “What can’t I do?” – the answer: “Win”. As for all the interval training, name calling, ball obstructing, hair on the table citing, J Crew wearing, Gatorade swilling, jean jacket bedazzling, Parkour watching, hair braiding, Bastards’ Cup wannabe’s, go have yourself a good cry in the corner and save your lip for Wednesday night Bingo at the senior citizens’ center. You wanna run with the big boys, then put up or shut up. Shut up. We’re done here.

“The Blur”

Who won what, where, when, and why.

Exhibit A: "The Crew" stifles the hapless HBT
Okay, sure. No one can deny that Mark the Pres and The Blur street-walked away with the Bastard's Cup—they won. But (but!), does that make them the best team?

No, just the winning team. And if there's anyone who would admit there's more to a subbuteo team than winning, first and foremost (get it?) would be Mark the Pres—whom I believe even created a cup in celebration of this fact. Yes, the President's Cup is a controversial subject around the ol' club house—but its winner at the 4th Tourney is not to be disputed.

After the drawing, "The Miami Streetwalkers" were certainly the presumptive winners of both cups. But after the tournament, they'd only garnered a single one (that is, the bedazzled cup filled with licorice.) In his victory-soaked revelry (or maybe just his sweat-begrimed exhaustion), Mark the Pres, in a rare display of benevolence, decreed that the winner of the President’s Cup was "The Crew"—the embattled partnership of E and young Calvin Plank, Esq. And I believe if one were to access the official tournament score sheet from the Club archives, one would see clearly written (in the authoritative hand of Dutch, the Club Manager) that very same result. Although their winsome ways produced no wins, the endearing pair—with their precocious play and indefatigable esprit de corps—embodied the true meaning of “team,” and they deservedly earned not only the President’s cup, but a place in our hearts.

“Ascend” where you will, but Club rules disallow any “double-fisting” of cups.

--T-Dexxx

1st and 4th Club Crowns First "Ascendants' Cup" Winners

Competition was stiff this year as teams were drawn per the standard lottery provisions of the codified by-laws. In keeping with all the legalese involved, Will "The Thrill" Davies returned to Lancaster County for his first game of subbuteo there in 15 years. His son Calvin assisted Mark in keeping the lottery above board -- even when Vader's helmet split into three pieces and dumped the names across the floor of the garage / game central.

Mark -- quite possibly the most elite of players in the club if not the world -- would find himself saddled with The Blur, whom street cred and enigmatic ID photo not withstanding, is far from one of the top 5 in the club. Reunited, Behemoth Junk would reinvent itself as the Miami Streetwalkers. Mark, the talent, would dish out the damage on offense and razzle-dazzle the crowds with his ball control and shooting skills. The Blur's game plan going into the partnership: "Don't mess up". For him quicksand is one scary Motha'-Flicker. All in all, he kept it together even when he botched shots and opened up a never ending corner kick scenario after time had run out at the first half of the final game against Firewrists and the ringer he brought in to partner with -- how convenient that worked out for him, don't you think?

(the line-up)

Firewrists & Co. would find themselves in overtime penalty shots for both the semi-final round and the final round for all the licorice contained within the highly coveted and often controversial "Bastards' Cup". In truly epic fashion, the game came down to father and son squaring off, but the young padawan would learn a harsh lesson that evening as Mark demonstrated in modest fashion that you don't have to have a flashy nickname to be the Master of the Game.

Dubbed the "President's Cup" team after all the lots were drawn and before the tournament began that 8 o'clock hour on July 3rd, the Miami Streetwalkers would do what no team has done before -- shove that title down the throats of their opponents. Holding that title and winning the tournament to claim the "Bastard's Cup" earned them the honor of becoming the "Ascendants' Cup".

When asked about the win, The Blur commented on how surreal winning felt. He attributes the team's success to the leadership and tutelage of Mark. "A few months back he gave me some pointers on how to improve my ball control and shooting ability. I took it to heart and trained and trained. His knowledge of the game is staggering. And when I'd mess up in the tournament...especially in the championship game, he'd play it off like it was nothing, give me a wink (but not a wink like they do in Twilight), and get us right back into the game, which helped me keep a positive attitude and stay focused."

At 12:45 AM on July 4th, the champions were crowned. To borrow an out of context direct quote from approximately that moment, Mark said, "As it should be."

Here are a few photos of pivotal moments in the tournament that show just how the range of emotions and pressures felt by the field of participants.

"The Tension"

"The Horror!"

"The Thrill"

"The Spill"