From Legacy to Legend…

… in one year. Yes, it’s true, the greatest of all Subbuteo legacy players of the 1^st & 4^th Club achieved the status of legend. Der Tyrant, who I know and really love, won two classics in the last, what, eight or nine months? Yes, two. And yes, he did have help from his inestimable teammates. And yes, he is writing in the third person. That’s just how impressive he/I have become. Just be glad he’s not using the royal “we”.

Anyway, yeah, I rule.

First there was the 4^th Tournament, held in the balmy conditions of the Schettler family carriage house on the wee hours of the night of the day of our nation’s birth, or something like that. Paired with Kaitlyn, previous winner of the mid-summer classic, the we rolled over our opponents like nobody’s bidness. Fingers were flying, goals were scored, saves were made. I think I drank eighteen Capri Sun packets just to keep my fluid level at normal for fear of dying of dehydration. The night passed in such a brutal haze that the only thing I recall, besides hoisting the most bedazzled of trophies over my head was when HBT, upon losing his last game, left the garage… taking the ball with him. Truly whip-ish behavior. But anyway, Kaitlyn and I kicked bootie.

Then there was the 1^st Tournament, held in the climate controlled basement of the Michael Rauenzahn Bio-dome of Cutting Edge Snack Products. Apparently, it was cold outside, but who could think of such things while the members of the 1^st & 4^th were launching fiery shots across the pitch? Not me, that’s for damn sure. I was too focused on bringing heroic victory to my fans and loyal supporters. At first, I was a tad bit worried as I was paired with Dutch. In previous tournaments, our team was a recipe for penultimate failure. We play like golden gods only lose to some other “team” in the final game. But like all good Disney movies involving chimps and ice skating, we used our underdog status… underchimp status, maybe?... to destroy the opposition in match after match. Again, the night passed so quickly that I can’t recall much. Though I do remember getting scored upon by Dirty Nacho at the end of one period on a totally bogus corner kick thing… which is why I don’t believe it actually happened. That hardly matters now. These days, I can rest my magnificent laurels, one on each trophy, in clouds of glory, the kind usually reserved for Greek heroes or celebrities who survive a lot of plastic surgery and end up on the cover of People showing off their new bikini body.

Trust me, when I arrive to defend my title this July, you’ll see all kinds of wonderful, tyrant-y bikini action. So much so you might be forced to wonder if it’s a bikini atoll.

I am a legend. Suck it, world.