As the grueling 2011 season churns on, the 1
st & 4
th Subbuteo Club paused this past Memorial Day weekend to remember a fallen hero—“Macho Man” Randy Savage, who nobly perished not in the ring but in thwarting the alleged Rapture that would have robbed humanity not only of its existence but of a 3-day holiday weekend.
Almost as if on cue, the Blur departed from the weekend’s festivities hours before the beginning of the tournament. He did, however, flick his way through a few preliminary games the night before; but his absence from the tournament deprived the club of his unique combination of ferocious smack-talk and leisurely play. With the Blur out, the Guest Player was therefore excused from competition, much to his relief. When shall either of them appear again in a Club function? It’s a mystery as baffling as the Millersville squadger.
From an unceremonious draw (what, no laminated name cards?) came the following teams:
Midden-Europa (Dutch & Der Tyrant)
Hørdest Sandwich (Mark & HBT)
Furious Flickers (E & Dirty Nacho or “DN”)
The Salty Specialty (Harrison & Avery)
Rogue Decker Sisters (Kaitlyn & Téa)
Rather than a group stage, the MMRSMMDWT began with round-robin play between the five teams—a sixteen-game marathon endurable thanks only to fruity booze, a plethora of sugary snack foods, and the mad beats of MC Dutch. And while he split his time between the pitch and his duties as club manager, Mandy (a.k.a. “The Drunkard”) kept time for the erstwhile preoccupied club members. She did remarkably well in this role: expediting the start of games and announcing the 1-minute and 5-second mark at the end of each half (although, after a certain hour and number of drinks, judging the length of those final five seconds did become more difficult than normal.)
The first stage shook out as follows:
| Wins | Draws | Losses | GF | GA | GD | PTS |
| RDS | 0 | 1 | 3 | 1 | 12 | -11 | 1 |
| ME | 1 | 2 | 1 | 5 | 4 | 1 | 5 |
| SS | 2 | 2 | 0 | 9 | 3 | 6 | 8 |
| FF | 1 | 2 | 1 | 4 | 5 | -1 | 5 |
| HS | 1 | 3 | 0 | 8 | 3 | 5 | 6 |
Rather than grant the first-place team, Salty Specialty, a bye into the semifinals (or straight to the finals, as they are wont to do in the world of competitive
parkour), the Club decided to eliminate the last-place team. Jonesing to shoot Nazi-zombies since the very beginning of the tournament, the Rogue Decker Sisters were more than happy to accept their fate. The bonds of sisterhood were nearly shattered on the pitch, as time and time again, Kaitlyn’s “coaching” failed to inspire the skillful play Téa typically exhibited. That she was forced to play defense—and hence receive the blame for the eleven goals allowed (including one to her brother, who tactlessly danced in her face)—never seemed to faze the young girl, much to her credit. But, really, the pair never stood a chance. Perhaps in the future the Decker siblings will utilize their unique camaraderie and mount a successful tournament campaign. But until then, winning seems to favor those with regular access to a subbuteo pitch. (They know who they are.)
In the first semifinal game, between Salty Specialty and Furious Flickers, Harrison and Avery overpowered their opponents, netting four goals. Avery’s timely switch from contact lenses to glasses (and her continued consumption of sugar) spurred her on, while Harrison (doped up for sure) both dedicated his goals to “Randy” and dedicated himself to winning yet another championship—no matter what teammate he was saddled with. But was this enough for him? No. Never. Harrison punctuated his team's dominating performance by setting--then breaking--the Club record for the fastest goal scored to begin a half. After scoring in thirty seconds (as determined by our inebriated time-keeper), he boldly declared that he could do better--then cut this mark in half to begin the second half. He seems to have established a standard of offensive prowess that may never be rivaled. (Or has he? With the numbers Mark and his protege put on the board in this tourney, he may not be in a league of his own after all.)
The Furious Flickers (sweet name, by the way) gave a good showing, having reached the semis on a combination of Dirty Nacho’s typically nasty skillz and E’s stalwart defense. And considering how tired and voiceless she was, it’s rather impressive that she could wield her goalie and argue calls as effectively as she did. (E's defensive attitude brought about something of a new rule: if neither team knows what the hell happened during a play, the result shall favor the team that whines the most; but the next time no one has a clue, the result shall go to the other team, fair and square. I believe this is called the "make-up rule," and that professional referees in all sports use it regularly.)
The second semifinal—the penultimate game, if you will—pitted Hørdest Sandwich against Midden-Europa; having played to a nil-nil draw in the final opening round game, these opponents were familiar foes and eager for a win.
Though swollen with Swedish meatballs and exhausted by pitching a full wiffleball batting practice, Club President-for-Life Mark nonetheless persevered and had started his tournament with a hot finger, banging home half-a-dozen goals in the first four games. He’d recovered so well, that he even managed a spirited rendition of the “Dougie” after each goal—with the support, of course, of his teammate HBT, and the occasional appearance of Dirty Nacho, a la Joe C. But when it came to the knock-out stage, this deluge (much like the infamous Flood of ‘06 ) of goals implausibly ebbed, leaving Hørdest Sandwich as dried up as a meat stick and as goal-less as a playwright three years out of college.
As they had in previous games, Midden-Europa relied on a Dutch offense and a German defense. Two first-half goals from Dutch held up for the win against an increasingly desperate effort from Hørdest Sandwich. (As the reigning Number One, it surely pained him to bury two goals against the Club President, but he showed no remorse and there has been no change in his ranking.) Despite der Tyrant’s proclivity to recklessly tackle and egregiously foul his opponents, nothing could undermine the veritable Dutch dike in the backfield. Coming out of the opening stage in third place, Midden-Europa seemed to fly under the radar and could have perhaps been considered a dark-horse for the championship. But followers of the league (and this blog) will surely remember that this same pairing had reached the finals of the 2011 First Tournament—and even held a 2-goal lead at one point. And who should they meet in the MMRSMMDWT final? None other than their nemesis from that January 1st meeting: the 2010 POY (and 2011 POY candidate), Harrison. Oh, and Avery.
Nearly four GD hours after the tournament began, the most anticipated showdown of the evening finally arrived on the pitch. Would we see a repeat of the First Tournament final—or would Dutch snatch another championship from Harrison, as he had at SEBT? And what of those intangibles: their teammates? Would Avery prove to be a goal-scoring threat, or merely a time-wasting strategist? And would der Tyrant’s tackling errors be their undoing—or would the lucky “Deutschland” unterwasche persevere?
I was so tired that I barely remember the details of the game, but I do recall that with the Salty Specialty up 3 goals to 2 (including Avery's first in a tournament final!), the second half became a fierce tactical match. At the restart after the third goal, both teams switched their offenses and defenses, with Midden-Europa putting Dutch forward in hopes of netting the equalizer, and Harrison moving back to thwart him. But the lead was insurmountable, and just as at the First Tourney, Harrison and his teammate raised the trophy. Did I mention the trophy? Each member of Salty Specialty received a commemorative canister of Slim Jims, kindly donated to the Club by an anonymous patron.
Harrison reflected on his latest tournament championship: "Winning never gets old. The target on my back keeps getting bigger and bigger, and I love it. RIP Randy." Reached for comment after the game, Dutch put things in context: "It was a tournament for the ages, but also another blemish on my legacy." Seen days later, muttering to himself while cleaning a Jersey City kitchen, Der Tyrant only replied, "We were robbed!"
But the victory of The Salty Specialty begs the question of which matters more: the talent of a randomly selected team, or a deliberately-chosen team name that's appropriately connected to the theme of the tournament? I'm guessing it's a little of both, and that we'll be seeing a plethora of patriotic team names at the 4th Tournament (to be played on July 3rd), which is just one month away, so ...
Let the smack-talk begin!
--T-Dexxx
