April 29th, 2010. Back from a disastrous road campaign, the down-spiraling, disordered Darger army took up a stark line of defense during a night of swirling consequences in the piercing, un-prevailing winds of Chavez Ravine.
With the molten-hot guns from Steel City circling like vultures, and casualties mounting, General Glory huddled the bandaged, battle-bloodied troops, and stratergized to steady the ship. He gave the command to No.22. The struggling, young bulwark was initially maligned by the meandering misalignment of his missile guidance counsel, and the errant, ill-timed ticks by the central anti-aircraft guns in the opening exchange cost the maturing marksman- and the down and out Dargers- a shot at victory.
As the battle slew into the cold, exposed hours of the night, the lead rifler and his sniper team were able to keep the invaders at bay, but with little fanfare. For the 5th consecutive outing, the Darger guns were silenced. Without the presence of No.99 on the battlefield, the Darger's mobilized heavy artillery operations have been ground to a halt. L is for Last place.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Blown Away
April 28th, 2010. On an unnecessary cold and windy battlefront 2,800 miles across the divided homeland, the Dargers on Wednesday put up a last ditch fight against the unyielding Citizen army whom they had come to conquer. In a desperate move by the crippled invaders, the newest recruit, No.48, was thrust into the hostile arena in hopes of creating enough chaotic discourse to allow for an ordered, diversionary withdrawal from the toxic, turbulent Citi of bankers.
The promising, young rifler took his position in the center of whirlwind war zone, but his inexperience cost him any chance of glory today. The Darger unit is making way for Traffic Town in a state of utter disarray. Intelligence reports coming out of Central Command are showing small signs of squalor and dissent within the inner circling sect of war hawks. L is for "the Winds of War"
The promising, young rifler took his position in the center of whirlwind war zone, but his inexperience cost him any chance of glory today. The Darger unit is making way for Traffic Town in a state of utter disarray. Intelligence reports coming out of Central Command are showing small signs of squalor and dissent within the inner circling sect of war hawks. L is for "the Winds of War"
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Doubled Over
April 27th, 2010. After surrendering a second straight city in as many outings, the humbled Darger army spent all of Monday climbing out of the ashes in Warville, then grumbling north up the main supply road for 240 miles, chasing counter-revolutionary traffic into $tock Citifor yet another debacle. Once inside the corrupt megalopolis, however, the forces were met with a 24-hour cease-fire.
So, today, with a little more than 2 extra days removed from combat, an exasperated General Glory ordered his attack hands to throw two successive, head-on investments at the well fortified, state-of-the-art, Citidel(sic). The first assault was led by No.18, and although his charge was struck hard at the outset, he fought a determined fight, but eventually had his horse shot out from him. His fresh-faced replacement was simply overwhelmed in his first call to duty and was forced to lay down his arms. Meanwhile, the Darger artillery units were again held in check. L is for "in like a lamb"
In the 2nd wave of attack, the oddball dragoon, No.49, was sent in to breach the nouveau riche walls of the Citidel(sic). However, the defenses were wise to the battlefield tricks of the flat-footed musketeer, and they took complete control from the start. Finally, the Darger cannons were able to get back on track and staged a rally that brought the battle to a stalemate until the all too familiar meltdown of the never-ready reserves. Once again, the arms support failed to turn back the counter-attack, and the night ended in a sound defeat for the Darger forces. The down-trodden troops will have to find some way to find the will and firepower to get out of the Citi(sic)alive. L is for "out like a light"
So, today, with a little more than 2 extra days removed from combat, an exasperated General Glory ordered his attack hands to throw two successive, head-on investments at the well fortified, state-of-the-art, Citidel
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Obelisked!
April 25, 2010. With mounting pressure from the home front, and empty hand lobbying from the forward command, the discordant Darger unit was unable to capitalize on the illusive capitol defenses. Again, the Darger heavy artillery failed to breach a single line of the special forces interest groups, the choreographed grassroots movements, or the sniveling, lip-service militias.
Lost in the early symbolism of the Sunday afternoon, a cult of 33,000 sun worshippers outlined the owlish inroads of the district in a profane parade of Warvillian protectionism. Darger forces book-ended the day's fighting by mounting hard-hitting campaigns, but were ultimately brought down by the enemy's lone psychological operation.
The new balance of power has rapidly masqueraded into an arms race, and the challenge now falls in the hands of a ragtag group of professional conscripts who are underfoot, limping north into unbridled, urban warfare.
L is for E pluribus nothing.
Lost in the early symbolism of the Sunday afternoon, a cult of 33,000 sun worshippers outlined the owlish inroads of the district in a profane parade of Warvillian protectionism. Darger forces book-ended the day's fighting by mounting hard-hitting campaigns, but were ultimately brought down by the enemy's lone psychological operation.
The new balance of power has rapidly masqueraded into an arms race, and the challenge now falls in the hands of a ragtag group of professional conscripts who are underfoot, limping north into unbridled, urban warfare.
L is for E pluribus nothing.
13 !
April 24, 2010. Still reeling from the previous night's secularized setback in the cacological catacombs of Warville, the Darger combatants launched a breakthrough assault in the 13th hour under the evil eye of the home standing army of pagan nationalists.
Leading the preemptive raid on the occult camp was the god-fearing gunslinger, No. 22, who used his own other-worldliness at times to fend off wave after wave of civic bedevilment. He finally received solid re-con support from the core of recreant riflers with sufficient small arms policing, until an all-out implosion during the closing formations allowed the battle to rage on needlessly into the void of sufficiency.
Shouldering the arms, a refurbished, bomb throwing No. 23, outmaneuvered the rank and file tanks and twice sent devastating volleys over the walls of the hegemonistic safehold. Unbound by the choking clouds of cannon smoke hanging beneath a heavy canopy of a spellbound storm, No. 15, with the good fortune of his rabbit's foot speed, was able to dash across enemy lines during a remarkable, hit and run attack by No. 55, who cast aside his once held affiliation with the goat-horned head masters for the crown of a true champion.
But this battle for decency and truth is not over. A sabbath battle is set. W is for Sabbatarian Party.
Leading the preemptive raid on the occult camp was the god-fearing gunslinger, No. 22, who used his own other-worldliness at times to fend off wave after wave of civic bedevilment. He finally received solid re-con support from the core of recreant riflers with sufficient small arms policing, until an all-out implosion during the closing formations allowed the battle to rage on needlessly into the void of sufficiency.
Shouldering the arms, a refurbished, bomb throwing No. 23, outmaneuvered the rank and file tanks and twice sent devastating volleys over the walls of the hegemonistic safehold. Unbound by the choking clouds of cannon smoke hanging beneath a heavy canopy of a spellbound storm, No. 15, with the good fortune of his rabbit's foot speed, was able to dash across enemy lines during a remarkable, hit and run attack by No. 55, who cast aside his once held affiliation with the goat-horned head masters for the crown of a true champion.
But this battle for decency and truth is not over. A sabbath battle is set. W is for Sabbatarian Party.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Big Guns Silenced
April 23rd, 2010. The Darger military entered the partisan perimeters of "Pentagram City" on Friday night under the threat of darkening skies. An ominous darkness that seemed to slither right through the very souls of the invading army. With their most decorated artilleryman wounded in the fighting the night before, the Darger bombardment was ineffective in their initial siege against the fortified Warville forces.
Two 5,000 pound ordinances were dropped on the Darger front liners who were under the misguided command of No.49 at the time. Both bombs were crushing blows to the attacking force and there was not much of a fight in the platoon after that as the Dargers seemed disorganized and trance-like. The darkness still looms. L is for L'Enfant!
Two 5,000 pound ordinances were dropped on the Darger front liners who were under the misguided command of No.49 at the time. Both bombs were crushing blows to the attacking force and there was not much of a fight in the platoon after that as the Dargers seemed disorganized and trance-like. The darkness still looms. L is for L'Enfant!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Familiar Foe
April 22nd, 2010. A battered, war torn city was able to raise it's colors after another predictable collapse by the second rate, second line, Darger field reservists. Now, the dilapidated Darger ground forces will limp away from the heavy losses they sustained during the evening's counter-offensive at River Bend, and maneuver 525 miles across the snarling , bumber-to-bumper frontier to the stronghold city of the nation's shadowy, sacrificial center of secret shareholder handshakes, and diversionary wartime economic policy.
Tonight's cannon fodder performances by the reserve militia tenderfoots, Numbers 54 and 56, erased the brilliant swing attack of veteran landwehr, No. 9, who had advanced the Dargers to within measurable distance of a victorious road campaign. On to Warville! The War Doves have circled the road map. L is for Lye- (Remember that human fat makes the best soap.)
Tonight's cannon fodder performances by the reserve militia tenderfoots, Numbers 54 and 56, erased the brilliant swing attack of veteran landwehr, No. 9, who had advanced the Dargers to within measurable distance of a victorious road campaign. On to Warville! The War Doves have circled the road map. L is for Lye- (Remember that human fat makes the best soap.)
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Guns Blazing!
April 21st, 2010. The LA Darger war machine unleashed a full-frontal assault against the big red menace tonight in renewed river bend fighting on the banks of the Ohio River. The collective efforts of Numbers 7,15,16,27 and Number 99 crippled the enemy's defenses with a multitude of aggressive lapidation. The Darger rifle battalion again was called in for flare-ups of continued small arms resistance.
All eyes will be watching the skies for tomorrow's operations as a bank of thunderclouds has been sighted moving in from the southwest flatlands. The Dargers, however, appear to have packed their rucksacks with plenty of their own thunder and lightning. W is for "Hitting Machine"
All eyes will be watching the skies for tomorrow's operations as a bank of thunderclouds has been sighted moving in from the southwest flatlands. The Dargers, however, appear to have packed their rucksacks with plenty of their own thunder and lightning. W is for "Hitting Machine"
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
ROAD (Reorganization Objective Army Division) RAGE!
April 20th, 2010. Monday's mobilization back eastward across 2,200 miles of the nation's ever expanding midsection allowed the Darger fighting machine an extra day of wanderjahr , and the Darger Brass an extra day to mull over their munitions, and re-examine their reconnaissance. As predicted, the siege of "Porkopolis" began just after a symbolic armistice attempt failed. Early success from a base-clearing, ballistic bludgeon by the marching force's steady veteran, No. 23, was surrendered almost immediately back to the natty foe by the blundering blisterfoot, No. 58.
An embattled core of offensive unity, led by a brave horseback rally late in the struggle by No. 27, brought a temporary truce to the killing fields, and he is deserving of many medals for his mettle and superstar firepower. It's worth noting that No. 99 was back on his horse for the fracas after his latest triumphant return to duty back in Traffic Town, and contributed to the cause.
In the end, however, the outcome of the game was determined by a preemptive, pacificatory disarmament by the second line of defense, No. 38. On this course, one might want to question the horse, but when almost all of the horses are gunning off-course, one might need to question the horse's courses. That would be the Brigadier General, of course! L is for subparmachinegun
An embattled core of offensive unity, led by a brave horseback rally late in the struggle by No. 27, brought a temporary truce to the killing fields, and he is deserving of many medals for his mettle and superstar firepower. It's worth noting that No. 99 was back on his horse for the fracas after his latest triumphant return to duty back in Traffic Town, and contributed to the cause.
In the end, however, the outcome of the game was determined by a preemptive, pacificatory disarmament by the second line of defense, No. 38. On this course, one might want to question the horse, but when almost all of the horses are gunning off-course, one might need to question the horse's courses. That would be the Brigadier General, of course! L is for subparmachinegun
Auxiliary Power!
April 18, 2010. On a hot and ample afternoon, decked out in the promotional pride of the home standing army, a blowzy crowd gathered for revenge and inhospitality.
The Darger outfit again sent out their young, gun-slinging, liberator from Texas, No. 22, against the army of unfriendly giants.
This time, the hired left handful came out with his cap and hellcat blazing, and quickly steamed through the front and middle ground forces. Grueling inaction by the equally over-matched regular forces, and an arrogant communications error ended the Darger Jager's day.
Down but not obligatory out, a late charge by the old war-horse, No.9, repelled the hill dwelling, enemy gunner and feigned him into a pinch. That set the battle stage for a surprise attack by General Glory. The big howitzer, No. 99, was re-commissioned for duty, and he promptly ambushed the enemy's hopes with a vanquishing broadside of aptness.
The steady art of the rifle and the colossal power of the powder keg provided the Dargers with fame and glory on the battlefield today against a fee-fi-formidable-foe. W is for Hace calor!(whew!)
Down but not obligatory out, a late charge by the old war-horse, No.9, repelled the hill dwelling, enemy gunner and feigned him into a pinch. That set the battle stage for a surprise attack by General Glory. The big howitzer, No. 99, was re-commissioned for duty, and he promptly ambushed the enemy's hopes with a vanquishing broadside of aptness.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Freaked Out!
April 17th, 2010. The Los Angeles Dargers saw their balanced war efforts go up in smoke on an illusory, hazy Saturday afternoon in Chavez Ravine, where they were hexed by a coven of wicked benediction conjured from the invading North Bay Wizard. The unorthodox sorcerer dazed and confused the battle-tested Traffic Town outfit of shocked troops, reserved career soldiers, and last minutemen throughout the head-on attack.
Chance of a Darger victory today was all but a pipe dream as the supernatural infidel mastered them with his arcane spell book incantations, his magic wand, and his 7-league boots! Perhaps, General Morning Glory should have dispensed an alternative battle plan in facing the repeat-offending High Young Award Winner! L is for Exhale.
Chance of a Darger victory today was all but a pipe dream as the supernatural infidel mastered them with his arcane spell book incantations, his magic wand, and his 7-league boots! Perhaps, General Morning Glory should have dispensed an alternative battle plan in facing the repeat-offending High Young Award Winner! L is for Exhale.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
42 REDUX (Deja vu)
April 16th, 2010. "OBEY!" the Giant killer, Number 42, thundered after he hammered a grand, quarternary battery of resultant casualty over the gaped jaws of the garrisoned Giant army. The tactical blast was the second of the night for the emerging field commander, and the 3rd of the battle for the resurgent Darger unit- the other bombshell coming from the big gun banks of Number 42, who's impressive display of heroics at the outset of this fighting season has gained the attention of war hawks near and far.
Once again, the battlefield was camouflaged in the honorary fashion of Number 42, the great, pioneering equalizer of modern warfare. On his third charge of the early 2010 campaign , Number 42, finally gained a respectable war footing at the start of operations, and backed by the support of offensive outpouring, emerged confident and victorious. Once again, an easy Darger victory was almost allowed to slip through their firm, powerful grip as the corp of mid-riflers simply shook to pieces at the first sight of fighting.
Beware! A freakish foe looms on the Saturday afternoon radar screen.
A need to resort to arms will once again put Traffic Town through a pace of slow dissuasion. W is for Equal terms
Once again, the battlefield was camouflaged in the honorary fashion of Number 42, the great, pioneering equalizer of modern warfare. On his third charge of the early 2010 campaign , Number 42, finally gained a respectable war footing at the start of operations, and backed by the support of offensive outpouring, emerged confident and victorious. Once again, an easy Darger victory was almost allowed to slip through their firm, powerful grip as the corp of mid-riflers simply shook to pieces at the first sight of fighting.
Beware! A freakish foe looms on the Saturday afternoon radar screen.
A need to resort to arms will once again put Traffic Town through a pace of slow dissuasion. W is for Equal terms
Friday, April 16, 2010
LA Doppelgangers
April 15th, 2010. On a taxing, third straight counteroffensive, and with the collected field of combatants fatigued, and uniformed in commemorative camouflage, the rattled snakes were finally driven out of Traffic Town and back across the Arizona border. Another late push by the Darger ground forces, led by the long-range ordnance of Number 42, outflanked the snake-eyed militia. Still later, with a nail and crossfire tactic, Numbers 42 and 42 broke down the arched, bunkered, barrier in the struggle's darkest hour, leveling the fight. That set the stage for the heroics of Number 42, who's signature battle operations left no doubt as to his true blue identity in the chaotic hostilities of this night's tributary indistinguishability. The troops will need to saltwater the seahorses and rotate the water cannons! A professional army of Giants is descending from the North Bay, armed to the teeth! W is for synthesis-sssssss!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
A Call for Arms!
April 14th, 2010 . The sweet glaze of Tuesday's home-brewed success and celebration spill-over had spoiled over by the break of following day, and the Authorities sent in the LAPDogs, who rounded up hundreds of Darger placards, day-drunkards, and enough blood and alcohol to fuel the Darger's war party for another 5 hour marathon of extended bloodsport when Wednesday's cocktail hour fighting broke out. The entire garrison was on the aggravated assault throughout the night, and they were able to beat back the hit-and-run attacks from the diamond-skinned reptile army but for the final late night raid that ended in loss.
Once again, the Dargers were done in by the futile ballistics efforts uniquely confined to the Sniper units. The once heralded hatchet man, Number 58, marshaled his first 3 charges of the skirmish with the elite coordination of a forged champion. Then, he lost electromagnetic control of his avoidance reaction, and his Distant Early Warning ( or DEW ) Line malfunctioned. Or something. Whatever it was- it seemed to have the same evaporating effect on the entire Rifle corps, as the arms depot was unable to hold, block, fend, or even keep at arm's length the parched, snake invaders. In the pitched battle for Chavez Ravine, who will take command and certainty of the battle mound in tonight's drive to rid Traffic Town of evil serpentine? L is for apparatus belli apertif!
Once again, the Dargers were done in by the futile ballistics efforts uniquely confined to the Sniper units. The once heralded hatchet man, Number 58, marshaled his first 3 charges of the skirmish with the elite coordination of a forged champion. Then, he lost electromagnetic control of his avoidance reaction, and his Distant Early Warning ( or DEW ) Line malfunctioned. Or something. Whatever it was- it seemed to have the same evaporating effect on the entire Rifle corps, as the arms depot was unable to hold, block, fend, or even keep at arm's length the parched, snake invaders. In the pitched battle for Chavez Ravine, who will take command and certainty of the battle mound in tonight's drive to rid Traffic Town of evil serpentine? L is for apparatus belli apertif!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Bombs Away!
April 13th, 2010. Echo Park Base. Home at last from
a long road trip of fighting across the Eastern Divide, the Darger army had regrouped and were now basking in the sun, solace, and familiar spices of their concrete confines deep within the sold-out overgrowth of Chavez Ravine. They'd had a day's rest, and were fortifying positions for the celebratory arrival of the inaugural home battle. News of a Serpent attack from the Arizona desert is certain, so I merged into a languid convoy of Darger followers traveling southbound along the river hedged in by a dry bank of traffic making the stiff climb of Mt. Elysian- milling the opening rumors of an attack.
Atop a mountain of parked cars, I could see the outlines of excitement below so I tagged along with a band of freedom fans who had just broken camp beneath the behemoth, sky-blue, "T" of Traffic Town's historic landmark, and we were half-way down the trail when the first wave of explosions ripped through the air.
"They're shooting at us!" I yelled. Another barrage of thunder-booming detonations shook the hillside and like a wind-aided flag whipping me in the face, a hissing squadron of sonic bombers suddenly shot through the sky sending the battlefield below into a bombastic fit of rockets, glory, and smoke. A heavy, blue woman lost her footing and rolled headfirst past an old-hatted man traveling all the way from New Mexico. With an old Texas accent he screamed, "My God, they're going to kill us all!" The woman would have been lost for good had not the brave Texas talker thrown his hat on top of her so as to levy her fall. "Hat's off!", I laughed, and made off onwards and downwards to the volcanic battle that had just erupted!
By the time I had reached the creature comforts and close proximity of my bunker, the young Darger sharpshooter ,Number 22, had taken control of the Battery defenses and was holding the invading regiment of Rattlesnakes at a left arms length. Eventually, the concentrated infield fighting fell off and his aim quelled the mighty crowd that had gathered with restless affiliations of sameness.
And then General Glory sent in the Bomb Squad. KA-KOOM!! Number 99 unleashed what was to be a cannonading overture of LA muscle and manpower. BOOM! WHAM! BLAM! Non-numerically , but respectfully in order of heroics, No.23, No.27, and No.16 all followed with manly displays of bang.
To the thrill of everyone, the gravity of those Bazooka shots echoed long enough to ensure a decisive victory despite another sloppy humanitarian relief effort by the shell-shocked gang of Darger mid-range riflers. At the close of this glorious opening battle 56,000 satisfied, sun-shiny, day-trippers will collide right back into the waiting commute of the 9-5 crowd. The day was perfect. To the Letter "T"! W is for Open Home.
a long road trip of fighting across the Eastern Divide, the Darger army had regrouped and were now basking in the sun, solace, and familiar spices of their concrete confines deep within the sold-out overgrowth of Chavez Ravine. They'd had a day's rest, and were fortifying positions for the celebratory arrival of the inaugural home battle. News of a Serpent attack from the Arizona desert is certain, so I merged into a languid convoy of Darger followers traveling southbound along the river hedged in by a dry bank of traffic making the stiff climb of Mt. Elysian- milling the opening rumors of an attack.
And then General Glory sent in the Bomb Squad. KA-KOOM!! Number 99 unleashed what was to be a cannonading overture of LA muscle and manpower. BOOM! WHAM! BLAM! Non-numerically , but respectfully in order of heroics, No.23, No.27, and No.16 all followed with manly displays of bang.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Fish or Go Home!
April 11th,2010. The LA Dargers were run out of the Nation's southern panhandle Sunday after a second straight day of allowing the grip of victory slip away and slap them in their face. On a typically unpredictable afternoon fighting the local weather and sea-life, the Darger Battery of Number 49, combined with a mis-matched hit squad of Reservists, pushed the action to every corner of the battlefield, before finally being overtaken by the rains and Fishermen in the ebbing tides of the 3 day engagement. Number 49, the young ,affluent lieutenant and odd-baller, elevated his knack for furious hand-to-hand combat by striking down a dozen or so would be kill-or-be-killed killers with his antique, brass-knuckled mitts!
The first week of the 2010 War was brutal. The horrifying battlefield replays etched in the eyes of those fighting men must offer a reminder of the challenges that lie in wait for the Dargers in the coming weeks, if not months, of this year's crusade. It's two-thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two miles of unseasonal open road for the battered, tattered, but homeward bound army. L is for Road Tripped.
The first week of the 2010 War was brutal. The horrifying battlefield replays etched in the eyes of those fighting men must offer a reminder of the challenges that lie in wait for the Dargers in the coming weeks, if not months, of this year's crusade. It's two-thousand, seven hundred and twenty-two miles of unseasonal open road for the battered, tattered, but homeward bound army. L is for Road Tripped.
Gift Horse Shot Dead
April 10th, 2010. There were worse things crossing the bright, young mind of hobbled rifleman, Number 16, than the images that had just unfolded in front of him. Impaired, NSFW, visions of celebration cake and birthday intoxication were being replaced with apparitions of being buried in an unmarked grave of an enemy parking lot. Just after his heroic assault had vaulted the LA Dargers within a breath of victory on his 28th anniversary on Earth, the uninspiring, horse-sized, specialist, Number 52, experienced another navigational malfunction and surrendered the battleground to the Fishermen of Magic City in the final hour.
Number 44, reasserting his fighting credentials to begin the siege on the perimeters of Fort South Beach, fared to stay alive in the contest until serving up another of his namesake dead onions in the 4th stage of the attack. Determined offensive tactics by Numbers 15 and 27 had given the invading army an upper hand until that forgettable gesture. Called in to halt the surging tide of Fisherman after the fall of Number 44, Number 36, performed remarkably stellar.
So, in a hot tinderbox of traffic piling up with beach-goers pitted against a hungry and exhausted fighting force scrambling to get out of town not only alive, but accountable, the battle on Sunday should be a real white-knuckler! L is for Let them eat horse.
Number 44, reasserting his fighting credentials to begin the siege on the perimeters of Fort South Beach, fared to stay alive in the contest until serving up another of his namesake dead onions in the 4th stage of the attack. Determined offensive tactics by Numbers 15 and 27 had given the invading army an upper hand until that forgettable gesture. Called in to halt the surging tide of Fisherman after the fall of Number 44, Number 36, performed remarkably stellar.
So, in a hot tinderbox of traffic piling up with beach-goers pitted against a hungry and exhausted fighting force scrambling to get out of town not only alive, but accountable, the battle on Sunday should be a real white-knuckler! L is for Let them eat horse.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Fish License to Kill
April 9th,2010. In the far-away island home of LA Darger staff shooter, Number 18, it is customary of the gun-loving water peoples to shoot a fish on the first Friday following the Religious West's Easter Sunday. In South Beach City, the popular citizens play a cruel game with the local sports community involving bats and fish every Friday. So it was inevitable that under a sticky, beach-baked sun that seldom sets in defeat, LA's swift push to the southernmost shores of the United Panhandle would be anything but scenic.
Hauling one thousand and one miles southbound along the long, cement spine of I95, the relentless consistency of commerce coming in and out of the municipal sporting fortress and it's surrounding bi-ways was hardly enough to detour the strong-armed performance delivered today by the 4-line Fireballer. Under the command of General Glory, the always honorable Number 18 was accurate and steadfast as he picked off line after line of nearly every enemy advancement.
The mighty wrath of Number 99 finally broke open the outer lines of defense during his 3rd battery, bringing the entire regiment around to solidify another well fought victory. Number 15 continued to gain respectful attention with a span of speed and excellence. With the smell of smoked fish well fortified into their road worn uniforms, the Dargers prevailed on their first Friday of the 2010 war. W is for Fish Fryday.
Hauling one thousand and one miles southbound along the long, cement spine of I95, the relentless consistency of commerce coming in and out of the municipal sporting fortress and it's surrounding bi-ways was hardly enough to detour the strong-armed performance delivered today by the 4-line Fireballer. Under the command of General Glory, the always honorable Number 18 was accurate and steadfast as he picked off line after line of nearly every enemy advancement.
The mighty wrath of Number 99 finally broke open the outer lines of defense during his 3rd battery, bringing the entire regiment around to solidify another well fought victory. Number 15 continued to gain respectful attention with a span of speed and excellence. With the smell of smoked fish well fortified into their road worn uniforms, the Dargers prevailed on their first Friday of the 2010 war. W is for Fish Fryday.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Private Reserves
April 8th, 2010. "Load the Cannons!" On the 3rd day, like a smoggy cloud collapsing under a mountain of smuck, beaten down and undermanned, LA's Dargers marched onto the diamond field of Steel City under a big, dark sky. A gutty, but too pretty (and given an early advantage by the first-rate heroics of Number 7 and Number 27), Number 58 fit his bill and shut down the homegrown brass for the Dargers' first claim to victory of the war! Before signaling a Reserve Unit into heading the mid-day charge, General Morning Glory held out a finger sign- surely, a creed of some kind? Was an unspoken alliance communicated during the un-flashy gesture? Was it confessional finger puppetry?
Whatever it was that happened at that point doesn't matter much at this point- because whatever happened happened, and it will be a sure sign of things to come if it happens again. That said, it was just then that the off-season soft, soft language speaking, and well reserved Number 3, exploded through the homebase gates with an appropriate arsenal of batons. His leadership led the Darger ship of fools out of their day-off dust jackets, and jacked them right as right into the statistic books. During the later stages of the lop-sided battle, Numbers 7 and 27 picked up more honors for their steadfast production and reveille.
"Pack the Cannons!" The Darger army is regrouping and heads south along the Dixie Treeline bound for a weekend showdown with a regiment from Gatorville in the sunny outskirts just 1001 miles down Interstate 95. W is for one win column.
Whatever it was that happened at that point doesn't matter much at this point- because whatever happened happened, and it will be a sure sign of things to come if it happens again. That said, it was just then that the off-season soft, soft language speaking, and well reserved Number 3, exploded through the homebase gates with an appropriate arsenal of batons. His leadership led the Darger ship of fools out of their day-off dust jackets, and jacked them right as right into the statistic books. During the later stages of the lop-sided battle, Numbers 7 and 27 picked up more honors for their steadfast production and reveille.
"Pack the Cannons!" The Darger army is regrouping and heads south along the Dixie Treeline bound for a weekend showdown with a regiment from Gatorville in the sunny outskirts just 1001 miles down Interstate 95. W is for one win column.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
PJAMMED!
April 7th, 2010. Southbound 5 Freeway. "Back Up!" the baller cried. The man was angry and he squeezed the steering wheel with his gray hands. Jammed! Number 55, fatter this year, had just smashed his first windshield of the 2 day old offensive. There he was- not yet thirty years old, and he was already into his 4th or 5th year as Battery Captain- lavishing in the spoils of premeditated weight gain, the soils of girl smell, and the popularity of winning it all when it counted. Here I was- stuck behind every other dirty car back in cursed Traffic Town. I wanted to paint a big, dirty letter "P" on the front of every cursed car in front of me, and cut it to fifty-million pieces of metal scrap with a shining, P-killing, transcontinental motor sword!
When I first picked up the transmission of today's battle in Steel City, the gifted young buck private, No.22, had just lost both of his throwing arms for the day after the front-line batters took matters to task. The accident report shows that the boy sharpshooter couldn't shoot straight, and then the manliest of the Bucs' took one swing at him and more than 20,000 screaming black P-shirts stood up to catch his cannonball trophy in unison. The young gun struggled for control of the battlefield all afternoon, and displayed the obligatory lack of a champion's willingness and ability to kill...for sport.
So there I was- cars were closing in on me from all corners of the earth, and the static of statistics s-s-s-issing out of my portable, brand name, wireless device was pushing me to the point of bashing my brains out with the souvenir LA Darger mini-bat that I kept under the seat. On the battlefield near the 3 rivers nearly 2,500 miles to the east of me, Darger's army was finally showing a charge of heart! After the initial assault by the weighty Battery Captain, Numbers 27 and 16 led successive, successful advances to level the score. Unfortunately, the traveling team failed to advance any farther- leaving multiple game-winning runners in no-man's land, abandoned like burning, wrecked cars. If only I could abandon mine!
In the end, a trajectory error in the 10th exchange by Number 33, the mid-baseman, led to the downfall of the Dargers today- allowing the second wave a second chance. Thunderclouds are predicted for the high-noon skirmish set for the tomorrow. L is for "Never leave a man behind!"
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Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Dargers' 2010 Battle Begins On Road.
April 5th, 2010. WAR!!! Steel City is a long, day and a half's haul from Traffic Town. Two thousand, four hundred and forty miles of seventy-five degree night and daylight...1,000 miles of sweat per hour. Spring Camp had proved not to be a spring- but a speed bump. To be honest, the opening day contest for the 2010 Los Angeles Dargers felt more like it was a million miles away. The lasting image of the battle that comes to my mind is that of a rotten Vadalia Onion exploding into an eye-watering explosion of yellow and black venom upon it's test-dummy impact with the filthy, bullet-holed windshield of a 1970's South American Ford Motor Coup car. THUMP! Number 44 led the plunge into the Allegheny River on Monday afternoon, throwing everything but the el fregadero de cocina at the Eye Patches for four futile innings, while Numbers 23, 27, 33, 99 took the high road to the promises of another fight, and a successful 2010 war campaign. All ends that ends...well?
L is for Viva la Vadilla! RAGE ON! This Road is Our Road!
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