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Pervious Captains Corners
01.09.2006
I give my legs to the service of RAFC.
In the predawn darkness, there's a knock on the front
door. It's death. He's selling subscriptions. . .
I'm profoundly grateful and touched by the great
distinction and honor of writing you accorded me by
Riverside. I'm overwhelmed, as a matter of fact, and
I'm rather fearful of my inability to maintain such a
high rating as you've been generous enough to accord
to me.
In these historic and poetic times, these perfect
days, it is a tremendously impressive thing to an
individual in my position. It has been a shifting of
men in the pipes that would do trading day in baseball
proud. First we send one reverend to the pole
followed by a fine holiday in Germany with the
gracious hosting of a former Riverside keeper. (A
heartfelt blessing to their union) Next, the prodigal
son returns from the land of darkness to the Promised
Land. Get the fatted calf, we're having a barbecue.
But to speak more seriously, I need not tell you that
our situation is very serious. That must be apparent
to all intelligent people. Wolves are at the door
hoping to snatch up our children as they go outside to
play. Eating their entrails and selling the remains
to yellow spice merchants in the orient. The profit
mark-up for human Riverside aphrodisiac is immense.
The enemy wants our bacon, our scalps, and our
victories. All they deserve is our cast offs, the
double wide trailer they live in, a case of the clap,
and a call from immigration.
A new season dawns the horizon and the fear is
spreading to our enemies camps. The cowards skulk
away to other teams as the blades are sharpened for
battle. Old wounds are bound for one last charge.
There are fouls to give and cards to receive.
I am writing you here today for three reasons.
First, because you are here to defend Riverside and
your loved ones.
Second, you are here for your own self respect,
because you would not want to be anywhere else.
Third, you are here because you are real men and all
real men like to fight.
There is only one tactical principle which is not
subject to change. It is to use the means at hand to
inflict the maximum amount of wounds, injury, and
destruction on the enemy in the minimum amount of
time.
May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won't.
You men are battle tried and victorious or you
wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. A
Riversider is alert at all times if he expects to stay
alive. If you're not alert, some Heart of Darkness
loving Hooper son-of-an-asshole-bitch is going to
sneak up behind you and beat you to death with a
sockful of shit!
Riverside is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and plays
as a team. Skip paces and drinks. This individual
heroic stuff is pure horse shit. Death is your only
rest. Injury is for half time. The nectar of the Gods
will be a balm to your woes.
Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is
unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do
it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain.
Never forget beer . . . and a soccer ball . . . and
extra shin guards and socks.
No, Goddamnit, Riversiders don't think like that.
Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole.
Accept the challenges so that you can feel the
exhilaration of victory.
Don't forget, you men don't know that I'm here. The
rumor is that I have died or gone over the deep end.
The world is not supposed to know what the hell
happened to me. I'm not supposed to be writing at all.
I'm not even supposed to be here in Oklahoma. I'm
not paranoid; it's just that everyone is against me.
Let the first bastards to find out where I am, be our
goddamned enemies, at our opening game. That day, I
want to see them rise up on their piss-soaked hind
legs and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's Goddamned Riverside
again and that son-of-a-fucking-bitch Lonnie'.
Magnificent! Compared to soccer all other forms of
human endeavor shrink to insignificance.
God help me, I do love it.
Where are my cleats?
I give my legs to the service of RAFC,
Lonnie M James III
Gaffer
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