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Pervious Captains Corners
04.06.2006
CAPTAINS CORNER-Why they fear
The crescent moon drips fear into the spirits of the unbelievers. . .
Two games in, one win, one loss, all to play for.
There have been many who have been wondering what happened to the pre-season captains corner.
Has the pressures of trying to find loopholes in the system and get the team qualified for the EURO cup competition been to much. Has our Lord Henson sold his captains soul for the promised new kits. (or was his soul part of the third divorce proceedings) Has he been scouting the schoolyard for the next thirty year old striker, in his early twenties, or is he following the retraining order. Is the call of the highlands been too much for the wayward poet. Has the captain lost what little is left of his mind?
No, this is not the case, the captain has spent sleepless nights planning our next move. Fueled by caffeine filled beer, the blueprint for Riversides next conquest are being drawn. Mastery over all we survey is at hand.
Now, before you think that these are just the pathetic ravings of a self deluded madman, hear me out. I have spent these night poring over the musty tomes in Skips extensive military library. For those of you who have been privy to the secret Henson holding, you have seen the cloistered closet in which I have been spending my unwashed nights hoping beyond hope for a glimpse of the sun. The musty smells of mold and silverfish droppings are still wafting in my brain. What have I learned? Napoleon and Hitler have taught me about fighting a two front war in Europe. Like the Caesars, I know hear the voice of a slave following me after our victories, whispering in my ear that I am mortal. Also, Never march your troops in straight lines toward entrenched enemy artillery. How can this knowledge help Riverside's season? What does this all mean?
What do we want for the season.? Victory. Yes she is a cruel mistress, but her exotic song calls us to wreck on the rocky shore. She brings our old tired bodies out on weekends to reek havoc on ourselves and others. To break lances and score goals. To make those who believe their youth and skill will prevail wonder where abilities has failed them. They will shake their heads in shame trying to find forgiveness in the eyes of those who they believe love them. They will grow bitter as they realize that they will forever be known as Riverside victims. They will spend the rest of their days questioning their choices, their desired their heritages. I smile in their despair. We will bury them where they fall.
It is now time. Sharpen your cleats, Release the hounds. I smell the blood in the air and it is the blood of the weak. The weak shall inherit the earth. That's fine. They can have it, after we are through with it.
This will be written as the time of Riverside. Their names will be talked about in whispered tones from father to sons around campfires. In places where only real men understand. Names of those who have given of themselves and taken from the spoils. Let my name be beside that of Artic Chong, herder of penguins. Let my name be beside that of Puffy, teller of tales. Let my name be beside that of Lord Henson, drinker of beer.
We play to honor those who came before us.
We score goals to shame the enemy.
We hit for our own pleasure.
We play for Riverside.
All others fear.
Lonnie M James III
Gaffer
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