A dreary slow day for death, Riverside isn't playing. He has a cup of coffee

I wake from the nightmare. A dwarf wearing our new strip is in a loud dark industrial setting. He is working a conveyor belt and a massive press. He is smashing the skulls of our over 30 opponents and then stripping them of their uniforms. He laughs like a pirate and wears and EMSCO hat. . .

Over 30, "Let us go up at once, and occupy it; for we are well able to overcome it." -Caleb

Over 30, a conspiracy theorist would say that COASL has created the perfect plan to exterminate the main thorn in their side by pushing them into a division with pansies and they will slowly die away. We are mutants and mutants can't be killed like normal men. This is the same scheme that many have used with dangerous wild animals. Make the cage strong and give them plenty of food. Just wait until the first feeding and we rip off their arms while they are throwing in the raw meat.

Over 30, They don't realize that all the cannon fodder that they place in our path (at least the ones who can still afterwards walk) will whine like raped school girls at a frat party about how unfair the division is if it contains Riverside. The will sound like slaughtered pigs squealing how they are "out here for some fun and exercise" and "they have jobs to go to in the morning". They don't realize that our job is to drink beer. They don't know that our fun is hearing the sound of bones snapping and putting our empty beer cans full of urine in their soccer bags while the lick their wounds.

Woe to those teams who think they can still play with us. We have gotten stronger while they have gotten older. Fear and Panic follow our chariot onto the field of battle. Who in this division thinks that they could shine the boots of Riverside Old Crow, Trojans. Whoever Tinker digs up; these are the teams we hold in distain. The best they could hope for when they fell out of their mothers' cancerous wombs was mediocrity.

They are common men and common men achieve nothing.

There are those who think they can hand pick a group of newly aged veterans and compete with us should leave the thinking to people like NASA and MIT. They are not burdened with the gift of intelligence. Their gods are small like their minds. These still believe that there might be something important about their existence.

We could have stayed in the upper division and created chaos. I know these teams are happy to see us gone. Young teams who believed that they have skill and athletic ability will no longer wonder how the old men beat them. All they have left is the question of how they were passed up in the MLS draft. They don't realize that the mirror doesn't lie. The reflection that they see every morning is that of a sad individual who has picked out the wrong sport for such a man with such a high estrogen level.

They can go home to their vapid women and snot nosed offspring and lie to themselves about their worth as humans. To them our leaving is a public service. Riverside has moved to another country to pillage. They can believe that they are safe. They will tremble and piss themselves if they ever again hear our war drums. They will talk of the days of Riverside as the dark times.

Let all you of Riverside know that this is not our final chapter. The storied legends of Riverside would fill volumes and would be used as texts of military strategy. Our myths are next to those of the pantheons of the Greek and Norse. It would be hard for the rabble to believe our adventures. There are still many chapters to be written. Many skins left to still be pegged on the walls. Many skulls left for the dwarf to crush.

I have brought you here, for I am Spartacus.

The best thing about the dry heaves is that you can have them while you run down the field. -Lord Henson

Lonnie James,
Gaffer