Genesee County All-Stars 31, Militia 1
The best part of the game was when I got a guy thrown out for unsportsmanlike conduct. Okay, these chumps were playing down two men anyway; so, they never had a chance. But, that doesn't mean we're not going to play defense. This guy, henceforth referred to by his helmet number, No. 7, was a whiny bitch. One of these dicks who thinks it's fine and good when he pushes your tube underwater and bats at your legs, yet bitches and moans when you retaliate in kind. This is the honest truth: as dirty a player as I am, and I freely admit that my first and last concern is winning, I don't start it. However, I always finish it. No. 7 started off by grabbing my wrist while I was going for the ball and kicking my legs whenever he turned to face me. That's fine by me, that's the nature of the game. He wanted to park himself in our defensive zone; so, I stuck to him like glue. When he moved, I shadowed him, and as soon as he turned around to take a shot on goal, I was all over his tube trying to flip him. He, for whatever reason, thought it was perfectly acceptable to play physical with me, yet, when I returned the favor, he acted as if a great injustice had befallen him. Typical whiny bitch. Near the end of the first half, we were playing six men to their four and actively increasing a 10-1 lead. When the ball goes into our offensive zone, a good fifteen yeards from No. 7 and I, he turns to me and says, "You wanna go?" Go? Go where? Outside to the flagpole to fight like fifth graders? Jackass. Nevertheless, you can't back down from that kind of challenge. I said, "Anytime, bitch," and kicked his tube out from under him. This was a blatant and obvious foul; I guessed there would be about a fity-firty chance of getting called on it. No. 7, though, was too good to be true; he popped up and started coming at me. He wasn't trying to get back in his tube, he swam towards me and tried to land a punch. It was amazing; the whole time I was looking at his eyes and trying to supress a smile. The referee blew his whistle and ejected No. 7 for fighting. He didn't even call my foul. It was beautiful! I passed the ball off to Tad, who promptly chalked up another goal for the All-Stars.

Did I commit a foul? Yes. Was I out of line? Debatable. Water polo is a violent, ruthless game. Innertube water polo is a far tamer, more domesticated sport. But, if you're going to dish it out, you've got to learn how to take it. I would not have kicked No. 7's tube out from under him that far away from the ball if had he not threatened me. But he showed that he was succeptable to agitation and so I agitated. I didn't take anything he did personally, not even the attempted punch. Had I known he would react that way, I might not have kicked his tube. It never crossed my mind that he would take things that far beyond the boundaries of the game. I just thought I'd put him in his place and, as a bonus, probably get away with it. At worst, he'd get a direct shot which our goalie would have a fair chance of stopping. At best, well, it's easy to win when you're playing six-to-two.

I wish that Militia had posed a toughter test, though. After the cake walk of the regular season, I was hoping to acquire a little seasoning during the opening rounds. Next week is the real test, though, the team of ringers, Roy Flan. Make no mistake, though, we can take them. They've never seen anything like the All-Stars. They have no idea what's about to happen to them. Victory shall be ours.