Swivet!

The turmoils of Cincinnatus are more numberous than The Cincinnatus Turmoils of Earlier Description. Indeed, these blights surpass the blights I was told to expect. Receivering men: tattered and bedeviled. Fellow quartered backs: possessing misshapen genitalia. Ownership: possibly voided entrails.

There are worse horrors still but I would fain not give utterance to them. Do not make me tell. Rest assured, the haymakers were barely enough to repel the hard-charging beasts. Look upon my face. Do you not see where it has been abrasied? Let that be story enough.

Fie!

Fine. Let me explain. Word was sent through postal dog to management that I did care for the unbecoming character of those with which I am aligned on this squad. Postal dog returnt a week later a limb lesser. This I tumbled as a presage of foul things in wait. Yes, there transpired several foul deeds enacted upon my person, often thrice in a row; five times if the perpetrators imbibet liquors of brownist tint, but the true terror never darkened my door. Quixotic was the word used by a man of proper book-learnting.

Instead, in the weeks since I have found the ownership most amenable to the demands of competition. Lofty words were spake. A grand initiative introducet. There, told to me through midway through a night of drink, is their solution.

First step is to for once have a draft class that does not elicit laughter from even the low-born blind syphilitic drunk gypsies. This they did.

And then:an elder safety is signt!

He is learned in the ways of the horse-led collar tackle. As I ambled in the direction of my bivouac, I asked him: in which ways would he apply this technique to yon ballcarrier, but by then I had already ventured past the expanse of his coverage area. This strikes me as a deficiency. But a friendly disposition nonetheless!

A Caucasiodal running back is acquiret through trade!

Finally a like-colored hand in the backfield that I know will take the ball with a hand that not recently ago held a shiv. This is no slight upon the Dark Man of Africa, but Gentleman Frank Gore once visited this very act on my non-throwing appendage and it predisposed me to distrust the race of Afromen. Perhaps one day this trust will be restoret, but doubt prevails.

The Scourge of Afromen aside, will these minor transactions suffice to build a great Bengal footballing empire? The vainglory swelling inside indicates yes. But it is wrong, in the main. I should endeavor to find out what the learnt man meant by quixotic. I feel this holds the key from turning vainglory into actual glory.

My servant Jew bruited to me the happening that my services has been rendered tranfert to the Bengali Tygers of Cincinnatus. Fortune smiles again on the sons and daughters of Eireland! Aye but, my job is to replace that of the headstrong Ryan of the Fitzpatrick clan. Press on, son. Your merit is to be seen in this coil or the next.

Cincinnatus is a place not much in accordance with Spanish St. Francis. For one, they eat a vraiment so named chili, for reasons not in evidence, that includes neither potato nor grog. Odd, though pleasing. In this conurbation, there exists very few stations for a man to make his living. Quarteredbacking, after all, is the prize of the privileged few. Ack! Careful O’Sullivan, lest you be stricken with the vainglory. Their plight of penury means only more time to skepticize my quarteredbacking. I shall not fail them.

(more…)

Not since the potato famine laid waste to my kith and kin have I espied the devastation similar to that seen on the greensward when my San Francisco Footballing Fourty-niners do battle in contests of footballing.

Perchance it was an affliction of the vainglory, but my prior-season cogitations were of a more auspicious nature than what has come to pass. Few times have my haymakers met their target square. I fear now we even lack the wherewithal to best the Seafaring-hawks in six days’ time.

Yesterday’s debacle against the New Amsterdam Giants served notice that the Fourty-niners are the same squadron of failabouts with or without the contributions of J.T. O’Sullivan. This epiphany gave way to much vexing. On four occasions did I commit fumblications and on two others had aerial exchanges countercepted by opposing footballers. The great quarteredbacking menace Justin Tuck reminds me of the terrors of darkest Africa.

The dolors cannot own us. We are in but Round 8 of a 16 Round scrape. I’ve yet to even festoon the barbed-wire on this bare knuckles. You will see how easy it is then to block the haymakers!

Ho!

At last, head fieldmaster “Gentleman” Mike Nolan has named me, J.T. of the family O’Sullivan, the starting quartered-back of the San Francisco Footballing Fourtyniners. No doubt that he was swayed by the best slugging arm this side of the Northwest Territory.

Top of the world, ma!

Blithely and skillfully did I upend the inimical roustabout Alex Smith from his prized station. Having weathered a few haymakers, some more pepperpots and the old calaboose did the lumbering giant go down, rendering him a pile of bustable materials. Back to the train yards with you, good sir.

Now quartered-backing is the bailiwick of J.T. O’Sullivan. I am proven suitable at commanding a squad of able-bodied marauders. Together we will sock our opponents in the area of their visage until such point that their verticality is compromised.

Ho!

My boisterous nature got the better of me, as it is wont to do. The scourge of vainglory is known to inflict men of great stature ever and anon, and inflict it has this great O’Sullivan. These bouts are often cured by beating myself about the face. In fact, let me quell this on the spot.

And… wait, whoa there!

You, halfbacking fellow, why do you appear beset by panic? What news this day?

The opposing teams have been permitted to wear masks of metal over their facial areas? How then are the haymakers to connect? This bedeviling product of flimflammery has thrown the proverbial pandawrench into the gears of the great footballing machine! This age of industry is not the great boon that the newspapers say.

No matter. Haymakers will be thrown. The scion of industry will be bested, along with the foes of the Fourtyniners. No obstacle will stop us from traversing long units of measurement en route to pummeling their offspring and womenfolk.

Ah, there is the vainglory again. We must remedy this at once!

And one aaand -

Ouf.

Aaaaaahhhhhhh