“All aboard!” Stevens called out, standing at the rear of a semi-truck he had been using to drive the RazzBowl tournament participants across the country for the last twelve weeks. He pulled out a clipboard, took a swig of his blue raspberry slurpee, and read names off a list. Such was the life of the #2 seed in the Razzbowl: always the 1.02, never the 1.01.
“Jerry Jan–” Stevens started when he was interrupted by a hand shooting up out of the crowd. “HERE!” the voice shouted, its face covered by an Antonio Brown vintage helmet. The figure shoved forward, toward the Razzball trophy that sat un-loved on the asphalt. The figure rushed forward, grasping the trophy’s handle like a lover’s hand. The trophy was cold, its silver-lining frosted frosted from the morning mist in the mountains. “What have they done to you my precious?” the figure whispered through the mouthguard.
“OK, Jerry, you’re sitting up front with me,” Stevens said. “Everybody else, you’ll be enjoying a free showing of Batman and Robin in the trailer. Now, let’s get the champions in! Next up, Will Weiler…” Stevens trailed off, ignoring the helmet-ed figure heading towards the cab of the semi.
That helmet-ed figure was, of course, not the Razzbowl #1 seed Jerry Janiga. Where Jerry was, nobody could quite tell. In the darkness that followed the hellscape that was Wednesday Afternoon Football in Week 12, the former #1 seed The Joey Wright had “dropped” Jerry from his “roster.”
Please, blog, may I have some more?
