The God-Fearing-Bastards Would Like For You To Appologize Now. -or- Yay, Us.

Okay, okay. We admit it. Perhaps we have been making just a few too many blasphemous & distastefull jokes over the last year or two. Hey God: we were only jokin'. Seriously.
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We weren't sure if God was upset about Jerry Falwell croaking, or if he'd just had enough, already with our bullshit... but it sure looked like he was pissed Tuesday night. It rained, thundered, and the wind blew in 40 mph gusts - in every direction. All the while, our little Gorillas were standing out in the field watching youngsters run around the bases.

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When Melon didn't show up till the 4th inning, we knew it was us that had the All-Mighty all in a tissy. And boy, did we regret this post from last year.

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But hey, it was just game one of an 11 game summer season. Yah, we got our asses handed to us this time. But we'll get another shot at those little fuckers, what with their boundless energy, hot girlfriends, and ability to catch fly balls. And when we get that next chance: we won't suck as much. Especially Gerthy.

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Having made His point Tuesday - and really, most of the spring league - the Big Guy gave us a lovely day on Wednesday. Which was good, since the Gorillas were vying for their fifth straight league championship. All we had to do was win two. A heady task, considering we were all bruised & battered from the night prior. Luckily, we had an hour off between games to drink replenishing fluids and strategersize. And so on.

We won, of course.

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Because that's what we do.

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That's all we do.

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We don't know if our Spring League Championship trophey will look much like the one pictured here...but we do plan on wearing a cheerios hat, golf spikes, and a man-ziere when we passionately make out with it.

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How you celebrate is up to you and your beliefs.

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God, bless these Gorillas. (And Cracker.)

An Open Invitation. -or- Jesus Christ Of Latter Day Pricks

We'll admit it. We haven't watched a pitch of the Little League World Series. Something about Harold Reynolds not being there makes it all seem, we dunno, fake now. And even though girlfriends have insisted that we're constantly "ignoring the elephant in the living room" (what do you mean D has a drinking problem???), we thought we might acknowledge the kid bigger than an elephant that's been hanging out in an infield in Williamsport, Pa. As anyone who has watched Sportscenter or has traveled the information super-highway in the last week knows, there's an American, um, kid that plays for Saudi Arabia in the Little League World Series that is fucking huge. 6'8", 256 lbs! Gezus.

Since we're always looking to improve - size wise - we thought we should get this kid to play for the Gorillas. So we're extending an open invitation to Aaron Durley.

Aaron,

Gongrats on being so fucking big. We're sure that playing in the Little League World Series is great and all, but you may want to consider quitting that noise and coming to Evansville to play in the fall softball league for the Gashaus Gorillas. We know you get free equipment from Little League sponsors, but we are prepared to provide you with one of Snyder's hats, a pair of Baumgart' cleats, and let you hang out with Melon. That might not sound all that great, but believe me, Melon is a pimp. I mean, it's gotta be hard for a "13 year old" to find some poon-tang in Williamsport. Nothing but other player's moms and Erin Andrews there, and we hear she's partial to the Far East kids. We have lots of drunk white women here in Evansville, and you can probably hook up easily if you tell them you're Dean Garrett. Please think about it. Oh yah, see if you can bring one of the Dominican Republic's shortstops with you - ours is always hurt.

Thanks,
Gashaus Gorillas

Let us know if you think of anyone else we should offer positions to. We're already drafting letters to send to H.R., Ted Lilly, John Kruk, and, since we were thinking about her, Erin Andrews.

Gorrillas Update:
The Gorillas did not enter the yearly city tournament, so several of our players are scattered amongst other teams. As far as we know, all of those teams are still in the winners bracket after the 1st round. We may provide updates of those teams depending on if they do or do not, in fact, suck. And, proving that God is funny, some of us play those Gawd Fearin' Basteds this Wednesday nite. Hilarity will ensue. As usual.

We Must Protect This Haus! -or- God Doesn't Care About Softball

"The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day, The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play. "

It wasn't quite the Ernest L. Thayer poem, but the outlook was most certainly not brilliant for your heroes four innings deep with the champeenship of the league at stake. The Gorilla's arch-enemies, who had handed us our lunches on a couple of occasions already this year, were leading 9-0. The best damn softball team this side of Seinfeld's Improv team had a grand total of four (4) hits by two (2) guys. The bad guys were hitting the shit out of the ball, and the only thing keeping us from run-rule territory was a few great catches by the cheapest Ice Mogul (Flemwad) known to man. We were in grave danger of getting in a massive brawl in front of our mother if that fucking guy quick-pitched us one more time. Rice (aka Tin Donkey, Hammy, NickName, Meat) pulled a thumb muscle keeping score. Doom and Gloom were our biggest fans, and they were drinking our bier.

Then something funny happened. A fat kid fell down in the parking lot. But then something else funny happened. We started to hit. Most of us knew, just knew, that we were gonna hit. But yet, with despair setting in and heads a-hangin', there was some question in the minds of even the most faithful of Gorillas. Seven (7) runs in the bottom of the 5th and eight (8) in the 6th, and when the dust settled the Gorillas were champs. The sun shone. A band played. Hearts were light. Men laughed. Children shouted.

It was pretty money.

And as we're shaking hands, these bastards did something that really pissed us off. They were nice. We hate that shit. We had just come from behind in extremely dramatic fashion, and beat their asses. And we were anything but nice whilst doing it. That's how we roll. So the last damn thing we wanted to hear from these guys is a sincere "good game." We like our enemies to be assholes. It makes us hate them, and gives us the fire we need to compete. But u know what? That nice bullshit - "way to hit the ball... great comeback...Etc." - just made us hate them even more. And the blue yummies were that much sweeter.

You probably wonder why it is we despise this "church team" so, and possibly you fear for our eternal souls. Well, we'll tell ya.

• They don't drink at softball games. We can't trust people that don't drink. Hitler didn't drink. Know why? It made him mean.
• Jesus is a shitty co-pilot. Apparently he sucks at giving directions and encourages one to stay in the fast lane driving 10 m.p.h. under the limit and repeatedly checking one's hair in the rear-view. Every time we get behind a mini-van w/ a fish on the bumper we start looking for an embankment to drive into and end the pain.
• The Bible makes no mention of softball, IU basketball, or Pardon The interruption, and makes more false promises than BK in an internet chat room. Where's Harry by Steve Stone is, for our money, a better read.
• Anyone who likes to quick pitch us when they're up 15, throw behind the slowest guy on the team when he's two (2) feet off the bag, bitch and moan about every damn ball/strike call, and then pray on the damn mound after the game is more hypocritical than a pregnant nun. God does not want you to play softball that way, pal.
• We hear they hate puppies and are happy when they die.

All that being said, we think God is kinda money. We're down with His cause. We have an understanding with Him, and He allows us to make blasphemous jokes without being stricken w/ horrible diseases (so far.) We just don't enjoy folks playing softball in His name in a manner we find less-than honorable.

But enough about that. More about us. We're champs. We showed heart. We got home in time to watch the Cubbies earn one of their 12 wins this year in the 18th inning. We're gonna be vying for our 4th straight league victory come Fall League play. Life, for a brief time, is less sucky.

In the Mudville we call home, there is joy.

We're Already Going to Hell...

Here's how it's gonna go down. We're gonna just go ahead and act like we've been doing this blog bullshit for years. We're gonna go ahead and act like you people have been reading this here blog since it's birth, those many years ago. We're gonna dive right in and "blog" about a big game coming up in which we will curse at chruch-goers whilest their children look on in horror. And you, you're gonna sit there, real calm-like, at your desk and act like you are enjoying the whole goddam thing. Got it?

So. It all comes down to this. As you know, the Gorillas have had an up and down year. We're good. I mean real fucking good. But, as many teams are, we've been somewhat, um, sidetracked at times by various difficulties.

• 6pm games which leave little time to drink warm-up beers before hand.
• Teams playing under the guise of God Fearin' Christians whom we happen to know are a collection of ass-bags that would fit right in at a Bengals training camp.
• Fun-hating umpires getting all up-tight on us and ruining our vibe just because we were dressed more like an umpire than them.
• Extremely restricting wardrobes.
• Our left fielder running away to milk the bulls at some rodeo in rural Illinois.
• Global Warming.

Yah, it's been trying, to say the least.

But after all that, The Gorillas will be playing for the Champeenship this coming Tuesday, August 15th @ 8pm. And guess what. We'll be playing the God Squad that has mysteriously had our number this year. (My theory? We've played them @ 6 both games and it hurts the Gorillas much more not being able to drink beer b4 the game than it does that psuedo prayer group. That, and pansy-ass Melon's always late to 6 o'clock games.)

So what's it gonna be, Gorillas? Are we gonna man-up and win this motherchucker, or, um, you know... not? If you can't get fired up for this game, well, I just don't know who you are anymore.

By the way, please feel free to use the Comments option. It is, afterall, kinda the reason we're doing this whole "blog" thing. Up till now, we thought "blogging" was something Flemwad's family did to livestock in the hills of Tennessee.