Rusty's Wranglers Amateur Kickball Club

New Site for the Wranglers

2007-05-25T17:43:00.000-05:00

You can now keep up with Rusty and the gang on our website:
http://www.RustysWranglers.com

Spring Season Starts April 3rd

2006-03-07T13:06:00.000-06:00

The Wranglers are back! First game is Monday April 3rd at Brands Park, Chicago. What will the theme of the week be? You'll just have to lie awake at night wondering.

Off-season workout program

2005-10-31T10:22:00.000-06:00

I know it's really sad when the kickball season is over, but it's very important to keep a strict off-season training regimen if we want to go to the World Championships again next year. This fall and winter, the Wranglers are participating in an intense fitness program of at least 50 jumping jacks per day.

For motivation, click here

Wrangler Prom/Awards Banquet Recap

2005-08-13T16:07:00.000-05:00

Well, as expected, the party was a big hit! The Wranglers mounted up in full prom regalia. I didn't know that orange tuxedoes actually existed, but we've got pictures to prove it.

Thanks to the smooth DJ mixes of Joy "DJ Smack" Hayes, puppy love was in the air as we reminisced about our high school prom dates...taking us back to those days of (moderate) innocence and subconsciously transferring those emotions to the current day, resulting in a lot of butt-grabbing and french kissing. Luckily, Principal Whalen was there to keep things somewhat tame.

Until the cops showed up! That's right, it seems that wherever the Wranglers go, the Po-Po are not far behind. But, as usual, the po-po quickly fell to the charms of the Wranglers (and in this case, the female cop seemed to REALLY fall for our host-with-the-most, Playboy Kevin Wheeler). When Kev came out of the house to talk to the coppers in his suit sans shirt and tussled hair, I'm afraid it was only a matter of seconds before she was putty in his hands and the police officers were leaving with a "Thanks, Mr. Wheeler!"

So, without furhter ado.....the awards!!

The Rustys
2nd Annual Award Ceremony for Outstanding Achievements in Kickball
August 12, 2005

Best Costume - Single game:
Michelle “Is that panty hose on your head?” Dooley’s breakdancer complete with a cardboard
Swetty Rodeo Clown
• Honorable mentions: Tone the Bone’s "Blow Me" Kleenex box, Tim “Sonny Crockett” Whalen, Dooley’s Birthday Girl, Swett on Chef Night w/ Rally Noodles

Costume that most interfered with quality of play:
Katie “Cowgirl Buntcake” Whalen and her trusty steed

Costume that should have interfered, but luckily did not on account of heads-up play:
Courtney “A fake pregnancy is no obstacle” Reid

Ugliest costumes:
Matthew “Sad Clown” Lubbers for the clown suit and the really tight jean shorts
• Honorable mention: Pregnant Dave

Most politically incorrect costume:
Dan “The Impregnator” Martin

Costume most likely to inspire politically incorrect comments from onlookers:
Dirty Dave “There sure are a lot of Mexicans in here!” Sanchez

Biggest booby bungler:
Katie “Hootie McBoob” Whalen and the off-the-jumblies pop-up into Claire’s waiting arms

Biggest perv:
Matthew “Oh, so now I’m the pervert?” Lubbers

Most money play (Best defensive play – single event): Tie!
Rick “Will Cook for Sex” Brands double play from the catcher spot
Tara “I always hated James Brown” Dix’s toga-clad diving catch to seal the tie against our nemesis

Best boot (best kick - single event):
Ryan “I refuse to be walked” Swett's intentional-walk-turned-home-run, which would set off a chain of events that will live in WAKA memory for ages: Cap’n T-Dizzy going head-to-head in a verbal exchange with the 3rd baseman, Dulci breaking loose and going ape-shizzle all over the ball and several of their fielders
• Honorable mentions: Lubbers home run and head-first slide in the first round of the playoffs, and Swetty’s RBI zinger to end the regional championship game

Best theme song:
Black Betty (nice choice, Swett)

Best nickname: Tie!
Michelle "The Michelle is Silent" Dooley
Cassie “Did You Know We’re Regional Champs?” Scott

Biggest skank: 3-way tie!
Kathleen “Ooops! I did it again and now I’m pregnant!” Simmons
Joy “Tongue” Hayes: For her hot pursuit of Captain Tallsocks and her 11th hour make-out with Lubbers
Dooley: For flirting with a girl as a defensive tactic while playing catcher

The Rick “Wild Thing” Vaughan Award for intimidating pitching:
Dan “Ricky” Martin, no explanation needed

Best Athletic Supporter:
Layla, Heather, and Brandi—all of whom traveled the country to support the Wranglers

Best show of open hostility toward other WAKA'ers:
TDiz - season achievement
Joy “Smack Yo Mama” Hayes for giving the stink eye at the bar and general orneriness
• Honorable mention: Dulci

Biggest twat (someone from another team):
Amber “Excuse me, could you not be such a twat?” James Brown girl
• Honorable mentions (there were so many to choose from!)
The "coach" of the KC team, No Backsies, Bicep Bouncer 3rd baseman on the f-tators team, Tight Sweatpants guy from game 1, Captain Tallsocks

Best Dance Move:
Eric "The Lean" McBride, the Most Dedicated Member of Wrangler Nation and also “Most likely to go for tacos with a Wrangler”

F.B.I. (Female Bikini Inspector) Award:
Ryan “Does He Like Keg Stands?” Swett

The Clear Blue Easy Award for creative costuming:
Penny “Positive” Straub

Most Dedicated Costumer: Barb Martin, who repeatedly wore her costumes in public (such as the L, etc.) most notably during Toga Night

Best late-season add ins:
Brad “Ryno” Simmons, aka Ryan “B-Rad” McLean
Robin “You’re dead in the water without me” Behre

The Billy Crystal Best Host Award:
Kevin "Wait til ya see the pool" Wheeler

Most likely to B’Dazzle something...anything: Dooley

The "Jazzy Jeff" DJ Award: Joy “I’m the DJ and the rapper?” Hayes

The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation Award for Philanthropy:
Dana “Hey, kid, do you want some candy?” Duman at Wranglers Give Back to the Community night

The Prestigious Award for Outstanding Acheivement in Counry Bumpkin Games like “Pens” that was really supposed to be “Spoons” but we didn’t have any spoons:
Eileen “I am from New York and I hate this f-ing country bumpkin game” Lovett

Most Likely to Date a Motorcycle Cop: Cassie “Could you just drive me to my R.V.?” Scott

Best Midnight Cowboy Dive: Tim “YEEEEE-HAWWWW!” Whalen

The "My Boys Can Swim like Michael Phelps" Award:
Brad “Big Daddy” Simmons

Most Likely to Get Pulled Over While Driving an RV:
Tim “How fast was I going, Officer?” Whalen

Most likely to get on a jumbotron: Sparkle-Pants Dooley

"MVP - Most Valuable Passport" Award: Rick Brands (both Swett and Mark used this thing!)

Best Flipcupper: Mark "I’m not that kind of Doctor" Frasier
Worst Flipcupper: The Clown

Most realistic pregnant belly: Why Duff of course! (Hon. Mention to Dooley for "Hooters Mom")

Best Comically-Big Hands: Mark "Tootie" Frasier

Worst Keg Stand: Tim "The Grand-Gina" Whalen

Silent Assassin (Someone the other team never saw coming):
Joy “I’ll show you the 3rd out” Hayes

Most likely to listen to the "at work network" while at work: Tone the Bone
Most likely to crap their pants: Tim Whalen
Most likely to be buried in a WAKA coffin: T. Dix
Most likely to wear pink pants: Josh McKnight
Most likely to sing in the shower: Dave Osborne

Best Potential Corporate Sponsors for next season: Boy Scouts of America, American Airlines, or Culver's (they already carry the kickballs)

Most Likely to get a cavity search (and I don’t mean her teeth) from airport security:
Katie “You mean I can’t carry on 6 metal cap guns?” Whalen

The Darryl Strawberry Award for Outstanding Play While Hammered:
Dave “Go Cubs!” Osborne (for pitching a scoreless inning) and his pal Alex who kicked it really hard but lost his shoe

Most likely to say “Freakish” 100 times in the next minute:
Joy “Let’s Call a Spade a Spade” Hayes

Life-time (season-long) achievement awards:

Mr. & Mrs. Costume (Best Costumes - Season achievement award):
Michelle “I make costumes like it’s my job” Dooley &
Ryan “Dirty sweaty mullet man” Swett

All-Around Cowboy (Charlie Hustle): 3-way tie!!
Josh “Hasselhoff” McKnightrider - bad leg and all, pegging guys on foul balls
Tony “150 pounds of adrenaline” Wagner
Ryan “The mullet makes me run faster” Swett

All-Around Cowgirls (Charlene Hustle):
Tara “I can’t think of a good nickname for myself” Dix &
Cassie “Did you know I’m #1 in hits?” Scott

MVP- Offense:
Matthew “I’m a Lubber not a Fighter” Lubbers

MVP- Defense: Tie!
Rick “Catcher” Brands & Dan “Pitcher” Martin

The Rusty (MVP): The whole Gosh-Darn Team!!!!!

Then we crowned the Prom King & Queen:
Ryan Swett & Michelle Dooley

There was not a dry eye in the house when they danced that first dance to Total Eclipse of the Heart. I know that my heart was totally eclipsed. Was yours?

Have you bought your dress yet?

2005-08-10T14:41:00.000-05:00

Wrangler Prom is coming up this Friday night!
Can't wait for the red carpet show!
Do you think Brad will show up with Angelina?
Will Swett fly in the bikini-clad wonder from D.C.?
Will certain other D.C. ballers go out for tacos with a certain Lady Wrangler again????
Who will win the Charlie Hustle Award?

THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME!!!

Look here for a full report on Saturday.

As for me, I'll be sporting a Bill Levkoff creation on the outside with these little numbers underneath!! YEEEEE-HAWWWWWWWWW!

World Champ Recap: Wranglers Take the Capital

2005-07-26T10:08:00.000-05:00

[voice over]: "We have some special guests on the plane today!! American Airlines would like to welcome Rusty’s Wranglers Kickball Team, on their way to the World Championships of Kickball in Washington, D.C."

And let's roll the highlight tape…

Friday night:
Dave “The O.Z.” and I arrived at Chicago’s O’Hare airport with plenty of time to spare. Luckily, Katie called American ahead of time to make sure it was cool to travel with cap guns. “As long as they remain in your checked luggage.” Will do!!

Still about a mile down the hallway from Gate K3, we spied spots of orange up ahead. Could it be? It is!! The lovable, huggable, Wranglers: All lined up in a row and wearing cowboy hats and the same orange T-shirt. It was a sight for sore eyes!

We quickly made our way to the food court, where it seemed like somebody should have told all those people that they should take a picture because it would last longer. We scored some burritos and Dave “The Man with the Sombrero” Osborne heard some random (and not very diversity-sensitive) lady mutter, “There sure are a lot of Mexicans in here.” It pleased us greatly to hear it, as everyone knows that Dave is actually part Chinese, not Mexican, and that lady was totally tricked by his Mexican hat.

But I digress. Let’s skip to the airplane. Timmy bought Star Magazine (Are Nick and Jessica headed for a breakdown?!) and we were set to go. We sweet-talked our way into a whole bunch of seats together in the back, and lo and behold the woman in front of us had just started thumbing through the Tempo section of the Chicago Tribune with a big fat picture of Wheels (and horsy) en route to 1st base. We couldn’t stop giggling. Finally, Dooley asked her: “Wouldn’t it be so weird if the girl in that picture was sitting right behind you?”

Lady (who only 5 minutes before had been bitching out her corporate underlings via cell phone…scary broad!): “Heh, I thought that might be you guys.” She humored us for a minute or two and then turned back to her self-centered, unimportant life. But the dudes sitting next to her were excited, and the one on the end kept asking Cassie questions about our climb to stardom and local celebrity. I think maybe he wanted to climb HER stardom, if you know what I mean!

We worked our star-power full throttle only moments later when the lovely flight attendant said her little welcome message spiel and gave a SHOUT OUT TO THE WRANGLERS! American Airlines LOVES the Wranglers.

So, we landed in our nation’s capital—Ronald Reagan National Airport to be exact, which reminds me that you may be interested to know that I was absolutely IN LOVE with Ronnie as a small child. Believe it! We shared a common love for jellybeans and I had his picture on my wall. But. Look I’ve done it again: gone totally off the subject. Do you see how it is to have A.D.D.? Back to the story:

We deplaned and set off for the Metro to our respective host’s homes. (Shout out to our hosts! Thanks, guys!) Guess what color the seats on the D.C. Metro are?? ORANGE!! Yes, it seemed that everything was coming up Wrangler. The Karma Police was on our side, which, come to think of it, should not have been such a surprise given that all sorts of other police had had such affection for us in previous ventures.
Anyway, the evening’s destination was the Mad Hatter in the popular DuPont Circle neighborhood of D.C. It should be noted that Cap’n T-Dizzy once resided not so very far from there at 1725 Massachusetts Ave while interning for Senator Dick Durbin. (Seven years later I would be accused of spending that summer in the loving embrace of John Kerry, but that’s a whole ‘nother can of worms.) So we hit the Hatter in our orange shirts, and guess what----the Mad Hatter LOVES the Wranglers.

There were all sorts of D.C. members of Wrangler Nation that many of us met for the first time (What up, McB? What up, Beard-Weiser?), and it wasn’t long before patrons large and small were chanting, “Let’s go, Wranglers! Let’s Go!! [Clap! Clap!]” They may or may not have come to the bar with us, but that’s neither here nor there. Even people who were not there as official members of Wrangler Nation were cheering. Cassie “Did You Know We’re Regional Champs?” Scott was scoring free drinks in exchange for Wrangler Trading Cards, Joy was relentlessly pursued by an amorous reveler, and drunk people everywhere found themselves babbling incoherently “Mount up, Wranglers. Mount up.”

It was hotter than a hoo-ha in that bar, and we wondered aloud why the city of D.C. seemed to be so anti-air-conditioning, but eventually chalked up the steamy conditions to be excellent practice for the next day’s temperatures that would surely soar close to the big Hundo. And you couldn’t stop our Wrangler feet from dancin’. Long-time Wrangler-lover Eric “the Beast” McBride, showed off his patented “lean” move and women swooned. I’m not sure when we got home exactly, but I remember feeling sad that it would not be very long until we were supposed to wake up. Tomorrow would be the biggest day of our lives: The World Championships of Kickball.

Saturday:
We awoke the next morning to a hot summer day. The sea was angry that day. And apparently there was some kind of wacky power outage in the area that prevented us from obtaining a delicious bagel breakfast at Einstein’s. There was no time to execute Plan B—we were supposed to be down on the National Mall by 9:30—so we hopped on the Metro with little in our stomachs beside a few nibbles of some of the orange-colored snacks we had bought the night before. (Cheetos, Cheddar & Sour Cream Potato Chips, Goldfish, etc.) Our new plan was to find something to eat once we got to the Mall, and luckily there was a lovely McDonald’s right when we got off the train. But by then I was too nervous to eat. Joy and Dools made friends with the teenager working the register and slipped him some limited edition trading cards. McDonald’s LOVES the Wranglers!!

We finally got to the proper field of play after some sort of hoopty-hoo mix-up about new sod on the field we were supposed to be on. Fortunately, there was a gaggle of bicycle cops on the sidewalk who took a liking to the Lady Wranglers, but were desperately unhelpful as far as directions on how to find the rest of the kickballers. Again, trading cards were passed out and the po-po asked where the ladies were headed after the tourney in a bizarre reversal of “Where’s the Party, Occifer?” cause the Occifer was all “Hey, where’s the party, ladies?”

Anyway, I don’t think they were very good police officers because they never showed up at the party and that does not seem like a very good effort to serve and protect.

And here’s where the story starts getting good. We show up to the fields where all the other teams are congregating, etc. Some of them were having little team pow-wow’s, all huddled in a circle talking strategy. One team was actually engaged in a group warm-up activity that was reminiscent of high school soccer: jogging in a line, high knees, grapevines, kick the butt. They were even jumping for headers, or similar.

Well, we had to check in with our very official government issued photo i.d.’s so we could be certified and bona fide and get our little wristbands to prove it. I almost had to get smacky-hoo-ha with the chick that was checking us in, though, because she was very strict about the “wristband must be on the right wrist” rule even though I strongly opposed for religious reasons. (Just kidding, really I just hate those wristbands and how they go scratchy-scratchy on your skin and I wanted it on the left side where it would cause the least trouble.) But, of course, this is WAKA, and they are very serious about their kickball.

We suited up rodeo style, strapped on our cap guns and horses, cowboy hats and boots, and we were ready to kick some Off In Public ass.

According to the scouting report we had received via email in days prior, our opponents, Off In Public (pronounced Off In Poo-Blic) were supposed to be total jerks (A charge one of their mothers would later dispute). Other kickballers in D.C. said they played cheap and dirty and all they cared about was winning. Supposedly they would drop infield flies on purpose, use pinch runners ad nauseum, and crap like that. Their pitcher was supposed to be the best, although apparently not the “best around” as something did eventually keep him down.

Anyway, most of those things turned out not to be true and they were actually quite congenial folks and seemed to genuinely appreciate our rodeo get-ups. The pitcher was, indeed, quite skilled and he sure did throw it fast and spinny. They employed the bunt-bunt-sac fly strategy to great success against our fun-loving competitor style. But to be honest, it wasn’t that much fun to play against them because they bunted 80 percent of the time, which was difficult to defend against, and, in general, not very exciting. We put up a good fight, though, and best of all we attracted quite a following from the Boy Scouts of America, who swung our Rally Noodles like I have never seen before and daresay I shall never see again.

The quarterfinal ended in a 7-1 defeat for the Wranglers and decent people everywhere. When I called my dad after the game, he reminded me that second place is first loser, but I found comfort in the fact that we actually ended up in seventh or eighth place overall -- and seventh loser somehow seemed better than first loser in a double-negative-makes-it-a-positive kind of way.

I will also rest easy knowing that I remain undefeated in the pre-game Rock-Paper-Scissors showdown to determine home field advantage. But back to the boy scouts….Boy scouts LOVE the Wranglers! There were loads of them on the sidelines cheering for us and Joy even bought one of them a Wrangler Nation T. Even better, these were not your average “Atomic Fission Merit Badge” boy scouts. These were the COOL boy scouts. I’ve written a letter to BSA headquarters requesting that they institute a Wrangler Nation merit badge for best cheering section ever on the planet. Have not heard back yet.

After witnessing part of the semifinals and finals, which were hyper-intense including a captain shouting at his team “Everybody take a knee!”, we came to the conclusion that the kickball gods must be crazy and departed forthwith for Kelly’s Irish Times for the after party. (Actually, Dooley and I stayed behind for a bit to kick it live at the concession stand for some Rocket Pops! We met more boy scouts there, who, although lovely children, were the not-so-cool kind of boy scout as evidenced by the fact that one of them informed me he had indeed earned the Atomic Fission Merit Badge, but unfortunately could not show it to me because he had not brought his “badge sash” out for sightseeing that day.)

The kickball bash was super fun and the DJ played all the Wranglers’ favorites! We danced and sang and played flippy cup and ate food. And Sweaty Rodeo Clown even won one of the raffle prizes!! Tickets to OZ Fest the next day in D.C., totally useless prize as is, but when sold to the highest bidder raked in some cash for pizza later on! Yippppeeeee! Thanks, Swett!

Which brings us to the pool party on a fancy rooftop with an incredible view of the D.C. skyline and monuments. A member of the team Crazy Kickers lived there and was nice enough to invite us over for a swim. You kind of have to wonder about someone who invites 15 of the biggest nuts at the bar to a fancy rooftop pool… but I think we behaved ourselves relatively well despite the cheesy photo shoot that was happening just yards from us that was SO tempting to jump in on. We got a keg and ordered some pizza (Yeah, Domino’s!!) and took a dip in the swanky pool. It was lovely…

Until, for reasons unbeknownst to me, Mark “Tootie” Frasier started taunting the Capitol building: “Oh, look at me! I’m the Capitol Building! I'm so big! I'm so tall!” And the next thing I knew people were doing keg stands! And the amorous bikini girl was trying to get the dirt on Swett from Lady Wranglers. “Does he like keg stands?” she asked. “I don’t F-ing know, girl!” Timmy Dubs was earning a reputation for being a sissy with a pitiful 7-second stand, and the coveted Silver Pitcher was suggested for use in a game of Sink the Biz. Things were getting crazy.

Now, Dave and I went home earlier than the rest, but from what I hear, that moon was hitting some Wranglers in the eye like a big pizza pie and you know what that means: Amore!! Apparently, the fancy rooftop may as well have been called the Love Rooftop the way people were sucking face all over the place. There was a lot of inter-city romance from what I hear. And bikini girl got what she was longing for: 7 seconds in heaven with a rodeo clown. Nice job, Swett. And big props to the other Wrangler maker-outers that will remain nameless. (Sadly, I did not make out, and back at Amy’s place my husband-to-be snored on the couch while I wrote the official epilogue for the Tribune. Is this what married life has in store??? Wake up, Dave!!!)

Well, that’s OK because I got to live vicariously through the single Wranglers who came home at approximately 3:30a.m. with all the fantastic stories of tonsil hockey disguised as “going to get tacos,” and all the details of the cab ride home where Lubbers apparently “suddenly” became a pervert. And then everybody crashed hard-core after a long day in the hot sun.

Sunday:
Things were winding down and some friends already had to say goodbye to catch early flights, etc. But a good chunk of us moseyed out to RFK stadium to catch a little Nationals vs. the Astros game. Yippppeeee! So fun!

But then it was time to go to the airport and that was not fun. Boo-hoo. Hard to believe our glorious season was actually coming to an end. It was a Wild Wride. Unforgettable. We’ll never be the same. Thanks for the memories.

And thanks for flying American Airlines, the official airline of Rusty’s Wranglers.

-------------
Don’t forget: The Wrangler Prom is coming up on August 12th!
And we’re looking at starting a new season in September….so keep those kicking legs in shape!

MOUNT UP!!!

2005-07-26T09:00:00.000-05:00

Michelle "Life Coach" Dooley gives advice to Off In Public's Cisco on how to make his life a little sillier: "Start with something only sort of silly, like a T-Shirt party."

Wranglers are World Champs of Silliness

2005-07-25T10:14:00.000-05:00

Well, there’s good news and bad news for Rusty’s Wranglers Amateur Kickball Club this weekend as we wrap up our not-really-so-much of a Cinderella dance to the World Championships of kickball in Washington, D.C. The bad news: We are not world champs. The good news: Boys scouts LOVE the Wranglers! Come to think of it, everybody loves the Wranglers!

We arrived on the National Mall, betwixt storied institutions of our nation’s capital, on Saturday morning and knew we were in trouble when the pre-game breakdown from the referees included a warning, at the behest of our opponents, that all of our rodeo-themed costuming—including strap-on stuffed horses, cowboy hats and holsters—would be considered fair game for tag-outs. It was clear from the outset: Our opponents were hardcore. But with our orange-clad fan club, Wrangler Nation, in full effect on the sidelines, including a pack of boy scouts from Moline, Illinois, swinging the Wranglers’ signature Rally Noodles over their heads, it was hard not to smile.

Alas, the quarterfinal against D.C. locals "Off In Public" ended in a 7-1 defeat for the Wranglers and decent people everywhere. When I called my dad after the game, he of course reminded me that second place is first loser, but I found comfort in the fact that we actually ended up in seventh or eighth place overall—and seventh loser somehow seemed better than first loser in a double-negative-makes-it-a-positive kind of way. I will also rest easy knowing that I remain undefeated in the pre-game Rock-Paper-Scissors showdown to determine home field advantage.

Of course, the Wranglers always rest easy knowing that, while we may not be the World Champions of Kickball, we are definitely World Champions of Silliness. At the after-party Kickball Bash at Kelly’s Irish Times, we showcased our fun-having talents by dancing away the afternoon while fielding requests for autographs on the premiere edition of Wrangler trading cards (Collect them all!). We seem to have what the French refer to as a certain je ne sais quoi, the ability to inspire in onlookers young and old an uncontrollable urge to jump on for a swing on the Wranglers Wild Wride. And we’re always happy to oblige.

Coming next summer: A Very Wrangler Wedding! Cap’n T-Dizzy and Dave "The O.Z." Osborne get hitched.

The Chicago Tribune Loves the Wranglers!

2005-07-20T10:49:00.000-05:00

We made the front page of the Tempo section of the Chicago Tribune this morning with the opening of a 3-part series on the Wranglers Wild Wride to the World Championships. It's a modified version of this blog... check it out! Email it to everyone you know!

Part I:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/chi-0507190294jul20,1,5909433.story

Part II:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/chi-0507200321jul21,1,4930978.story

Part III:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/technology/reviews/chi-0507210326jul22,1,3903420.story

Epilogue:
http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/chi-0507250096jul25,1,4074427.story

2005-07-19T13:44:00.000-05:00

I am a kickball fanatic!

Rusty's Merchandise

2005-07-18T16:39:00.000-05:00

Now you can buy your own Wrangler Nation gear at cafepress.com

Get 'em while they're hot!

http://www.cafepress.com/rustyswranglers

The world will be our oyster

2005-07-11T12:10:00.000-05:00

YEE HAW!!! The Wranglers are movin' on up to the big time to a deluxe spot in the World Championships of Kickball tournament in Washington, D.C. in two weeks. So bring on Atlanta, bring on Dallas, this is for Mike and Papa Bear Halas.

the details:
On the 23rd day of July in the year of our Lord, 2005, on the National Mall, capital city of these great United States, Rusty's Wranglers Amateur Kickball Club will take on the world's best in kickball. 16 teams will enter, only 1 will emerge victorious. We hope it will be us, and we think you should come and watch.

Wrangler Nation.... Sweeping the Nation. (pass it on)

REGIONAL CHAMPS!!!

2005-07-11T12:00:00.000-05:00

The Wranglers are on a Wroll!! We just won the Regional Championships in Kansas City, Mo.

Condolences to the runner-up K.C. Ballbreakers, who, well, got their balls broken.

More to come on the Wrangler victory and RV road trip....

2005-07-11T11:58:00.001-05:00

I'm sorry we were naughty, Officer, but did you know that we're regional champs??

2005-07-11T11:57:00.001-05:00

Celebrating pool-style.

2005-07-11T11:57:00.000-05:00

Showing off the trophy!

Recap: A Letter to the Unborn Rusty Simmons

2005-07-11T11:30:00.000-05:00

Dear Baby Rusty,

You don’t know me yet, but I’m hoping we’ll meet sometime around December 15th when you come kicking and screaming out your mommy’s belly and into this crazy world. I’m your “Auntie” Tara, but people call me T-Dizzy, Diz, T-Dizzle fo’ Shizzle, T-Dizzle in the Hizzle, really any variation on the “izzle,” Welcome to the Tara-Dome (Tara-Dome for short), T-Money, or, sometimes, just “Captain.” Even “Cap” if they’re feeling spunky. I earned all those nicknames in various ways, Rusty, but I want to tell you the story of how you got your name.

You see, Rusty, your mom and dad are Wranglers. Wranglers to the bone. Is there any other way to be a Wrangler? I sure hope not. I’m a Wrangler, too, Rusty. In some ways, I always have been.

The story of your name, Rusty, is one of guts and glory, that rarest of human courage that sees a seemingly insurmountable challenge and says, “I will mount it;” that sees a wobbly red ball being rolled very fast but bouncing no more than one foot off the ground and says, “I am going to kick that ball so far over your head that you’ll wish someone had punched your lights out instead.” It’s the stuff of face-first slides into home, that whoo whoo noise as the ball streaks through the air, pitching a perfect spinner from the hip, the incomparable double play, and kicking a home run when they were trying to intentionally walk you. It’s the stuff of champions—regional kickball champions.

The story starts about a year ago… actually, it starts way before that, but suffice it to say it gets really good about a year ago. Some might call it dumb luck, some might call it serendipity, and still others might say it was a most blessed miracle. But anyway you slice it, we're all better people for it. It turns out there's a kickball craze that's sweeping the nation—and we got swept up sho’ nuf. It started out innocently enough, about 15 friends getting together for a little recreational sport and socialization along the beautiful lake shore of Chicago. But the first week of league play was rained out, and we found ourselves at the Bird's Nest Pub deciding that each week should have its own theme, and a costume to go with it, and each player should have a theme song that we would play when that person came up to bat. And Uncle Timmy would keep stats. Yes, that would be important. The first week was Cabana Night, and from there it just got sillier, including season highlights like Toga Party, Get Your Wig On, and Running of the Bulls.

And it was lovely and fun and harmonious, except when we played this one team of Jerk-Stores called “A Life.” We hated them. They were mean and nasty and they yelled at us and at each other, and plus their team moniker made no sense, a personal peeve of mine. Worse, one of their guys wore a tight, mesh, camouflage tank top that I daresay haunts me still. We attributed their hostile attitudes to the fact that they seemed to be from New Jersey or similar, and we thought maybe their East-Coast ethos didn’t jive with the Chicago kickball vibe.

Until this spring when we heard about and decided to join the local chapter of the World Adult Kickball Association. The website seemed lighthearted enough, and we were lured in by the sarcasm and the discount on Simple Shoes®. The rules did seem a bit lengthy and officious, but we passed that off as a necessary evil of sport. It wasn’t until our first game, though, that the ugly truth was revealed: These people were serious. They pitched fast-balls! Bouncy ones! They said there were “no backsies” (what?!), no “crossing the diagonal” (WHAT?!), and no “crashing the infield” (WHHHHAAAAAATTTTT??!!).

After only a few innings in the very first game against the Bike Rack Bullies (more like Band Camp Bullies, if you ask me), things really went South when the Bullies beaned one of our girls in the very illegal above-the-shoulder region, and the ref still called her out! Their catcher got snotty with me and I had to give him a verbal smack-down. Then later as he was crossing home plate, he taunted me with a "What are you gonna do about it?" shoulder shrug, which really set me off, and I consequently took my anger out on the hapless and kickball-rules-ignorant girl who thought she was safe at third. I apologized to God (although not to the girl) for shouting "YOU ARE OUT!" as she stood there smiling on 3rd base. (Girl, if you’re out there: Sorry.)

By then it was clear: We would have to beat them at their own game. I would have to learn the particular WAKA rules and teach them to the team. We would have to pitch a little faster, although not too fast, and we might have to bunt a lot. But we would not give an inch on silliness, no, there we would draw the line, and the costumes actually got more extreme as the weeks went on. We had Rodeo Night, to showcase our true cowboy style; we had Chef Night, complete with hair nets and a piping hot vat of lasagna noodles that eventually became our signature “Rally Noodles.” Then there was Birthday Party Night, with a piñata and cake; Mime and Street Performer Night; Toga Party, a revamped classic from season one; 80s Rock Star Night; and more.

On Toga Night it also became clear who our nemesis would be: the yellow team, James Brown’s Celebrity Hot Tub Party. We tied them in the regular season, but beat them squarely 2-0 in the division finals to advance to the Region 7 tournament in Kansas City, Missouri. It was only after our victory that the other teams in our division finally felt free to confess that they, too, hated James Brown, and they rejoiced with us in our victory over the self-proclaimed despot(s). And then it was WAKA love, love, love, love all around, because we realized that perhaps all this time we were all fighting a common enemy: James Brown. (No offense to the Godfather of Soul, of course.)

And that division championship brings us…. Where?.... to Kansas City, of course, and a promise made by your mother and father. Your mom, Kathleen “Toxic” Simmons, on the Pregnant Reserve List since mid-May, said that if the Wranglers took home the Silver Pitcher in K.C. she would name her unborn child Rusty (that’s you). Your dad, Brad “The Bomber” Simmons agreed, and even upped the ante with a promise to dress you in costume whenever he took you out in public. We’re not even sure if you’re a boy or a girl yet, Rusty, and some of the Wranglers thought that might be problematic. But Michelle “The ‘Michelle’ Is Silent” Dooley was quick to remind us of the indefatigable female Rusty, as played by Sarah Jessica Parker in the 1980s blockbuster film Footloose, and everyone agreed it would be a lovely name for a boy or a girl.

Well, Rusty, I’m sitting here looking at a silver pitcher with these words engraved upon it: “WAKA 2005 Region 7 Champions.” Engrave those words on your heart, Rusty. Engrave them on your mind.

Here’s how it happened:

We pulled up to the Southwest Charter School in Kansas City with little time to spare, as a breakfast stop at the Bobber Restaurant in Columbia, Mo., went a little long on account of an all-you-care-to-eat buffet and a rule that no one was allowed to take care of “internal business” in the bathroom on the RV that was transporting all 15 of us on the 8-hour trip. Luckily, the WAKA officials and our opponents were so impressed by our 40-foot Wrangler-ational Vehicle painted head to toe with slogans like “Mount up, Wranglers.” “Kickball champions on board,” and “Honk if you love kickball” that they waived the 1 p.m. check-in requirement.

They may have also been intimidated by our rodeo outfits. Lots of us had holsters with guns loaded with real caps, and we were not afraid to use them. And then there was Tim “He’s Un-Bull-ievable” Whalen in the bull costume, who insisted on repeatedly lowering his head to the ground and “goring” the ball. Not to mention the matter of our rodeo clown in full clown regalia and painted face with a mullet wig and a colorful beanie. That may have scared them, too. It’s hard to say. Come to think of it, it looked as if everyone there was having a hard time knowing what to say. Strangely, their mouths gaped open and they avoided eye contact. Weird.

Anyway, let the games begin!! After all, we didn’t drive all this way just to drink beer and eat Oreos and play cards and jump in apartment complex swimming pools and be called a “Traffic Hazard” by the Boone County Sheriff’s Deputy, did we?

Our first opponent of the day was the Kansas City Ballbusters. I admonished them for choosing a seemingly seedy name like that, to which they responded that they were literally referring to the kickball and not some other naughty ball or balls. Let’s hope they’re being honest. After all, kickball is a family game.

Now, we were a little concerned because this field was all grass. What kind of crazy Kansas City crap was this?? Not even the baselines were dirt! It was just a big grassy field that they mowed baselines into. There was not even a backstop. These were unprecedented playing conditions for the Wranglers, and it was clear that we were NOT in Chicago anymore! (Get it? It’s like “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” only we WERE in Kansas! Well, really close to Kansas, anyway.)

I asked my Co-Captain and Co-Habitor Dave “Pancho Morales, the Mexican Cowboy, Not To Be Confused With Frank Pancherello, the Cop on the Popular 80s TV Show C.H.I.P.s” Osborne to do a thorough walk-through of the field and report back about any irregular surfaces or inclines—of which there were many. We also practiced fielding some grounders in the grass to get a good feel for how the ball would be rolling.

Well, it turns out the Busters had gone 1-7 in the regular season down there in K.C., but in a Miracle on Grass sort of playoff twist ended up taking the #2 spot in their league….which is how they ended up playing us. After doling out a sound bottom-whooping in the pre-game Rock-Paper-Scissors competition to determine home field advantage—I threw “rock” to completely CRUSH their scissors!! Suckers always fall for that!!—we started the first inning with a defensive 3-up, 3-down, and proceeded to score 7 runs in our half of the inning. It was something of a slug-fest smearing of the poor Busters, though they did end up scoring a run against us in the 4th on a series of overthrows that has been the Achilles ’ heel of the Wranglers all season. But we ended with a quick and relatively painless 9-1 score, and rushed to the sidelines for some water and refuge from the 100-degree heat. The championship game would start in 15 minutes.

Perhaps an ordinary team may have let the easy win over Busters go to their heads and expect a cake-walk to the championship, but not the Wranglers. No sir. We are experienced rodeo-riders and know that every bull presents a new and different set of horns. Each opponent a different barrel to corner, if you will. Each pitch a different helpless calf to lasso and bring crashing to the ground. Each fly ball a different beer can thrown at you by a rowdy rodeo audience member that you just hope doesn’t hit you in the head. No, we would not rest on our laurels. And besides the other team looked a lot bigger than us. Even their girls were big and strong-looking. In retrospect we should have asked for a drug test, but you know what they say, “Hindsight is 50/50,” a real crap shoot. And anyway, there was no one there to do the urinalysis.

Undaunted, we strapped on our rodeo belt buckles, snapped on our spurs, and mounted our horses for the big dance against the #1 seed, The Ballbreakers. Apparently, Kansas City is not known for its nomenclatural creativity. I mean, really, is there no other double entendre a team can think of than the ubiquitous crushing of the balls?

Anyway, we had mad skillz in Rock/Paper/Scissors again, and secured home-field advantage on a big Breakers blooper when their captain threw his hand too early and revealed his ‘rock’ strategy in a fatal false start. Of course I knew he wouldn’t throw rock again on the re-do! What does he think I am, stupid??!! Obviously, his remaining choices were scissors or paper, so I threw a scissors and cut the shiz-nizzy out of his paper!!! SUCKER!!! That home field advantage would prove critical about 45 minutes later.

Employing the “Bat All the Big Boys in a Row” strategy, Breakers lead off inning 1 with what appeared to be the offensive line of a pro football team. They scored 3 early, and the Wranglers were clearly unnerved until first basemen Josh “Hasselhoff” McKnight Rider came up big with an acrobatic foul fly catch. Throwing off his cowboy cap to get a better look, McKnight leapt at least 13 vertical feet to make the grab and hope was restored to Rusty’s clan. Why did we ever doubt ourselves? We are the Wranglers, Damnit!

Now we were fired up and we came up to bat with fierce determination. Hasselhoff landed a single, and then Matty “I’m a Lubber Not a Fighter” Lubbers banged a big bomber to score both the McKnight Rider and himself. After a couple more base hits, the inning ended on an unsuccessful bunt by none other than Katie “Bunt Cake” Whalen, who just might have gotten away with first base if she hadn’t cried out “Oh! I’ve been hit!” when the pitcher beaned her in the side. Way to play it cool, Whalen. That ditzy 1st base ref had no idea. Well, I suppose honesty is always the best policy. Still, two runs scored for the Wranglers.

We held them to a big fat nothing in the top of the 2nd, and boy, were they mad! And we were just getting warmed up! Pitcher Dan “Ricky” Martin lead off with another fatty homer, and then his lovely wife Barb “You Might Think I Regret Marrying Him, But I Don’t” Martin line-drove her way to a single. Joy “Smack Yo Mama” Hayes gave the ball a little kiss and ran her little heart out to first, sending good ol’ Barb to the #2 position. Timmy “That Ain’t No Bull” Whalen popped one over the infield and drove Barb home. Then it was up to Eileen “Dexy’s Midnight Runner” Lovett and Brad “Ryno” Simmons to bop in 2 more runs. Nice work, Wranglers! That makes an even 5 for Rusty’s crew.

With perfect pitching from Marty, we held them scoreless again in the 3rd, and I guess the tension was really starting to mount on the Breaker bench because that’s just about the time things got ugly. One of the big boys was on 2nd base when he lashed out and addressed our adorable rodeo clown centerfielder in the following manner: “Hey, Bozo.”
An audible gasp from the Wrangler fielders.
“His name,” I said through clenched teeth, “is Sweaty Rodeo Clown.”
“Well, he’s a clown and he’s from Chicago so I just figured he was supposed to be Bozo,” said big guy.
“He’s got a point,” said Dave.
“True dat!” said Clown.
“Ok, big guy,” I said. “All in good fun, then.”
But I remained suspicious.

McKnight Rider was first up to bat for the Wranglers and proved that real men do, in fact, bunt as he high-tailed it down the baseline to first. Then I was up and I don’t want to talk about it. Bygones. Then Lubbers was up and I don’t want to talk about that either. But then Michelle “As Played by Parker Posey” Dooley was up and she was not taking “no” for an answer. She showed that ball who was boss and McKnight proceeded to fly around the base path. He went all out and headed for home just as the Breakers were throwing it to their catcher. It was a blur of action: the ball was thrown, the ball was dodged, two bodies collided, Josh slid into home. The ref yelled, “Safe!” and the Wrangler bench exploded with glee.

But Breaker “Coach JackAss,” who was really not a coach at all but just some roid-raging yahoo who, days of athletic prowess long behind him, still gets a rush from being a prick on the sidelines and will surely someday be a hockey dad that beats up the other hockey dad at the Jr. Skaters league game, exploded with something else that can only be described as extreme madness. He screamed at the ref. He jumped up and down. And he uttered the abominable: “Next time put a knee to his head!”

WHAT??!! A knee to his head??!!

I wigged out. I was pig-biting mad, and so was Co-Captain/Habitor Dave “Pancho Morales …” Osborne, who came rushing up to home plate from the outfield. I was freaking: “GET THAT GUY OUTTA HERE!”

Fortunately, WAKA ref Aaron@worldkickball.com had it under control. “That’s not what WAKA is all about,” he told Mr. Steroid. And he instructed him to take a seat away from the team’s bench. He calmed the outraged Wranglers, and restored order in general. Aaron shall be heretofore known as the King of WAKA.

And the game went on.
They scored 1 in the top of the 4th and held us scoreless in the bottom. Drat! Now the score is 6-4, Wranglers.

Top of the 5th: The Breakers manage to squeak in 2 more runs despite spectacular fielding by pitcher Dan “Shake Your Bon Bon” Martin, including a behind the head hoopty holla shout out for an out at first. Now that’s heads up kickball!

So the game is tied 6-6 going into the bottom of the 5th and final inning. It’s do or die. Pressure’s on. And we bonk. Three quick outs. The game goes into overtime.

Despite being back in the “Big Boy” portion of their batting order, we thwart the Breakers at every turn. 3-up, 3-down, and the Wranglers are getting hot.

I’m up to lead off the bottom of the 6th. The blood is pumping, my veins are constricted, and I really have to pee! I haven’t been so nervous since I played Golde in the junior high production of Fiddler on the Roof! But I know what I have to do. There’s no other choice. I have to bunt. The pitcher, by far the smallest member of the Breakers—male or female—rolls it in nice and fast and I watch the first one go by just for good measure, and also because I’m nervous. But the next one is a beauty and I kicked it as not-hard as I possibly could. A dribbly-bibbler just in front of the plate and I’m well on my way to first. Safe!
Then it’s big Matty Lubbers and Leave ‘Em, and he bangs a single.
Then it’s Dooley the Rhinestone Cowgirl and her sparkly silver pants.
He pitches. Ball.
He pitches again. Ball.
Pitch. Ball.
First base coach Osborne gives Dooley the “take” sign, but she doesn’t know what that means. Luckily, instinct kicks in and she watches the next pitch swerve way left.
Ball 4!!!!

Bases are loaded and Sweaty Rodeo Clown steps up to the plate. His purple polka-dotted knickers pulled up as far as they will go, mullet wig just slightly crooked, and white face paint starting to drip, he steps back a few paces and gets into his stance. I can see now that it’s going to be glorious.

The pitch. A fast one. A spinner. Sweaty pops it up to the edge of the infield. Will she catch it? The red orb hangs in the air as if time has stopped. I go halfway to home to hedge the bet on the force-out at home. She drops it! I run! She throws the ball to the catcher who is standing right in my path. It’s inevitable: We collide, the ball is between us and it hits me. I’m out. But the ball flies off to the side just far enough for Matty to round 3rd and haul ass toward home. Breakers recover and try to throw him out, but Matty slides and they miss and he’s safe and WE WIN!!!!!

VICTORY! VICTORY! HOW SWEET IT IS!

We jump up and down! We squeal and scream! We dance and sing! We dump water on each other’s heads!

The other teams from Kansas City are cheering because it turns out they hated the Breakers all along and secretly hoped for their tournament demise. For the record, aside from Johnny Steroid and the suspicious “Bozo” comment, we found them to be a pleasant enough bunch. And after the game at least 10 Breakers approached the Wranglers to apologize for Johnny’s bad behavior.

“Not everyone from Kansas City is an asshole,” Jana Breaker explained.
Fair enough, Jana. Fair enough.

The rest of the trip is really a euphoric blur. We were presented with our trophy at a local pub, which we proceeded to fill with beer and drink from communally, which technically makes us all saliva brothers and sisters now. Then it was off to the Kansas City Royals game, where we somehow developed a cheering section of our own. That is to say that people in the stands were cheering for us and not the Royals. Mostly I think they were cheering for Dooley in her silver sparkly pants and iridescent Child Diva Cowgirl hat as she danced to all the fun songs they played on the public address system. She is a lovely dancer, that Dooley, and lots of men wanted to give her high-fives. I think that was really sweet of those men.

And from there it was off to the Hillsborough apartment complex in Mission, Kansas, where a member of WranglerNation lives who was kind enough to host the team and our oversized motor vehicle for the night. The pool at the complex was particularly refreshing.

We had no less than four encounters with law enforcement officers along the way, but all of them turned out to be quite pleasant. Cassie “Did You Know That We’re Regional Champs?” Scott even got a ride on a Kansas cop’s motorcycle, one squad car came to visit the vehicle at 2 a.m. simply because he had heard about us and thought it was funny, and a lovely Illinois State Trooper let us off with a warning in hour 16 of the road-trip round-trip. Thanks, guys!

Actually, the scariest moment of the trip came when the man with the creepy tattoos at the Truckomat World’s Largest Truckwash in Iowa asked me, “What is that Rusty’s Wranglers?”
“Oh! It’s our kickball team!” I cried.
“I got that,” he said. “But what did you use to write it all over that RV?”
“Spirit foam.” I replied meekly, almost as a question, because the red and orange tattoo covering the left half of his neck seemed to be pulsating in an unpleasant way.
“Well it’s not coming off,” he said.
“Oh.” [Cue deflating balloon sound effect.]

So, with apologies to Katie Whalen’s parents, who actually own the RV, for the residual outline of “Rusty’s Wranglers” on the front of their very expensive automotive wonder, we wrapped up the trip and began the final stretch of road back to Chicago, where it was back to normal life for the Wranglers until the World Championships in Washington, D.C. in two weeks.

And that’s the story of you, Rusty. You were a champion before you were even born. I’d say that’s a pretty good start. Just remember, all your life, you’ll always be a Wrangler and you can always count on your 18 Wrangler aunts and uncles for anything you ever need. We’ll always love you, kid.

Oh, and Rusty, one more thing: Be nice to your cousin Regional Champ, I think he might have a hard time with the kids at school.

Love you! Mean it!
Cap’n T-Dizzle Fo’ Shizzle

It's gonna be a K.C. Masterpiece

2005-06-28T10:09:00.000-05:00

The Wranglers are headed to Kansas City on July 9th for the Regional Finals of the World Adult Kickball Association!! We'll be playing against teams from Missouri, Texas, and more!

After smearing the competition there, we'll be headed to Washington, D.C. on July 23rd for the World Championship!!!!

Stay tuned for more info as we load up the Wheeler R.V. and drive south!

Go to
http://www.worldkickball.com/kickballtoday/
for the full regional tournament lineup.

THE WIENER! AND STILL CHAMPION!

2005-06-26T03:18:00.000-05:00

We Won! We Won! We won it all!

Say hello to the IL Deep Dish Division's #1 Champions.....RUSTY'S WRANGLERS!!

AND YOU KNOW 'DIS!!!

More to come with the scoop on the big win over James Brown Celebrity Hot Tub Party, who apparently had some trouble getting their jets going for the big tournament....if you know what I mean!!

I wish that I could accurately portray the excitement---nay, hysteria---in room 1057 of the Catamaran Resort in San Diego, California on Saturday at approximately 1:16pm local time when we got the text message from Cassie: "Wranglers are champs." Dave actually fainted. Duff squealed with delight. Brad wet his pants. And I said "Come on, people, pull yourselves together! It's just kickball!" Just kidding--- I freaked out!!!

We ran out to the beach where fellow Wranglers Tatie & Kim Whalebone were basking in the warm San Diego sun, and where we proceeded to celebrate further our Wrangler victory and tell pretty much everyone on the beach that we were Kansas City-bound!!! How sweet it is!! It's like SUGAR, baby! And guess what, one of our friends at the wedding lives in Kansas City so she's totally going to come and cheer for us. We will have fans!!

I feel as though the last 7 years of dedication to rec league sports as variant as soccer, volleyball, softball, football, and cornhole have finally borne fruit! My first championship ever!! I am bursting with pride. And I owe it all to you, Wranglers. I am so pumped for Kansas City and can't wait to kick a little regional heiney. We are peaking at just the right moment, Wranglers. We can't be stopped.

Congrats to all the Wranglers! You make Mama so proud!

Now it's on to Kansas City....where it ain't gonna be pretty.... for the regional WAKA tournament.

2005-06-26T00:42:00.000-05:00

Before the championship game. Can you feel the excitement??!!

2005-06-26T00:30:00.000-05:00

Our nemesis: James Brown Celebrity Hot Tub Party. They stink!

Welcome to the Rusty-Dome!!!

2005-06-25T10:03:00.000-05:00

Here's the good word from Joy "Smack Yo Mama" Hayes, live via satellite from Chase Park:

To set the stage, we must comment, applaud, and give props to the fine fashions that were "White Trash Prom." Jorts, hickeys, glitter, big hoop earrings, movie-themed ties, and of course, a solid mullet made Saturday's games even more trash-tastic.

So at 12:55, we were a little nervous since there were only four Wranglers in the corral, but it was cool, since we didn't have a ref, and the friends from Ferocious luckily had all the equipment we needed (or at least, they went and stole some from the other game...whatever).

The original sweatpant-wearing Joy's boyfriend #1 came in, chain-smoking, to ref our game. I knew then that we were going to win. Another good sign? We got to call fair and square all 1st and 3rd base issues. FUN FACT: Did you know that Mr. No Backsies himself gets paid by WAKA to ref our games? Where was his hungover ass when we could have used him? It would have made our game's highlight even better.

Sadly, I don't recall great details of the game. Balls were kicked, balls were caught. Balls were kicked, balls were caught. It was hotter than a mother, and the glitter was starting to run...the hickeys stood strong.

So we've got two runs, they've got none. Dan Martin pitches like it's his job, and he's getting paid by WAKA. Who scored? Couldn't tell you. Blame it on the heat, blame it on the rain, blame it on all the Miller Lites I had to drink last night to have fun. At one point, we were so impressed with Chevy's action behind the plate that we all agreed that even the missing Rick Brands would have been impressed with his performance.

Remember when we used to think that Ferocious was trying to psyche us out with the jumping jacks? We were wrong, we were dead wrong. We made some new friends on the kickball field yesterday. Why? Two words: NO BACKSIES.

So the Karate Kid-looking guy on Ferocious won many style points with us for doing the Danny Larusso sweep the leg stance before batting. There was potential for Ferocious to get some cats on base, but poor Danny Larusso fell victim to the very contagious, very lethal, very black and white disease of extra bases on an overthrow.

I think it can be said that the highlight of the season may have been every Wrangler shouting in unison "NO BACKSIES!!!!!!!" Swett had a voice heard round the world, Dooley even chimed in with "We've even got it on a coozie." After letting my boyfriend know that we had gotten burned by the No Backsies rule in the past, even our Ferocious friends conceded that there were, in fact, no backsies.

So then it was over, the game was ours, Wranglers were victorious, and Lubbers busted out the PBR, ASAP.

The dumb blog-hating yellow team was still playing, and we were still cooking. Smart Wranglers that we are, we re-hydrated and re-lotioned. It was a scorcher. Hickeys...still strong. Ferocious turned tame, because they so graciously shared their orange slices and granola bars with us so we could fuel up to kick some 3:00 ass. We bartered back a beer or two for the big guy from Ferocious who totally agreed with the No Backsies call.

So James Brown's illegitimate children of WAKA finished their game, and because Dooley and I were on a tight bachelorette party schedule, when the ref came over to ask us to change fields (which we didn't want to do, it was a mental battle that we would end up losing), we said we'd move if we could start earlier than 3:00. I personally think they were trying to psyche us out, letting us cook while they sat back in their large village of yellow-shirted idiots. But in the end, it all came out in the wash.

What can be said about the championship game? Swetty degraded himself by sliding into home plate, something that he swore he would never do. Tone the Bone triple dog dared him to slide after a very valiant effort of Tone the Bone trying to get to first, but ending up on his ass. Dirty birdy.

Again, balls were kicked, balls were caught. Balls were kicked, balls were caught. Dan Martin worked his overtime magic to ensure a victory for the Wranglers. The never-ending question of "Who's got it?" from Dooley rang out far and wide. Fortunately, someone always answered, except for that really bad foul ball. Dooley says if Josh would have had an extra bowl of Wheaties, he may have made his millionth rock-star catch of the season.

One of James Brown's children got wounded trying to stop a Wrangler from getting to first, and he ended up bleeding. Lubbers made sure that guy got off the field, because he didn't want to get the hiv.

Solid, solid props to the peeps who came out to Wranglerville to ensure that the magic happened: Doug, Robin, Chevy, and Pat (who even had to change t-shirts, since the stupid ass yellow team didn't want him to distract) were great late-season additions who brought the noise and the funk.

I think we rained on James Brown's parade, and since they were so f@#*-ing serious about this whole deal, it was a little bit sweeter when victory was ours. Who knows what would have happened if we really had played Globetrotter style?

Again, Wranglers, totally worth the $74.

Love you, Mean it!

Joyjoy (with a sidecar of Dooley)

Playoffs, Round 1: It's In You. Yes, I'm Sure Of It This Time.

2005-06-23T10:00:00.000-05:00

Round 1, Illinois Deep Dish Division Playoffs:

(From Cap'n T-Dizzy)

It started off innocent enough: orange & blue face paint, socks pulled up to our knees, shades, headbands, wristbands, pregnant bellies, and a guy with a penis tip on his head. Here's a snippet from the pre-game captains' pow-wow:

Is It In You's team captain: "What's your theme today?"
Dave & Tara (in unison with deadpan delivery); "Pregnant Kickball Nazis."
other team's captain (with uneasy look on her face): "Oh."

Yeah, 'oh' is right, you dirty blondie pigtail girl. I'll show you some 'oh' that'll put hair back on your head!!
So let the games begin....We started off with a bang! We held them to nuthin' in the top of the 1st, including a stupendous "mind the baby" catch by pitcher Courtney "Bigfoot" Reid. Pregnancy was no obstacle for CoCo as she just shifted that belly to the side to make the grab. We scored 2 that inning with some heads-up kicking and running by the top of the order. nice work, gang!

The second inning was fast and scoreless, although they did try to get up in our shizzy about Rick "Watch me catch yo ass" Brands' big-time catcher performance and claim that he was not allowed to move until the ball was kicked. But fortunately I was hip to their WAKA jive and I socked it to 'em legal-style with a quote from section 3, item 4.1 of the official WAKA rulebook. Who's in you now, Is It In You??

Alas, in the 3rd they scored 2 to tie the game and we came up with nada in our half of the inning. A highlight of this time-frame, however, was when Josh went Rowdy Roddy Piper on that guy running for home on a foul ball. He beaned the baloney out of that guy! OUCH!! While there was some confusion about whether the ref was going to call the ball foul or not, it turns out that IIIY base-runner-guy was just being a silly pants and decided to keep running just for laughs. But Josh "Hardcore" McKnight was having none of it as he charged to the plate and showed that terd who was boss. Nice work, Josh! I always love to see a little hustle and muscle out there. No one can ever say you don't give it your all.

But now it's tied and we're all a little nervous. We put up great D, though, and got those suckers out without much trouble. Particular props to the Tone the Bone and T-Dizzy combo platter play on the volleyball set over 2nd base that landed right into the loving arms of Tone to score a big fat OUT for the other team. R. Brands was also big money again this inning with more of his mad skillz from behind home plate. How 'bout that double play? They didn't know what hit 'em!

Well, we were held scoreless in the bottom of the 4th, so we headed into the 5th still in a tie. They scored 1 off some minor bungles in the Wrangler infield, and things got a little tense. But we held them to just 1 and came up to bat with a mission to accomplish: 2 runs or bust. 2 runs or humiliation. 2 runs or "somebody's got doo-doo on their face." 2 runs or "I can never look you in the eye again, Wranglers, because clearly I didn't give it my all and you're really disappointed in me." 2 runs or "I might as well just move back in with my parents and change my name to Steve Bartman because I can't believe we just lost to this bunch of Tall-Socks Yahoos who at least were more fun and attractive than the rest of this league of band camp rejects who cling to kickball because that's all they've got."

Well, Tone started us off with a K.Whalen "Bunt Cake" special, and it really is true what Mark Frasier always says: "Real Men Do Bunt." A bunt never had so much/many cajones as Tone bolted down to 1st base at lightning speed. Then I was up, and I don't really want to talk about it, but let's just say that now there were 2 outs. Then Lubbers was up, and I don't know about you, but my heart was pounding. Sweat beaded up on my orange & blue painted face. My hands were cold and clammy, and I could feel the baby kicking like crazy in my tummy!

First pitch: Lubbers bangs it foul. Fortunately, it's uncatchable. Something wet and yellowish trickles down Matty's inner thigh. The heat is on. Second pitch: He nails it, a big honking fly ball out to left field where the wee girl that only moments ago Lubbers was drooling over stands like a deer, no---a possum, in the headlights. She looks terrified. And she should be. It drops and bounces over her head. Chaos ensues. Tone the Bone screams around the bases, easily scoring while the outfielders fumble to get the ball in to the pitcher. The whole Wrangler bench is staring dropped-jaw out at the field because we have never seen Lub-a-Dub-Dub hustle like this before. But there he goes, he's rounding 3rd. The ball is coming in up the 3rd base line. The 3rd basemen is in hot pursuit of a better angle on Lubs as he makes the mad dash for home. He goes to throw it, Lubbers ducks, stumbles, falls face first onto home plate in what appears to the average fan's eyes to be an artful slide, and WRANGLERS WIN!!! WRANGLERS WIN!!

Ah, the sweet taste of victory. It doesn't get much better than this.

This is Captain T-Dizzy signing off. You stay classy, Wranglers.

2005-06-23T09:47:00.000-05:00

Dang!

Week 8: Burninators get BURNED

2005-06-16T09:44:00.000-05:00

The Theme was "Beach Party", yet Mother Nature saw it a different way - "One Night in London" (cold and rainy). But rather than pack up their beach balls and cabana wear and head home in tears, Rusty's crew of Wranglers grabbed some fresh layers and dug into the sand like a 4 year old making a sand castle for battle as "Kokomo" blared on the beach boom box in the background. The opponent (besides Mother Nature), was the Burninators.

"Aruba, Jamaica ooo I wanna take you."
A few of the Burnsees even attempted to thwart the Wrangler spirit by arriving in costume. That costume consisted of a wig and some "alternate" colored clothing. Oooooo…..

"Bermuda, bahama come on pretty mama"
Well nothing...not the mud, the rain, the cold, the Burnsees and their rule book…nothing could thwart the Wrangler spirit on the way to a 13-5 victory.

"Key largo, montego baby why don’t we go"
Keyed by the Mullet Man, Ryan Swett, who was actually mullett-less (apparently they don't do well at the beach), The Wranglers managed to turn a tight 4-4 game into a laugher in the 4th inning when they put up an impressive 8 run rally all with 2 outs.

"Ooo I wanna take you down to kokomo"
Swett, who had already homered in the game, came up to bat with a runner on first.
"We’ll get there fast and then we’ll take it slow"
After a vicious foul ball, the Bunrsees gave the "walk" sign. Well, full mullettude then ensued as Swett literally refused to get intentionally walked.

"That’s where we wanna go"
He took the pitch from way outside, stayed behind the plate, and sent a rocket would go for a home run.
"Way down to kokomo"

Personally speaking, that's where I end my memory of last week's game. I remember hearing rumors about a huge melee that ensued as the Burnsees cried foul! And whined that Swett's move was against the revised rule 4.3.1 or some crap. I remember something about our fearless Cap, T-Dizzy, then standing up to defend the Wranglers only to be challenged to a duel by a puffed-up Kid Rock wannabe in a roid rage. Sensing the danger, Dulci "Black Dog" Dix broke free and ran out onto the diamond. She took her frustrations out on the kickball sending it to an early grave with a resounding POP! I think I remember something like that happening.

I for sure remember the Wrangler farm system stepping up as two rooks made huge impacts...Hammerin' Dave Smith (1-1, 3-R HR) and Alex "Bo Duke played by Jon" Schneider. "Bo" rose above a mean Cubs-induced buzz and poor footwear to hit a huge 3 run double with the bases loaded after Swett was intentionally walked and Cas then took first. (for once the rules worked for us).

I remember the stellar pitching by Josh McKnight who got the win and Dave "OZ" Osbourne who fought off a few rounds of shots to earn the save after McKnight left with a strained hammy.

For more on the game, I'll go over to special correspondent Joy "Da Smack" Hayes with a special report...

Greetings pals and gals,

I don't know if I really need to reiterate the madness that was last night's game against the F@#$itators. I do know that the turning point in that game can be defined in a meshing of intentional walking and the appearance of your friend and mine, Captain Tallsocks.

The fact that Captain Tallsocks showed up on the WAKA fields sober was an unsettling one, given the fact that Dooley and I chose this fateful evening to bust out the Corona Lights. More unsettling was his apparent memorization of all things WAKA, including rules on when and where Swetty McMullet can pound the everloving poop out of a ball. I don't know who's more abusive on the official WAKA kickball: Swett or Dulcie.

Captain Tallsocks was pretty adamant about the rules, even though mysteriously, as brought up by an astute associate, we already have played his team. Is he trying to break our stride? Is he trying to hold us down? Oh no...we've got to keep on moving. Either he's trying to eliminate our excellence from his future, or he's been reading Rusty's blog and knows I've been mocking him...if so, Welcome back, Captain Tallsocks!

So he and Katie totally broke up after his recitation of the rulebook, and I was going to pick up Katie's sloppy seconds (ain't my style), but I got distracted by our utter domination, also known as "Put that in your pipe and smoke it."

Fast forward to the Rail, where our friend Captain Tallsocks appears in the finest fashion I've seen this side of the Atlantic: tank top, shorts, and of course, tall socks. This day will live in infamy as the day unanimously decided as "Tallsocks for Boss Hogg president". I don't get it, I just don't get it, and I don't like it.

It kind of made me miss my boyfriend from way back at the beginning of the season who wore the sweet sweatpants (where has HE been all my life?). Fortunately, there's a new sheriff on the horizon: the complete dillhole from the F@#$itators who Cassie wanted to "kick in the jimmy", who reminded me of the bad guy in the Karate Kid movie (excellently played by Billy Zabka), who mysteriously also was working the tank top....did anyone else play in the rain yesterday, or was that just us? I wanted to give him a nickname like "Kickball Maverick" or "Kickball Iceman" since he reminded me of those sweaty volleyball players in Top Gun with the tank top and jeans, but I was shot down by Dana, Dooley and Katie. Dooley said we should call him the "Bicep Bouncer" after he so dickishly took over the mound and popped the ball off his biceps, but that didn't sing with me. Since he reminded me that I payed $74 to play in this league, I have to tell you guys that it has been worth every penny. In fact, yesterday's game was worth $37 at least. So to me, he's going to be Dick 74....man, I hope we play them again. If for no other reason than Swett's got a new number one fan, the guy who gushed on and on about how much he rocks....has he even seen you play WITH the mullet?

Well, as Forrest said, that's all I've got to say about that....

Thanks Joy. I'm sure I'm leaving out or missing a lot of other action, but above everything, I remember the Wrangler fortitude in the face of adversity. And that's what we need to take with us for tonight's game. We're embarking on a journey that is known as the WAKA playoffs. The kicks will be harder, the action more intense (and I'm sure the rules more enforced). Through all that crap, let's just remember to do it Wrangler style. I for one can't wait to see pregnant kickball nazis out there. Good times…good times.

Oh, and a special congratulations to Brad and Duff Simmons on the announcement that they're expecting a lil' wrangler in December.