Well, this is awkward. My friend, co-captain, and fake brother Tom has put us all in a strange position. (And no, I wasn't just going to lie there, MI-CHAEL, if that's what you were thinking.)
We, the incredible team formed by Captain DBAG and Captain VAG almost 3 years ago, are slated to face off against DBAG's other team (captained by his lady companion) this week. So, there were two options on the table for Tom: play with Candy Van and get a questionable return on investment in the bedroom, or play with That Kick Cray and have me kick him in the nuts repeatedly every time I saw him. Now, unless you're a masochist who hates your junk, neither of those options seem ideal.
We thought about it more and realized that it really wasn't fair for poor Tom to choose.
I mean, look at this kid:
Do you think he beat up a 12-year-old girl to get that bike? Do you think he's even capable of making an educated decision on which team to play for?
Those are some sweet moves, even if it is the lamest thing ever caught on tape.
So, we came up a solution: Tom doesn't play. Instead, Tom is crowned Douche King and is placed somewhere in the outfield. Anytime someone's kick hits Tom? He finishes his drink and takes a swig of our special Fire Water. It's magical!
We guarantee one thing will happen during our game: 20+ people are going to be doing their darndest to hit Tom with their balls in that 45 minute time slot. Join us. 8 p.m. on field 4. You'll only regret it a little bit.