In all my four weeks of hardcore, intensive, extensive, rough-and-rowdy intramural frisbee, I’ve never seen a game like the one we put on last week. Now, yes, I know that this team isn’t exactly the 2012 San Francisco Giants, but goddammit that performance we put on could make an angel want to jump of a bridge. Frankly, if my dad saw the frisbee game he would’ve beat me, and I deserved it oh yeah I’ve been a bad boy, a real fucking bad boy.

That game made me feel more helpless than a paraplegic on a fire escape. I mean, come on, they had three fucking people on the field! THREE! And they still fucking scored!!! We need to either start playing dirty (oh yeah let’s get so fucking dirty) or learn how to run and block a goddamn throw. Losing against three people was an insult no man should have to face. Where was the level of coordination we saw at the team orgy? Where was it???

Now it’s been a while since I disappointed my dad in sports—at least a year—but if he was here he would’ve set me straight. You see, I recognize my own faults, I admit that there were places I could’ve done better. I’ve been a bad boy, a really fucking bad boy oh yeah, and I need somebody’s strong hand to set me right. I swear I’ll be so good if it happens, yeah I’ll be the best player on the team for the final game. I might not know how to throw by then, but I sure can catch.

Anyway, on a more serious note if we don’t take the training wheels off our balls and lock in for this last game, I don’t know what I’m going to do but it’s probably going to involve a heavily armored bulldozer and is going to really add to my LinkedIn.