News and Announcements
Please note that this Wednesday’s club-wide practice will be held at World Sports Park @ 1313 South Post Road.
It will start at the usual time of 6:30.
Here’s your chance to get used to how the ball will bounce on Saturday, and give your knees and ankles some nice ground to run around on.
Hope to see everyone there!
Harley don’t care what you think of them. Like when you are in your minivan at the stoplight…with the kids…and the Hog next to you is sitting in neutral, cranking that engine. For no reason. Loud. Why does he have to make so much noise? Close your windows.
Did you check the scorecard and think you were gonna beat Harley today? Because on the stat sheet you thought you had a chance? Because you think the Swami has a clue? Guess again, Poindexter.
You want to run away from that Camry and that 9 to 5 desk job and join us. You want to crank that engine too, don’t you? Maybe next year.
We’re Harley Davidson. We’ll ruin your picnic and make your children cry. You wish you had this stuff. Ride or Die.
Harley-Davidson of Indianapolis def Hotel Tango Artisan Distillery, 5-10 to 4-7
Harley-Davidson of Indianapolis def Daredevil Brewing, 3-18 to 4-13.
Our team beat that other team with the plaid on it. They have those two good guys, the one with the Shakespeare cat on his leg and that handsome #5, but our guys were able to get the ball more than them and our good guys were running faster when they were being chased and that one Irish guy scored a bunch of goals.
I think we were losing at halftime but nobody seemed too worried about it because our guy with the bushy black hair was telling us the good things we did and was helping us talk about how we should yell at each other on the field to let each other know where we are. I yelled a lot for sure. At least it wasn’t raining during our game because it stormed like crazy on the one before ours. It was kinda muddy and I saw some dude slip in the mud and got mud all over his white shorts, it was hilarious and I was laughing in my helmet.
We almost lost at the end when that cat leg guy ran all the way down the field with the ball bouncing on his stick and our guys were chasing him and they got really close but then he smacked the ball too fast, but it was about six inches to the side and didn’t go in the goal and then the ref said “Game over, and the Daredevils are the winners,” or something like that. Looks like I even got a little sunburn, which is no big deal.
On a dreary Sunday morning in May that greeted the opening of play with a two-toned sky of platinum and gray, the laddies and lassies in green and black looked to rebound from a tough, hard-fought and competitive defeat to the “Kids Who Dressed Themselves”, officially known as the inverted shirt-wearing brethren of Centerpoint Brewing. Centerpoint was graced with an appearance of a “Puerto Rican” shade by the name of Dave “The Ghost” Riordan, this author’s favorite hurler of ever. Luckily for 9, this legend was so encrusted with corrosive oxidation of Caribbean disuse he was largely a non-factor. Even his ghostly ankles were snapped succumbing to a signature move of his own by Brogan “Anything-You-Can-Do-I-Can-Also-Do-As-Well” Sheedy.
After enduring spitting rain that graduated to a fairly heavy shower in that opening tilt, game two saw the sun showing signs of possibly breaking out in its tussle with those brightness-dimming entities of floating water vapor that some simply call clouds. The rain was so convincing that, drunk on moisture, Brogan’s hurl took a whirl and smacked like rain on the rooftop of the equipment shack. That very sky emulated the match over which it hovered.
After a delay caused by a Bent Rail player who speculatively either could not find her way out of the cavernous Eugene Burns Water Closet for Lady Patrons or possibly, just simply fell in, oh my! the sky epitomized the hopeful attitude of 9 Irish to avenge their earlier defeat. But, as the sky began to revert to a semblance of its previous hue, that hope turned equally gray. The first half, barely won by the Checkers with just a lead of seven on total points, was exemplified by The Lady in the Red Helm, Jillian getting pancaked into one of the small mud bogs that had found residence among the green.
A stirring halftime speech that found Knute “Jimmy” Pepper jerking on all the heartstrings he could grab with one hand while pushing buttons with the other exhorted his crew, to, ahem, pull their heads out. The desired effect conjured the desired result.
The second half again showed of what the Green-and-Blacks are capable when firing on all cylinders. As the sky began to clear and the sun’s heat could finally be felt, 9 Irish torched Bent Rail with a torrent of goals and points. Even Pigpen, once known as Jill Beyke, put one in net and assisted on another. Her alley-oop pass to The Other for the one-timer, finally lit the lamp (Number 13 to 14, goal, like tic-tac-toe) for this author after a disappointing early season.
Bent Rail lay broken after a second half blitz that turned that aforementioned seven point lead to a final 18 point judgment, 6-14:3-5. Despite only two notches in the win column thus far, 9 Irish Brothers are finding their identity while proving, at least to this observer, a team to not take lightly as the season unfolds, a fortnight at a time oddly, and as the playoffs take shape.
This week will also be a great loss to the Irish. As we lose a teammate in Tommy Smith, it is worth noting at least one aspect of his parting words. That being that we are blessed. That we are. Always appreciate God’s blessings and as far as yours truly is concerned, any day that one can play like children is the greatest day one can have. Gloria in excelsis Deo. NINE I-RISH!