Hey look! Backhand fake!

When I'm old and senile, in some nursing hospital with my Crazy Cousin Kelly, and we're sitting there laughing and cackling at some inside joke that neither of us really understands (presumably about some young punk with a really cute ass), none of the references in the following email from Wes will make any sense to me.

But for now, it's sheer poetry!

And completely full of inside jokes and references that I might annotate at some point when I get annotation in on this site.

Another thing to add to the list to, um, well crap, after Nationals. Or maybe, after we return from Nationals. WhoO!

Photo credit to Tim Tuttle and his "crappy cell phone."

I almost forgot my note of self-congratulations to us, for making Nationals!
I've been all overcome with emotion since yesterday and I'm still not really
sure it's sunk in yet (and if Biscuit or Sugar tells you they saw me
randomly pumping my fist this morning and/or crying a little, don't listen
to them, they are a couple of filthy little liars). It's times like this
when I wish I was talented/artsy enough to compose poetry to express what's
in my heart, but since I'm not, you'll have to settle for a player-by-player
review, in haiku:

Sick with flu? No flick?
No sweat! Still caught game-winner.
Porcelain Bullet.

Absent Saturday,
Lost two games. Present Sunday.
Good luck charm? Bridget.

Naked at Four Walls,
She undressed her defenders.
Handler Brynne Speizer.

Defense specialist?
Sure looks like his guy's shut down!
Christopher Doyle.

Who the hell is Quinn?
My best guess is he's a Smith.
Pink headband, you know.

Hair, hair everywhere
Breaks his mark like he's not there
Great throw, THE Pickett!

Very tall. So fast.
Q: How do you cover her?
You don't. Emily.

Hideous? Uh, pshyeah!
Layouts a thing of beauty.
So good, Kyle Smith.

FIRE IN BELLY!
Not indigestion! Want-to!
Superstar D: Kate.

Injured her ankle;
No effect on her huge heart.
Get better soon, Kitt.

Hey look! Backhand fake!
Oops, now you are on the ground.
Yup, that's Kris McQueen.

Tallest girl on team?
Maybe a tie. Best throws, though!
Leilani Leibert.

Like manna from sky
Her D came from Seattle.
Ah, Lisa Timmins.

Ankle? Sprained. Shoulder?
Like an MLB pitcher's.
Heart? Superb! Mark Smith.

White visor backwards
Chugging on D, flowing throws
Dr. Pei-lin Hsiung.

Hands inside his shirt
Using dump-swing as weapon
Cap. Warren Schechter.

No ACL? Hmm.
No problem! Throws are too good.
Dr. Smut Randall.

Game winner v Fish?
RSD calls her "small girl".
But she plays huge: shwu!

Orientation?
Oh no! But wait! The season!
Not over! Heidi.

All he does is score.
Well, that and win crazy bets.
Oh, and drink. Paul Youn.

Wrote essay on plane
Probably about her D:
Steffi Wu, gone wild.

Is cheer mispronounced?
Gimme a D! D! What does
That spell? Kevie hucks!

3 foot vertical
Never, ever, ever drops.
Dr. Tim Tuttle.

Catch. Dump. Swing. Break. Flow.
Like water in the river
The disc in Whit's hands.

Am I an athlete?
Take that, inner fat kid! Nyah!
Who else? It's Wes! Duh.

Did I forget you?
Tell me; I'll write two haikus.
I am old, you know.

(Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. YAY MISCHIEF!)

Wes.