Some of the KWL players may have noticed a tall, dark, and handsome character lurking about at a majority of the League’s games this season; it has been I, Jacques Rimmier. Yes, a Frenchmen with a burning passion deep within his heart for the game of Wiffleball. A competitive game of the plastic sport gets me more excited than a teenage girl purchasing her first training bra. Thus far this season, the KWL has quenched my need to see some plastic-on-plastic action.
A proper introduction may be suitable at this point, I grew up in the green hills of France, where wine and body odor are the top issues addressed daily, but I always had a desire that demanded attention. One summer’s eve, while taking a break from compiling my massive collection of Internet porn, I ran across an American Wiffleball site. I quickly stole some of my parents’ francs and purchased my first set of equipment from The Connecticut Store.
I spent every sun-filled moment that summer honing my skills and wrangling Nancies to look silly playing against me and my crew. My first and only team, the Beret Brigade was untouchable! A stud hurler and a defense that was tighter than a dolphin’s poop chute. We had the complete package and I was now awaiting an American contract from the famed Wifflehouse or the HRL when tragedy struck. While spelunking in the depths of the beautiful countryside, I acquired a rare infection from a pile of guano. Yes, bat shit ended my glorious career. Struggling to remain competitive in the game I cherished, I opted to depart Viva La France while sporting my new stylish eye-patch.
After years of a grand addiction to Franzi and healthy serving of self-pity, I ran to a gentleman at West Hills while attempting a comeback of my own. (I had decided to create the first ever naked Badminton League. I even had a catchy slogan: The shuttlecock isn’t the cock that flies around! Surprisingly, there wasn’t much interest!) The Commish and I rubbed elbows (some other parts also) while enjoying a nice sweat in the gym’s sauna.
After hours of discussion (a few ‘man’ dates) and sharing stories of Wiffle games past, he graciously invited me to Spring Training to spectate and report. From the first pitch I was addicted once again. Grasping that a 40-something with partial blindness is no good for anyone, I committed my talents to penning a few articles for the KWL. I have been just slightly lazy and to be honest with you all, back on the boxed wine. So, now that we have gotten to know each other I will fulfill my ranting. Please, when you see me at the upcoming games, do not approach me! You all have become legends in my mind and that alone will arouse me faster than Joey Lawrence. Whoa! No valid conversations are had involving an eye-patch and an erection.
To all of the sluggers and hurlers of the KWL, keep up the fantastic work because this league is quite entertaining. (At least to this Frenchie!) Remember the reasons why you signed up and have Sportsmanship remain off the charts. One last personal side note, Sir Vanderbrand please keep your distance; I am highly allergic to the Dutch! |
