Based on the rave reviews from our first Whirlyball tournament, we held another tournament with the summer clerks from the second half of the program. Despite my team’s failures in the first half, I was team captain again and, after lots of discussion, we settled on Coulier’s Killers as our team name. 
It’s a complicated story that started with a reference to me having a full House, which quickly morphed into a discussion of the TV show, which led to a discussion about Uncle Joey–played by Dave Coulier. Unlike most of the other teams, we did not get matching t-shirts (mainly because I ignored every suggestion that arose), so we didn’t look nearly as stupid as our opponents.
As I mentioned following the first tournament, Whirlyball refereeing is horrid. There’s no reason for it to be so, but the twist this time was that on one court we had a referee who called a penalty every ten seconds, while on the other court, the referee actually left the court for three or four minutes at a time. Hard to be consistent when he can’t even see the game. And penalties are a big deal because, each one is 2 points, the same as a score. And with every game decided by 2 points, penalties are very easy to come by.
Anyway, during our first game (against House of Payne), he reached toward the ball on the ground while an opponent already had their racquet on the ball. I didn’t make contact with anything as I was only trying to startle my opponent–in fact, I didn’t get within six inches. Of course, the referee called a slashing penalty. I protested that I made no contact, and the referee responded–about ten times–”It’s just a game.” While that is an accurate assessment of the activity currently being refereed, what exactly, does that have to do with my protest? My mother always told me how smart I was, so I’m sure I understand what “game” means, but it’s a completely ridiculous response, especially considering that it reduces the basis for his entire revenue stream to inconsequence. (I’m still upset about this.)
The game was tied 2-2 at the end of regulation and went to sudden death OT, prior to which the ref decided to explain what “sudden death” meant about nine times. I informed him that we understood the term “sudden death,” and he responded, “It’s just a game,” which made me mad all over again. We ended up losing in OT.
Designated for the loser’s bracket, we now had an uphill battle. Inspired by my passion (note: probably not true), we mowed through the next three opponents–against Menudo, The Dynasty, and Lindsey Lohan’s Super Sponsors (all loser bracket games were played on the court with the absentee ref), which put us into the final’s of the loser bracket–one game from the finals. Our opponent’s captain–an old man partner, clearly in fear for his own safety, claimed an injury and inserted a young summer clerk whose team had already been eliminated. Despite my protests, which largely featured telling the “injured” partner that the only substitute would be a one-armed, one-eyed, over 50 female, the clerk played and, of course, scored the winning score for The Crushers to beat us 4-2. Happily for me, they went on to loose to Gin and Juiced n the finals.
After the tournament ended, 8 of us played 2 of the guys who worked there. Before we played, I thought two things: 1) Surely eight of us can beat 2 of them almost regardless of skill; and 2) Even if we don’t, so what? Over 12 minutes of furious activity–most of it provided by the 2 and not by the 8–the two emerged victorious 16-10. I was impressed by their Whirlyball skills, but I find synchronized swimming skills much more impressive–but not that impressive overall.
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