FEAR AND LOATHING IN NOVAFFL: The High Water Mark

By: Dr. Anne Gonzo

February 5, 2007
WASHINGTON DC-- Some people will tell you I am on a big-time winning streak, but for powerful reasons of karma I will deny it. One thing I have learned in my painful career as a gambler is that bragging when you get lucky and Win a few games will plunge you into gloom and unacceptable beatings very soon. It happens every time. That is why I have been so quiet about the Cutters. I don’t want to hex my people while they are winning, and especially not before the biggest match-up in Northern Virginia Flag Football League (NovaFFL) history.

The game had all the hype and feel of a huge college football game. Both teams warming up at opposite ends of the field… Quarterbacks and receivers running the passing tree, linemen beating on one another, teams showing respect for one another before the game… it was only missing a marching band and some floozy cheerleaders. And the crowd gathered early to get a seat for this contest. Unlike most other players, we didn’t give a hoot in hell about the other games. We had come to watch the real beasts perform on Field One. The sidelines were jammed with people; fifty or sixty, and most of them were staggering drunk. It was a fantastic scene—many of them fainting, crying, copulating, trampling each other and fighting with broken whiskey bottles. And all this before the first snap.

The Cutters were clearly underdogs going into this game, and they knew it. They had planned for this game all week, developing a defense to stop the fierce Brisco Hawks and their power running game. The Cutters also had lost their quarterback, and had to sub in their backbone player, Strawman at the position. But Brisco severely underestimated the Cutters strong and wild defense. Watching the Cutters play football is like watching the scum freeze on the eyeballs of a jackass, or being stuck for 6 hours in an elevator with Dick Cheney on speed. The Cutters will pounce on you and gnaw you to death, which can take eight or nine days. This was proven when Brisco’s captain was heard muttering at halftime, “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?”

Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men’s reality. Weird heroes and mold-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of the “rat race” is not yet final. The Cutters broke all the rules this weekend and still beat the Brisco offense like a gong.