Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Compared to him, you're shit!
Frank Beveorts! Frank Bevoerts!
Our very own Frank 'Dutch Hardcore' Bevoerts is riding high at the top of the rankings, with a 100% record.
How do you stop him?
Here are two methods:
1. Lure him into a factory that has large machine presses, and trick them into being flattened by them.
2. Lower him into hot molten steel vats and melt him down into the base metals and burn him alive.
There is a bounty of twenty pounds paid to the first person that beats him in full competetion.
Tonight in a land far, far away called Tooting, Karmarama played their first ever match inside a hospital. Yes. Inside. A. Hospital. I know, it still sounds ridiculous even read at half speed. But off to St. George's we went. We had no idea what we'd be up against - would we be playing doctors and nurses, ooh err missus, or would we be up against the patients, and having to lose to them to keep their spirits up. Literally anything could have happened, so we took the A-Team. And what did actually happen was very, very bad indeed - for the opposition...
Pre-match concerns were quite different from usual. With 'Super' Jesus George on the team-sheet, the burning question was how to prevent the medical scientists at the hospital from kidnapping him to carbon-date him like the Turin Shroud. The solution the team arrived at was was simple yet ingenious. Smuggle him into the venue in a giant keg of beer. Not only could he then avoid scientific detection, but he could also drink himself up to his optimum playing level of drunkenness, which for George is about 800 mg/l or about 10 times the drink-driving level. With Super Jesus George optimally inebriated what could possibly go wrong?
Very little as it turned out. The opposition had quite a decent record before the match with a couple of wins and a draw to their credit, and they looked to have some decent shots in the warm up. However they pretty soon realised the size of the mountain they would have to climb as George went out and absolutely battered their number one. With his forehand in absolutely tip top shape and balls being smashed to all corners of the room, his opponent (who was actually decent) was like a rabbit in the headlights and promptly surrendered in double quick time. At this point Braveheart and Dutch hardcore were heard muttering under their breath 'why didn't he do that in the match we lost 9-1'. hmmmm.
Next up Braveheart, recovering from his dodgy leg, he did a damn site better than Owen Hargreaves, and despite playing below par managed to use whatever weapons were working to win quite efficiently in 4 sets. At this point none other than the Tartan Terror himself turned up - skiving off from practice in Olympia to arrive just in time to watch the master at work as Dutch Hardcore with his solid gold bat took the table. But what's going on here. He's playing shit. Oh my God. He looks like he's playing in clogs, smoking a spliff and using a large slab of edam for a bat. Somewhat annoyingly, Dutch Hardcore playing shit and not breaking sweat is still better than anyone else in the league and he won at a canter. So much for the saying that laziness doesn't pay!
And so it went on, with Jesus playing like a God (see what I did there?), and Frank and Campbell doing what they had to to win comfortably, and we reached the doubles 9-0 up.
At this point we chose to play our secret weapon - the Tartan Terror, the Scourge of South London, the Wandsworth Warmongerer. But things did not go quite as planned. The opposition manager, who had sent three hapless victims into battle while directing the unfolding catastrophe like a modern day General Haig, pointed out that the league rules had now changed and we had to play 2 of the 3 players who had already played singles. So they got Frank and George. Oh dear. I don't think I need to describe what happened next.
So that was that. Another 10-0 against quite a decent team and the prize of promotion is gleaming brightly for the Karma Krew, who sped off into the night in search of suitable refreshment in their armoured limo, avoiding machine-gun toting South London locals like Jenson Button on a promise from his girlfriend.
Next week Finsbury 5, who are probably soiling themselves like 3 caganers at the thought of the beating they are about to receive from Dutch, Jesus and the Pigman.
Miscellaneous other things we learnt tonight.
+ They have Marks and Spencer's inside hospitals, but not pubs. Yet.
+ Karmarama now top yet another league table, with our average number of supporters per match having rocketed to 0.1666. Man United beware.
+ It is very hot and noisy playing Ping Pong inside a hospital squash court, but the view for spectators in the viewing gallery is very good.
+ Frank has very long arms when viewed from above.
+ Hospitals are massive. It is possible to spend over 15 minutes walking from one side of one, to the other.
Friday, 5 November 2010
I've seen Sherwin play and beat people with a tiny little baby bat. Well, he can smash you with these cool iphone covers as he phones your mum to tell her how shit you are!
Offered in traditional paddle colors of black, green, blue and red, the Ping Pong Protective Cover is now available for $29.95
right here: http://www.goincase.com/products/detail/CL59745
Thursday, 4 November 2010
When the culture of Holland meets the passion of Spain, something amazing happens!
It started off as a night shrouded in uncertainty - would our opponents be able to navigate their way across London during a tube strike? Conversations before the match had led Don Buonaguidi to suggest they'd struggle to navigate their way to the other side of a room, so it was a pleasant surprise to find them all there as we arrived.
The match began with the Nuriator, our Catalunyan Galactico, against Barry - the opposition number 1. Boasting of a 70% average in Division 2, he took to the table expecting to win. The game ebbed and flowed with some fantastic defence by the Nuriator. However her attacking game wasn't firing on all cylinders and she lost in 5 sets to a relieved opponent.
Braveheart next up, and a routine 4 set victory. With Dutch hardcore stuck on a tube it was the Nuriator next to the table. Bish! bash! bosh! A great victory in 3 quick sets and she's off the mark with her first league victory. Her poor victim then had to contend with Dutch Hardcore and his sholid-gold bat. Not a contest that will live long in the memory, as he was bludgeoned half to death. 'Taxi for Saeed!' bayed the audience.
Watching that Dutch Masterclass, oppo captain Barry visibly whitened. At this point he then started complaining that Frank was too good for our division and should be playing in internationals like Sherwin. He knew his proud 100% record in the league was gonna take a pounding. He didn't realise how quickly though! He was next up vs McKellar and after four sets of being out-served, out smashed, and out thought he had to sit back down a beaten man, with Braveheart dishing out a masterclass of aggressive attacking with a level of violence more often seen in Sauchiehall street on a Saturday night at pub closing time. A few more one-sided thrashings ensued before another trademark 5 set epic from Nuria ended in unfortunate defeat and we headed into the doubles 7-2 up.
Braveheart was unfortunately injured in his second match victory, and this prevented him playing in the doubles, meaning the Spanish-Dutch alliance took to the table. There was a frisson of tension as they took to the floor - would the simmering animosity from the World Cup final have dissipated sufficiently for them to concentrate on beating up the opponents rather than each other? In a word, yes. They played brilliantly, completely outclassing the now demoralised opponents who were left with nothing to look forward to apart from a 3 hour journey home to the back of beyond, courtesy of Mr Robert Crow. For all we know, they might still be on that tube.
So there we have it, another masterclass from the Karmarama Galacticos and an excellent 8-2 victory. That's 4 wins from 5, and we've still to play the crappiest teams in the division. We're looking good for promotion.
Thursday, 28 October 2010
As the great Julius Ceasar would have said had he been there: Venimus, Vidimus, Pingimus Pongimus, Vicimus.
Last night, in the Theatre of Tears, the Karma Krew uncovered new reserves of skill and determination to put a very strong opposition to the sword with maximum prejudice. Standard form in a Karmarama match report is to treat any vanquished opposition with utter contempt just to add insult to injury. Well this time GBH by the written word is not required. The word defeat doesn't even come close - it was devastation out there. Forget about alien vs predator, This was like 100 aliens and 100 predators bullying a 5 year old schoolboy. And not just any schoolboy. One with glasses, and a limp and with his hands tied behind his back. Yes, tonight ladies and gentlemen we put Monday night's unlucky defeat well and truly behind us. It was ten-nil. Ten to fckuing nil. Dix a zero, diez a cero, zehn bis null, de deu a zero. Old Man Leo, Desmond Douglas, inscrutable orientals of ISH - your boys took a hell of a beating. Yes, we whipped their butts!!! And not only that; tonight a new superhero was discovered on planet Karmarama. It was the night the pig became the man.
So, what actually happened, I hear you scream. Well the night began with a shock as it was discovered Old Man Leo wasn't playing. Argh! Three guaranteed wins down the Swanee. We kicked off regardless. Pigman against Flavia. She may be a pensioner but boy does she play well. After a match that see-sawed relentlessly, Justin came out on top 11-9 in the fifth with some fantastic controlled play. Game on! Next up McKellar, then Bervoets. No problems. Three nil up and cruising, and the oppo's third player still hasn't turned up. Looking good....
Next round of games were not so smooth. Pigman was looking dead and buried, but came from behind, and weathered a barrage of smashes to win his second match of the night. Braveheart McKellar struggled big time against Flavia's no-spin pimples game, but finally out on top with a nail-biting, wall-kicking final game that was a veritable feast of all-out chopping. No fancy serves or indeed any topspin required. Then Dutch Hardcore dished up some more dutch hardcore to make it six-nil.
At this point our minds were half way to the pub. Then the opposition star player, none other than Desmond Douglas himself, the scourge of Karmarama for many a year, and with the wingspan of an albatross, finally turned up. Pigman first up. Lamb to the slaughter. 3-11, 3-11. Oh dear! The beating we were all dreading, but expecting. Then something magical happened. "Shurprishingly,I shink hish vorhand might be shlightly shit" suggests Dutch Hardcore. Suddenly, Pigman is a man possesed by genius, and with a comeback matched only by Lazarus, wins the next three games with style; probing Douglas's weakness like that Nazi with a dentist drill on Dustin Hoffman in Marathon Man. Jaws dropped. Thesaurus websites crashed under the weight of requests for alternative supelatives. Clocks probably stopped. Could we granny them? Braveheart vs Douglas next up. 3-1. Not easy, but not hard either. Then a Dutch materclass of the quality of Vermeer, Cruyff and Martin Lafeber. With oohs and aahs, and cries of "that's first division material" ringing out, Douglas was sent from the table a seriously beaten man.
Could he recover for the doubles? Don't be daft, you know the answer already. Braveheart and Dutch Hardcore were never remotely threatened and brought up the 10-0 in style.
Our heroes then retired to the pub, buying Pigman drinks all night until he could take no more (2 points of Peroni f.y.i.) to celebrate his coming of age as a Ping Pong superstar. Pigs might fly? Tonight, one surely did!
"Who are ya, who are ya?..."...was the chant emanating from the Karamrama band wagon as the top of the Central London 3rd division outfit arrived for a match-up against an ISH 6 team. 90 minutes later, they still had no idea who they were, but the Karma Crew knew that they were no longer top of the league as their unbeaten run came to a shuddering halt in a 9-1 battering.
The opposition were 3 old Chinese guys with unpronounceable names and impenetrable games. They looked so old and infirm, they could have learned to play in the school games room with chairman Mao. But it was the Karma boys and girls who were taking a Great Leap Backwards as the square paddled, pen grippers dished out the ping pong equivalent of water torture. Captain Super George got us on the board, but couldn't loosen up his forehand loop to bring his power game to bear on the old fellas. The Tartan Terror had the sort of night that makes you wonder why you're in a drafty hall, being humiliated and degraded. He got the sort of treatment that Max Mosely would have to pay a fortune for in certain West End establishments. The only honour that was earned for the evening was from the our Catalan debutant, who put on a defiant and brave display. Going quickly 2-0 in the first match and looking outclassed, Nuria showed Nadal like grit to claw her way back to be serving at 9-9 in the fifth. Unfortunately nerves took hold and she was edged out. Similarly in her last game, she was staring at 2-1 down and 7-1 down and dragged herself back to 10-10 in the fifth, to once again succumb to the "yips". The ashen look on her face spoke volumes and only some pints of lager and warm words of comfort from her team mates in the pub afterwards seem to bring the colour back to her cheeks. Nonetheless, she can be proud of her efforts. A great debut.
All clouds have a silver lining and the early finish gave us the opportunity to decamp next door to watch the first team. Now the first team don't get much of a word on this forum, because unlike the Seconds, their paddles can do the talking. On walking into the room, it was apparent that something was going down. Something of an altogether different nature. The smell of sweat and testosterone was prevalent and there was blood on the walls. This was ping pong violence. This was Fight Club with ping pong paddles. I have seen World Championships and Dirty Dozen steel cage matches in New York, and this was up there. Three young lads in Karma colours were having a paddle to the death with three unbelievably talented boys from ISH. The young Karma lads played like Gladiators and edged a match of epic quality 6-4. A "big up" to Helly for nurturing and managing such a talented team. In an era when every media report tells us that kids are all wearing hoodies whilst shooting and stabbing each other, it was great to see 6 young lads assault each other armed with paddles and ping pong balls. Grudging handshakes were made and muttering of a return match revenge was heard. We should be selling front row tickets for that.
A mixed night for the West London ad agency.....another match this week gives us a chance to get the band wagon back on the road.
This is Andrew Woodhead. No it fucking isn't! Piss off, this is what he looked like when I played him!
He is the latest top notch ping pong Bastardo to join the ever growing band of paddle wielding Galacticos.
He joins up with Helly and the Sherwinator in the first team currently smashing faces in the first diivsion. He is really good and is going to be an absolute bastard to beat. Welcome.