Trumpest call, angels sing, and children weep.  All to herald the end of the Block Two UWSP Trenchball season.  As you may have guessed, if you have anything but licorice in that small head of yours…Bukkakalypse has emerged triumphant.

Undefeated!  A perfect record!  No team effectively came close to nipping at the heels of the titan that is Bukkakalypse.  The second last week, for which I was absent, Bukkakalypse registered a nearly perfect 26-1 victory over an team that could have been beaten by a bucket of scrap metal.  Bukkakalypse reigned victorious in not only wins, but also total points.

And it has indeed been a good year.  This may be the last post this blog shall see for some time, so without further adieu, I would like to thank you, my loyal audience, for your calm patience and unwavering spirit in supporting Bukkakalypse.  If this is your first time reading my blog, then you are not a loyal audience member and I have nothing to thank you for at all.

There was no trenchball this past Tuesday.  Why would there be?  It was Thanksgiving for Pete’s sake.  Go back to eating leftover turkey or doing that homework that’s due tomorrow instead of looking at my blog.  My goodness, where is your sense of priority?

For the faint of heart, uneducated, or just plain lazy, I’m here to tell you right now that Bukkakalypse won its fourth match of Block Two. You can go back to trying to stick your whole fist in your mouth.  For the refined and cultured audiences of mine, it’s a pleasure to have you!

Instead of focusing on a detailed account of the trenchball match, I will instead focus on one particular game.  20-5 was the final score of the match.  Of those 25 games, I played in 21.  Of those 21, I played well in 20.  This is the story of that sad, sad unaccounted for game.

Bukkakalypse was pitted against a team whose members I was familiar with.  I had worked with one of my opponents and met a few other team members over the semester.  Which may or may not make this story even better.  So let me paint a picture for you.

Bukkakalypse is up by a fair margin.  It’s just another game, right?  Wrong.  I was near the hanging curtain on the court, looking frantically left and right and keeping an eye on an opponent in the trench who was eyeing me up like a teenager watching a Shaker Weight commercial.  He took his eyes off me, looked at someone else, and threw the ball.

Now, I would like to commend this man’s skill, because I was completely taken aback as the ball actually came at me.  Normally, when I’m hit, I drop a swear word or two under my breath and hustle back to the trench.  This time, I jumped up in the air, got hit, and came crashing down on my side.  Right into the curtain.

If you are unfamiliar with the rules of UWSP Trenchball, touching the curtain either makes that player go to the trench, or makes your team automatically forfeits the game. Our referee was the one referee who abides by the latter.  So we lost the game!

And that’s my mandatory blog post for the week.

Game Three has already blown by like a leaf in the blustery fall wind.  If you know anything about life, you should have assumed that Bukkakalypse emerged victorious.

But would your assumption be correct? Let’s take a look at the match.

Overall, the individual games in Bukkakalypse’s third match were drawn out. Like a usual 11 p.m. match, plenty of team members were feeling a little sluggish.  I would like to extend props out to a certain nameless player who played an incredible game of trenchball on 40 hours of consciousness (thank you Black Ops).

The first game of the match looked very promising for Bukkakalypse.  Not a single Bukkakalypse player was trenched and the opposing team looked like a pack of prepubescent schoolboys throwing ice cubes at the sun.  In fact, the first seven games looked very promising for Bukkakalypse.  Namely because Bukkakalypse won every one.  So, with a 7-0 lead, could Bukkakalypse maintain its position as rightful king of the D2 Trenchball world?

Halftime saw a 8-3 lead by Bukkakalypse over its new nemesis.  Eh.  8-3.  That’s losing three games out of the last four.  Hardly promising.  We would have to pick it up if we wanted to really win this.

I myself made two consecutive catches, a rare feat for me (suck it Alyssa).  After a long, grueling twenty minutes, the smoke cleared and Bukkakalypse emerged victorious. 14-6 or so.  It was on Tuesday, cut me some slack.  The point is, Bukakaklypse stayed the course.  Bukkakalypse never backed down (awesome movie).

Bukkakalypse never fails an operation.

Now, in hopeful anticipation, the world has been awaiting the results of Block Two, Week Two’s latest challenge for Bukkakalypse.

And be mindful that the world challenge is purely relative.  I could just as easily say that it’s a challenge for Brett Favre to throw an interception.  Or that it’s a challenge for Brock Lesnar to beat up my gram-gram.

Now, if you have been keeping up the last several weeks, you will know that Bukkakalypse is on a marvelous winning streak!  And I am happy to say that Bukkakalypse’s new niche is 11 p.m. Tuesday night block.  With a 16-8 (ish) win over its opponent, Bukkakalypse showed the world that there is a new big kid on the block.

Playing trenchball at 11 p.m. is similar to going to class to 8 a.m.  In both cases, it’s apparent that God wants you to be in bed sleeping.  Snoozin’.  Catching some Z’s.  Thanks goodness the monster that is Bukkakalypse never sleeps.  The team outdodged, outmaneuvered, and outthrew its opponent, which was an athletic group of young men and women (mostly men) too focused on having fun to realize that losing isn’t an option.

Week three will be here soon.  Are you ready?

I would like to thank college kids everywhere for dressing up, going out, and consuming large amounts of alcohol in celebration of the beginning of Block Two for Division Two Trenchball.  Your support is appreciated and it will never be forgotten.

I would also like to say that I was not even present for the first trenchball match of the season for certain reasons.  Bukkakalypse continued its marvelous streak of victory by storming into the new 11 p.m. Tuesday night block with a fury rivaling that of threescore minotaurs.  According to what I have been able to piece together, Bukkakalypse shut down its opponent with an impressive 18-7 victory.  If I had been there…if I was able to ask just one question to Bukkakalypse’s first victim…it would be: WHO IS YOUR DADDY!?!

With an undefeated record, Bukkakalypse streaks into week two with another match in just two days.  1-0.  Can we keep it up?  Will Bukkakalypse win next week?  Is the grass green?

Cripes, you better believe it.

First of all, everyone can exhale.  I know you have been holding your breath for approximately nine days, waiting to know exactly what the heck happened in Game Six.

Game Six pitted Bukkakalypse against the “Blue Team.”  They will be referred to as the “Blue Team” because I don’t actually know the name of their team.  It isn’t important.  Regardless, this team was the team we played the first week of trenchball.  This team was the team that fought viciously to keep us down.

This team was the team that handed us our only loss this season.

My girlfriend was able to traverse the long, boring, bug-plagued journey from Oshkosh to Stevens Point along highway 10 to observe the match.  I finally had something to fight for.  Someone to impress.

Needless to say, we were ready to RUUUUUUMMMMMBBBBLLLLEEEE immediately upon stepping out onto the clean, waxed trenchball court.  The air reeked of determination and man.  I flexed my muscles in my cut-off t-shirt, hoping my girlfriend would notice and swoon.  Then, the whistle blew.  And the game began.

The first half was a back-and-forth 20 minutes.  In the end, we led 6 to 7.  Hardly a lead at all.  The second half would basically be a whole new trenchball game.

Highlights of the second half included me getting a rocket-propelled trenchball to the face, and Bukkakalypse’s own Joe Lewandowski being scorned by the “Blue Team” for cheating.  A ball was thrown at Lewi, who jumped up and did the splits in mid-air to dodge the ball.  It may have grazed his shorts, it may have not.  The world will never know.  But the “Blue Team” was quick to brand out entire team a pack of yellownogooddirtyrottenstinkin cheaters.  Talk about overzealous.  It’s Division Two trenchball.  Seriously.

If you have been keeping up with the weekly dose of Hurricane E’s blog, you will know that Bukkakalypse teammates are masters of comebacks and second halves.  And we continued this legacy in Game Six.

The final score:  Bukkakalypse, 16.  ”Blue Team,” 8.

VICTORY!

With a sterling 5-1 record, Bukkakalypse plunged into first place in the Division 2 trenchball 8 p.m. rankings.  Just like that.  Future trenchball players, may this blog be a hope.  A beacon, if you will.  Something to strive for.

Throughout history, the number five has had an important place in the heart of mankind.  Few other numbers are as important.  When accused of a crime, American citizens do not plead the sixth.  There are not four sides to a pentagon.  And seven was certainly not Joe DiMaggio’s jersey number.

In this vein, Game Five was equally important for our trenchball team, Bukkakalypse.  Going into the match with a 3-1 record, we didn’t want to start copying the record of the Green Bay Packers.  We wanted to be better. 4-1 would be nice.

However, I would use “sluggish” to describe our team play during the first half of the match.  We immediately went down zero games to the opponent’s four.  Imagine a soccer team being down 0 to 4.  Yeah.  Around this time, other teams would be burdened by alienating thoughts of despair, sadness, and alcoholism after this early slump.

Not Bukkakalypse.

Like a man storming into a tavern and raising the liquor cabinet up, we raised the bar (thanks Eminem).  We battled our way to a 6-8 deficit at the end of half time.  Admirable.  Valiant.

But not good enough.

Tempers were hot at halftime.  I myself was pointed out for the questionable sexual orientation implied by my shiny Adidas sleeveless shirt (which I still believe looks awesome).  There were a few small scuffles, in which I seem to always find myself in the middle of.  But putting our differences aside, we decided to redouble our efforts.  Our throws needed to be more accurate.  Our dodges weren’t up to par.  Our speed was terrible.

This all changed in the blink of an eye.

Like our always-impressive second halves (for the most part), we only gave up one game.  One.  Bad guys: 9.  Bukkakalypse: 14.

I know what you’re thinking as a reader right now. “Hurricane E, why do you even bother writing blogs about how good you are!?  You’ve won the past four games in a row!  And we all know Bukkakalypse will win more!”  And you know what?  I wholeheartedly agree with you.  But I never get tired of winning.

So, we are now 4 and 1.  I hope you all took my advice and talked to your bookie.  No matter the odds, it is tough to beat the determination of Bukkakalypse.

BUKKAKALYPSE.  BUKKAKALYPSE.  BUKKAKALYPSE!

Heading into the fourth trenchball game of the season, our team (Bukkakalypse as we are named) was in a touchy 2-1 position.  This fourth game mattered.  If we win, we assert our right as superior trenchball players.  If we lose, we fall to a 2-2 record.  Average.  Run-of-the-mill.  Nothing special.

A bunch of nobodys.

So, we were certainly ready to shove this game into the arrogant faces of our opponents.  Now, this particular team could aptly be described as a pack of “bros.”  For those of you who are unaware, the term “bro” applies to any man who enjoys laughing at things that aren’t funny, wearing hemp jewelry, wearing shorts that look like swim trunks, wearing cool earthy flip-flops, and saying “duuuuude” or “what up bro” incessantly.  Unoriginal tribal tattoos and piercings are optional.  The last thing my team was going to do was lose to a pack of bros.

The game didn’t start off so well.  Our valiant group of warriors went down 1-3 in the first four games, though Ashley Hanester made the night with an unintended catch between her legs as a large bro hurled a ball at her.  It was game time.  This wasn’t time to mess around.  Are we going to end up as so-so, average, and lackluster?  Or will be find the strength to prove that Bukkakalypse is the real deal.

We quickly turned it around.

By halftime, the score stood at 7-4.  I myself would be called for two technical fouls (crossing the middle line) throughout the remainder of the match.  Swear words would be exchanged like Pokemon cards in elementary school.  And girls would be hit in the face by trenchballs.

Like the previous match, our second half was much better than the first.  The final score of the match was an impressive 17 to 6.  For those of you who aren’t math whizzes, this involves us giving up two games while snatching ten. A good day.

Odds like these haven’t been overcome since George Washington defeated the other guy in Yorktown.

With a 3-1 record, the sun rises on a new horizon.  Tune in next week for the stunning, ever-important fifth game.  Find your bookie and make a bet on the right team.

Bukkakalypse.

1-1.

Some will think of these two numbers as the ratio of milk to cream in half-and-half. Others, as the score of the Duke vs. Elon soccer game held today.  For me, it was our trenchball team’s record before 8 p.m. today.

That was before.

Last week, our team squeaked a win by a rough gang of ruffians, which boasted several of my personal friends from my hometown, West Bend.  Not to be outdone, we managed to win by a few points in a miraculous game of back-and-forth scores.

Today, we faced off against the infamous team How Not?  The competition was tough.  Our opponents looked as though they could outbench a team of oxen and still have enough energy to build the Eiffel Tower all over again. Donning all black, our team slowly walked out onto the court.

You could have heard a dog whistle as we stood there, waiting for the signal to begin the match. And then it came.  Balls of red, purple, and green hurled to and fro.  I would like to hand out props to the infamous Joe Moran, who managed to singlehandedly catch almost every ball thrown at him.

Four games up, four games won.  Our team was bursting with confidence as we rained destruction upon our inept foes.  But our confidence may have been had a little too early, for the next three games went to the other team.  4-3. In the world of trenchball, it was still a game that could be decided by a risky dive on the floor or cherry-picking a ball thrown by a girl. Luckily for us, the ever-skilled players, we managed to win the next four games and ended the half at an admirable 8-3.

But would it be enough?  Our team was stoic and grim as we sweated out every ounce of fluid we had consumed in the past 48 hours.  8 to 3.  Bigger leads has been thrown.  Weaker men and women would have brimmed with overconfidence and faced subsequent annihilation.  But not us.  We kept our heads in the game and resolved to redouble our efforts, for the match was far from over.

But all that fretting for nothing.  In the second half, we gave up three games while winning nine, ending the game with a solid score of 17-6.  It was a beautiful victory, wrought by a combination of tactical play, lightning-speed reflexes, and brute force. The fact that the other team had no substitute players, or that it is in its first year of playing trenchball…these are far from the point. The point is that a group of men and women looked within their hearts and found the strength to batter down a determined opponent. Trenchball is just as much a game of honor and bravery as it is accuracy and strength.

2 and 1.