Baseball Training for Trios Cup?
Apr 29, 2016 3:32:36 GMT -5
Night Rider, Crow McMorris, and 2 more like this
Post by Oath Breaker on Apr 29, 2016 3:32:36 GMT -5
Zombie McMorris/Kaz Mazy/Scarecrow vs Caleb Ronan/Tomohawk/Justin Sane
CARAAACK!
The baseball shoots out head level past the third base, traveling another twenty yards before bouncing across the well manicured grounds.
Justin Sane: Nice one. My turn.
Justin assumes the position beside the home plate, crouched and ready for the pitching machine to deliver. A few short seconds and the automated machine speeds a baseball like a ninety mile an hour rocket down home plate. With a twist of his hip and a leg extension, his shin connects with the projectile.
CARAACK!
The baseball returns to the automated machine with all the fervor of its original launch, bouncing off the front face.
PANG!!
Justin Sane: Oh Yeah!
Tomohawk: Well done.
Justin mocks a bow as Tomohawk assumes the position.
Justin: Beat that!
Tomohawk take a muay thai stance and another white ball speeds down toward home plate. Tomohawk drives his right knee forward, connecting with the white missile, CAARAAACK!! sending it popping up and out toward left field.
Justin: A knee thrust? You drive that thing out some three hundred feet with a knee thrust? Fuck you, stand aside, lemme show ya how it's done Kimosabe.
Justin takes position again, more centered onto the plate. Another launch from the machine and Justin connects with a reverse crescent kick. KRAACK! And the ball heads out to deep center field.
Tomohawk: Nice!
Justin: So good to have someone else with trained feet for a tag partner. Show me what you got Tonto.
Tomohawk: Back away. Time to bring out the good stuff.
Justin: Like you can do better.
Tomohawk: Just wait and see.
Justin backs away from the plate and Tomohawk assumes the position. The ball launches and hi leg spins out, connecting with an audibly louder KRACK! The ball speeds out over left center field, bounces once and hits the back wall where it reads 410.
Justin: Holy shit. Alright, stand aside rookie. I got this beat still. I got this.
Another ball, and Justin connects with a full rotation middle kick KRACK! that sends the ball high up out toward left field where it just keeps going .. over the wall.
Justin: Hell yeah!
Tomohawk: Unbelievable.
Justin: I got this won.
Tomohawk: Not over yet, I can beat that.
Justin: Ya think?
Justin grabs the remote for the pitching machine, raising the launch speed from 90 up to 105.
Justin: Kick that!
The machine launches with the two still in mid banter and the ball connects .. to Tomohawk's groin section.
Justin: Oh .. shit.
The native is bent over in pain, his face slowly turning to red, then to purple as veins pulsate along his forehead and down his neck. Wisely, Justin backs up, but drops the remote for the pitching machine before it launches another ball.
THWACK!
Tomohawk catches the ball with his bare hand, his knuckles turning white from gripping the ball so tight. He stands upright once again, faces the pitching machine and takes stance with a low growl emanating from somewhere just below his throat. The ball launches, zipping like a small white lightning streak toward the indian before he rotates through with his thai style buzzsaw kick.
POFFF!!
The white, leathery shell of the baseball rolls around on the ground a mere ten feet away as the insides bounce along the first baseline. Justin gets the remote back under control and hits the kill switch.
Justin: Ok .. so that I can't do .. just yet.
Tomohawk takes a deep breath, centering himself, slowly relaxing. After a couple minutes, his breathing is back to normal and he drops the baseball he caught just minutes earlier. The imprint of his fingers on the surface of the brand new spalding a tell of his hand strength.
Justin: Remind me never to kick you in the balls.
With his groin still severely tender, Tomohawk only responds with a grunt. Justin stays outside of leg reach anyway, not yet sure if he can trust the big native's calm exterior or not.
Justin: So, about the Trios Cup?
Justin, not a total fool, decides to let the question hang in the air. Better to let the big man decide for himself or not. Hell, if he wants to stay silent right now, he couldn't necesarily blame him. Eventually, the silence overwhelms him and he just has to get the big man's attention.
Justin: Come on now Crazy Horse, I know the Geronimo in you has something to say about the Trios cup. Speak up Sitting Bull.
The native gives a cocky half grin and nods. So many people, especially white people, so concerned about hurting feelings and other bull crap about social corective responses that they just can't be themselves anymore. At least Justin has the balls to be politically incorrect, and Tomohawk appreciates that.
Tomohawk: Zombie had a lot to say. Seems he didn't say a lot, but he had a lot to say. But made no mention of his loss last week. The man who trained me to wrestle pinned him 1..2..3. The old, crippled, out of shape, over the hill old man took Zombie down with the cool colder than the grave and got the pinfall. His momentum is gone, now we just clean up the broken pieces.
Don't know much about the other two. That's why I train so much and so hard. When I come across the unknown, I'm still prepared. Not much else to say. I'm ready. I've seen you're good at what you do. Just need to get Ronan onto the same page as us now.
Justin: Leave it to me. I'll even bring the ice. .. What? Tender subject?
CARAAACK!
The baseball shoots out head level past the third base, traveling another twenty yards before bouncing across the well manicured grounds.
Justin Sane: Nice one. My turn.
Justin assumes the position beside the home plate, crouched and ready for the pitching machine to deliver. A few short seconds and the automated machine speeds a baseball like a ninety mile an hour rocket down home plate. With a twist of his hip and a leg extension, his shin connects with the projectile.
CARAACK!
The baseball returns to the automated machine with all the fervor of its original launch, bouncing off the front face.
PANG!!
Justin Sane: Oh Yeah!
Tomohawk: Well done.
Justin mocks a bow as Tomohawk assumes the position.
Justin: Beat that!
Tomohawk take a muay thai stance and another white ball speeds down toward home plate. Tomohawk drives his right knee forward, connecting with the white missile, CAARAAACK!! sending it popping up and out toward left field.
Justin: A knee thrust? You drive that thing out some three hundred feet with a knee thrust? Fuck you, stand aside, lemme show ya how it's done Kimosabe.
Justin takes position again, more centered onto the plate. Another launch from the machine and Justin connects with a reverse crescent kick. KRAACK! And the ball heads out to deep center field.
Tomohawk: Nice!
Justin: So good to have someone else with trained feet for a tag partner. Show me what you got Tonto.
Tomohawk: Back away. Time to bring out the good stuff.
Justin: Like you can do better.
Tomohawk: Just wait and see.
Justin backs away from the plate and Tomohawk assumes the position. The ball launches and hi leg spins out, connecting with an audibly louder KRACK! The ball speeds out over left center field, bounces once and hits the back wall where it reads 410.
Justin: Holy shit. Alright, stand aside rookie. I got this beat still. I got this.
Another ball, and Justin connects with a full rotation middle kick KRACK! that sends the ball high up out toward left field where it just keeps going .. over the wall.
Justin: Hell yeah!
Tomohawk: Unbelievable.
Justin: I got this won.
Tomohawk: Not over yet, I can beat that.
Justin: Ya think?
Justin grabs the remote for the pitching machine, raising the launch speed from 90 up to 105.
Justin: Kick that!
The machine launches with the two still in mid banter and the ball connects .. to Tomohawk's groin section.
Justin: Oh .. shit.
The native is bent over in pain, his face slowly turning to red, then to purple as veins pulsate along his forehead and down his neck. Wisely, Justin backs up, but drops the remote for the pitching machine before it launches another ball.
THWACK!
Tomohawk catches the ball with his bare hand, his knuckles turning white from gripping the ball so tight. He stands upright once again, faces the pitching machine and takes stance with a low growl emanating from somewhere just below his throat. The ball launches, zipping like a small white lightning streak toward the indian before he rotates through with his thai style buzzsaw kick.
POFFF!!
The white, leathery shell of the baseball rolls around on the ground a mere ten feet away as the insides bounce along the first baseline. Justin gets the remote back under control and hits the kill switch.
Justin: Ok .. so that I can't do .. just yet.
Tomohawk takes a deep breath, centering himself, slowly relaxing. After a couple minutes, his breathing is back to normal and he drops the baseball he caught just minutes earlier. The imprint of his fingers on the surface of the brand new spalding a tell of his hand strength.
Justin: Remind me never to kick you in the balls.
With his groin still severely tender, Tomohawk only responds with a grunt. Justin stays outside of leg reach anyway, not yet sure if he can trust the big native's calm exterior or not.
Justin: So, about the Trios Cup?
Justin, not a total fool, decides to let the question hang in the air. Better to let the big man decide for himself or not. Hell, if he wants to stay silent right now, he couldn't necesarily blame him. Eventually, the silence overwhelms him and he just has to get the big man's attention.
Justin: Come on now Crazy Horse, I know the Geronimo in you has something to say about the Trios cup. Speak up Sitting Bull.
The native gives a cocky half grin and nods. So many people, especially white people, so concerned about hurting feelings and other bull crap about social corective responses that they just can't be themselves anymore. At least Justin has the balls to be politically incorrect, and Tomohawk appreciates that.
Tomohawk: Zombie had a lot to say. Seems he didn't say a lot, but he had a lot to say. But made no mention of his loss last week. The man who trained me to wrestle pinned him 1..2..3. The old, crippled, out of shape, over the hill old man took Zombie down with the cool colder than the grave and got the pinfall. His momentum is gone, now we just clean up the broken pieces.
Don't know much about the other two. That's why I train so much and so hard. When I come across the unknown, I'm still prepared. Not much else to say. I'm ready. I've seen you're good at what you do. Just need to get Ronan onto the same page as us now.
Justin: Leave it to me. I'll even bring the ice. .. What? Tender subject?
