Having been stripped of one jersey and have it draped around the pencil neck of a would-be usurper, I now must sit and watch from practice from a hole in the the laundry room door, as the son of that would-be usurper prances around the court like billy big balls. Got himself into the coveted left hand man position too. Disgusting. I didn't spend all those nights making these uniforms sparkle like that star Schwarzenegger bought Kendra, just to see this dweeb try take everything I have. 

I am therefore challenging JFK_Jr for his #114 Jersey, which by rights as his better, should be mine anyway. I would invite FrizzleFry and HeadCoach to confirm I am correctly forming the ring of basketballs within which this challenge must legally occur. You will note that my shorts have been dipped in the blood of a starter, as is customary, and thank you to Skidmark for his cooperation on that.

I know it isn't traditional, but I'd request we allow @sisterivoryDarkmore to remain in the bleachers for duration of the challenge. She's worked hard on her "LETS GO ALL STAR TEAM" banner ahead of the second game in the series later tonight, and I would feel mean if she wasn't allowed to hold it proudly aloft for the next 6 hours as she previously requested. 

I would also like to invite CancidRunt to get back under his rock and be excluded from these proceedings entirely. 

If there are no other matters to attend to, I'd like to get this over with and wash the treacherous JFK stink outta that jersey before I mount it above the darks linen basket. 

All of the traditional ceremony has been performed. Your jersey challenge has been accepted by management and ratified. The #114 jersey will go to the winner of this 1 v 1 battle to the death. The streets will remember the glory of the victor forever, as well the failure and humiliation of the loser, whose bloodline we all - and I speak for the community as whole - wish to never see on these shores again, regardless of whichever way this swings. If you both could lose, all the better. In fact, the disappointment of one of you having to survive is now setting in, and casting a big shade of bummer over this whole thing. 

I will be enjoying a quinoa bowl with sweet potatoes and pecans from my seat in the bleachers, let's get this show started.

Grin-22 has won the jersey challenge and earned #114 from the now-deceased JFK_Jr.

However, the fact that the duel required 10 rounds for a contestant to land one shot has brought great shame to the JFMAST, and has triggered a case of devastating PTSD in assistant coach FrizzleFry, who spent the best years of his life watching Shaquille_ONeal shoot free-throws with the same level of competency. 

This kind of psychological terrorism against management is expressly forbidden in the JFMAST and therefore I am forced to keep Grin-114 in the laundry room, where his forensic detoxification of Wilt_Chamberlain's sweats is best served, as opposed to promoting him into the 4th-string, where he could have been useful as a makeshift practice cone or as the guy who wears sports goggles and really long socks. 

The loss of yet another teammate from the starting lineup has Skidmark rattled. It's almost gametime, and the BricktownCL team is pretty cocky after their unlikely win. Skidmark is lost in thought, trying to think of a way these disputes can be resolved without so much lethal killing, as opposed to the nonlethal killing that has become our modus operandi. It's too late for JFK_Jr. He picked a fight with the laundry boy, who was hired without a background check, and left the team weaker than he found it...

"It's a sad day for all. Grin-22 is still in the laundry room and JFK's kin have been banished from the professional leagues.  Obviously, he will have kin hiding out in the basement of Sunrise's headquarters. Nobody doubts that in the least. But where does that leave us tonight?"

Skidmark pops a couple pills out of a bottle labeled "Really Healthy Vitamins" and heads towards the weight room to get in a quick workout...

"This reminds me of a work of science fiction that was read to me one time. It spoke of a Magic point guard who could play all five positions, and during the Finals, actually filled in for one of the greatest centers of all time, and won the game with a last second shot using that Center's signature sky hook. I am ready to step up and cover two positions, but that still leaves us short handed. FrizzleFry may have to turn in the assistant coach's uniform and return to the floor, unless Ragnarok_ is ready to step up."

What should be my proudest moment, as I stand astride JFK_Jr's skeletal corpse, arrogant smirk finally slipped away beneath crumpled jaw, eyeing up the #114 jersey I had coveted since around 6pm this evening, is now turned into another mockery. HeadCoach has taken away what is rightfully mine once more. Will young Grin-23 eat tonight or will it be the residue of Dagda's hobofire beans again? If Papa can't become a starter, this Laundry pay just isn't going to cut it. Sorry, kid. Non-lethal to lethal. It has made no difference to me. I remain outcast, separated from the JFMAST herd left to fend for myself among the delicates and the colours. Is this a hard water area? I don't even know anymore. Perhaps BricktownCL is looking for a 6th man or if not, a man who knows his way around a stain at least. Heavy, almost Wilt-sized sigh. 

Taking a massive sucking fhite was the highlight of Cancid's day.  The usual peace and quiet of the executive crapper, adjacent to the laundry room, was the calmest place in this adrenaline filled hot house.  But not today.

"Bastard, bastard, bastard, JFK, hard water, yellow stained bastard jock strap bastards, bastards..."

"What a sastard bhitshow" Cancid mutters to himself, his usual 60minute long time of tranquility had been disturbed, the gremlin calling himself Grin-22 was running into the laundry walls again.  He bangs on the wall:

SHUT THE CUCK UP FUNT!

The racket dies down ever so slightly but Cancid is resigned to the fact his down time is over, looking over the the toilet roll holder he notices, to his horror, it lies empty.  Some tunny fwat has stuck a pinecone, a roll of duct tape and a hand written note "You want to play a game" where the usual 20 ply  tracing paper roll is usually placed. "For Suck FAKE!" Cancid shouts out.

Preparing himself to walk like a pucking fenguin to the next booth he spies out of the corner of his eye a shirt on the floor outside of the booth.  Thanking his lucky stars he does a small scale truffle shuffle and hooks the shirt with his left foot.

Pulling the shirt to himself he holds it up the number #114 on the back.

Cancid chuckles to himself softly just prior to wiping himself clean with it just like his mama taught him.

Dressing himself accordingly he troops out of the shithouse booth throwing the shirt to the laundry boy Grin-22 .

"Make sure you get the stains out boy" he shouts, I've no doubt JFK_jr-jr will be back soon to claim what is rightfully his.

More than 12 hours on from my glorious victory over the would-be boss of Detroit, son of notorious traitor JohnFarehamJr and grandson of staunch family man and occasional allied pro-wacker, Gazza, I remain desperately disappointed with how circumstances have transpired against me. 

Despite having carried JFK_Jr for 9 rounds to provide a spectacle to those watching the duel, the coveted #114 jersey has been stripped from me and now, I discover to my horror, defiled by the spotty arse of CancidRunt. HeadCoach takes with one hand and then takes again with the other; the true legacy of a gargantuan tyrant. How many more blows must I withstand? How many more wordy-men are going to use my plight to push copies of their rag?

Hatchet pieces about my character become the norm. Taunts of Grin-10Rounds flood the gym whilst I attempt to plug a gym river seeping from Wilt_Chamberlain's shorts. sisterIvoryDarkmore's ice stare is not even enough to silence them. Why do in 1 round what you can enjoy for 10? I ask myself this question as I look into the mirror. The haunted red-rimmed eyes of a detergent junkie stare back at me. Will I ever be more than a washing line monkey? My numberless jersey tells its own sad story. 

I think those calling it the Banjo and Barn Door duel are being harsh Grin-22.  HeadCoach wants excitement and tension with heroic and gallant failure the ultimate prize.  That can be the only reason for his Boston related team talks...man I hate those Celtics.  So yes, you may have "won" the duel but I think the main prize was ending up as the plucky loser...hence why you've been stripped.  Anyway, if you'd won, the lack of good laundry operators would have meant training would be the old skins and loincloths routine.  Something I've heard EduardoCojones has been pushing for and I'd like to resist.