Welcome foosball fans to another loud and boisterous tavern in Smalltown, Illinois, located just up I-39 from the greater Bloomington Area.  Tonight's competition thus far has been a very sloppy but entertaining match pitting Team Red (denoted by the bloodred jerseys) against Team Blue (denoted by the shaded ominous blue jerseys).

Eternal adversaries to one another in the Foosball Arena here at this Smalltown tavern.

As we prepare to rejoin the action once again, the rather annoying uniformity of the players should be documented.  To a man, both teams in the arena are comprised entirely of identical caucasian players, all with identical light brown hair, all sporting identical haircuts, and all of identical height and build.  Almost like they are all caucasian clones.  Which is a bit strange because our foosball game tonight is set in a tavern with the latino name of "La Villa Tequila".

Just one of life's ironies I guess.

At any rate, the players of Team Red and Team Blue continue to impressively display the rigid discipline of their trade as they remain at military-like attention and in tight formation.  All lines and creases, completely squared away.  There are no numbers on the jerseys, no individuality whatsoever, both squads are completely committed to the team concept.

And away we go as the pockmarked white ball flies into the arena from a hole in the west sidewall!

There is mass confusion amongst both teams, as the white ball ricochets wildly through the regimental lines and careens loudly from wall to wall in the arena.  But as always, even thru the most chaotic sequences of action, the team lines remain in strict formation, moving and spinning together!

Control of the white ball is a calamity of errors punctuated by profanity and laughter from the respective Coaches.  But the players never break rank, never utter a word of malcontent, never even change their facial expression.  Impressive indeed.

Finally after a cascading series of whiffs and violent spins by various lines, the goaltender of Team Blue gets control of the white ball by tightly pinning it to the shiny green playing surface.  And then in a somewhat gentle motion he passes it forward to his next line of defensive backs.

It should be noted that during the melee, Team Blue very nearly scored an own goal.

Twice.

With newfound tenderness Team Blue deftly creeps the white ball forward to its massive front row of attackers.  They are quite an imposing sight, moving slowly in perfect synchronization from side to side.  Looking for the slightest opening to exploit.  Like a coiled cat ready to spring into action.  Their uniform hair is still perfect, not at all disheveled from the wild antics performed just moments ago.

Team Red's front line mirrors the Blue dance at midfield  ....

....  And we pause for station identification, as the hot girl in tight pants is bending over the nearby pool table to line up her shot.  All the foosball officials and fans agree, Miss Tight Pants is a complete hottie.  That's it sweetie, just take your time, there's no rush.  She shoots.  And yay, she makes it.  That's great, she has very nice form, and she certainly has good skill with a stick and balls  ....

The front line of Team Red defenders return to stalking the front line of Team Blue attackers.

Suddenly in an eruption of superb execution, the entire front line of Team Blue spins and fires as a single entity.  The white ball clacks loudly off the north wall of the arena just missing the goal hole!  Team Red's goaltender is frantic.

But the white ball rebounds so violently off the wall that it banks off a backline Red player and into the goal hole!

GOOOOooooOOooooOooooAaaaaaLLL!!

What a sight!  I swear, the Team Red defender never even reacted!  He just stood there!  Or, well, to be more accurate he just hovered there.  It seems that the players are so light on their feet that they never even touch the playing surface.  Amazing.

Uh-oh, there seems to be some confusion here at Foosball Arena.  We may have a controversy brewing here, as it now appears as if no one has been keeping score with the little beads at either end of the arena.  We have no idea who is winning!  This is a complete outrage!

....  And we now pause as the lovely hot girl is bending over the pool table again.  She has the undivided attention of Foosball Arena, but unfortunately Foosball Arena has the rather intense attention of a muscular dude shooting pool with Miss Hot Pants.  Dude is wearing what appears to be a mechanic's shirt with the name "Tiny" stitched in script over the shirt pocket.

A large dude named Tiny?  Just another one of life's ironies I guess.  And at this moment Tiny does not look happy with Foosball Arena  ....

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