Official Match Thread Season 37 Round 18 - Baghdad Bombers v Coney Island Warriors at Abdu Prison

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Kilroy said:
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BAGHDAD BOMBERS OFFICIAL TEAMSHEET
SEASON 37, ROUND 18 VS CONEY ISLAND WARRIORS

B: Kilroy / BLUEALLTHRU / The Sultan
HB: kickthething / snozulu / Footy Is The Win
C: tomjoad / Bovo / SaintsSeptember
HF: Grav / Jabba73 / CursingFijian
F: iDon / gab213 / KohPhi
FOLL: MayTheNorthBeWithU / Pugsley / norway blue
INT: JustaBattler / VeinGlorious

CHANGES

Nil
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Round 18: Welcome to Prison, a place we all know too well

In the heart of the city, where the sun rarely penetrates the concrete canyons, there lived a man named Edgar. His existence was a relentless cycle of monotony, a symphony of mediocrity played on a broken piano. Edgar had never known freedom; he was born into captivity, ensnared by invisible chains that tightened with each passing day.

His prison began in the womb, where he floated in amniotic fluid, cocooned in darkness. The world outside whispered promises of adventure, but Edgar’s reality was confined to the rhythmic thud of his mother’s heartbeat. He emerged into a sterile hospital room, greeted not by warmth and love, but by the sterile gaze of indifferent nurses.

As a child, Edgar’s playground was a child safety gate, its metal bars mocking his curiosity. He pressed his tiny hands against the mesh, yearning for the forbidden world beyond. But the gate held firm, a barrier between him and the unknown. His parents, well-meaning but misguided, spoon-fed him lies about safety and boundaries, instilling fear of the outside.

School became his next cell—a classroom with rows of desks, each one a miniature prison cell. The teacher droned on about multiplication tables and historical dates, while Edgar’s mind rebelled. He longed to eviscerate the textbooks, tear apart the rigid syllabus, and set fire to the curriculum. But instead, he sat, his spirit wilting like a forgotten flower.

The 3x3 office cubicle awaited him after graduation—a beige box suffocating under fluorescent lights. His colleagues shuffled papers, their faces etched with ambivalence. Edgar’s dreams of creativity and innovation were crushed by the weight of bureaucracy. The walls closed in, and he wondered if he’d ever escape this bourgeois nightmare.

The daily commute was a tin can hurtling through traffic—a metal coffin on wheels. Two hours a day wasted, trapped in a sea of exhaust fumes and honking horns. The radio blared ubiquitous pop songs, their mind-numbing lyrics echoing his own frustration. Edgar yearned for an open road, wind in his hair, but the traffic gods laughed at his impotence.

And then there was the small apartment in the sky—a concrete box perched among other identical boxes. The view was a postage stamp of gray buildings and power lines. Edgar’s neighbors were strangers, their lives intersecting only in the elevator’s awkward silence. He stared out the window, wondering if the sky beyond was just a painted illusion.

The lies of childhood echoed in his mind—the false promises of safety, the illusion of purpose, the myth of contentment. Edgar’s frustration simmered, a slow burn that threatened to consume him. He yearned to break free, to shatter the glass walls of his existence, to taste the forbidden fruit of rebellion.

But the bars remained, invisible yet unyielding. Edgar’s spirit withered, and he wondered if he’d ever glimpse the world beyond. Perhaps freedom was a mirage, a cruel joke played by fate. And so, he sat in his prison, a man forever trapped, his soul screaming silently against the lies that bound him.
 
Tonga Bob said:
Click to expand...


public class GameDayPreparation {
public static void main(String[] args) {
// Set up equipment
boolean helmet = true;
boolean shoulderPads = true;
boolean cleats = true;
boolean jersey = true;
boolean mouthguard = true;

// Review plays
String[] playbook = {
"Run left",
"Pass deep",
"Screen play",
"Play-action",
// ... other plays ...
};

System.out.println("Equipment check:");
System.out.println("Helmet: " + (helmet ? "✅" : "❌"));
System.out.println("Shoulder pads: " + (shoulderPads ? "✅" : "❌"));
System.out.println("Cleats: " + (cleats ? "✅" : "❌"));
System.out.println("Jersey: " + (jersey ? "✅" : "❌"));
System.out.println("Mouthguard: " + (mouthguard ? "✅" : "❌"));

System.out.println("\nPlaybook:");
for (String play : playbook) {
System.out.println("- " + play);
}

// Mental focus
int meditationMinutes = 10;
System.out.println("\nMeditate for " + meditationMinutes + " minutes to stay focused.");
}
}
 
Let's Go to Prison 2006 Dax Shepard, Will Arnett

6/10

Absolutely hillarious the first time you watch it then you race out and tell all your friends about how ****ing awesome it is and when you finally watch it for the second time you realize how ****ing ******ed it is.

www.imdb.com

Let's Go to Prison (2006) ⭐ 5.9 | Comedy, Crime

1h 24m | R
www.imdb.com www.imdb.com
 
Purple7x08_24 said:
Round 18: Welcome to Prison, a place we all know too well

In the heart of the city, where the sun rarely penetrates the concrete canyons, there lived a man named Edgar. His existence was a relentless cycle of monotony, a symphony of mediocrity played on a broken piano. Edgar had never known freedom; he was born into captivity, ensnared by invisible chains that tightened with each passing day.

His prison began in the womb, where he floated in amniotic fluid, cocooned in darkness. The world outside whispered promises of adventure, but Edgar’s reality was confined to the rhythmic thud of his mother’s heartbeat. He emerged into a sterile hospital room, greeted not by warmth and love, but by the sterile gaze of indifferent nurses.

As a child, Edgar’s playground was a child safety gate, its metal bars mocking his curiosity. He pressed his tiny hands against the mesh, yearning for the forbidden world beyond. But the gate held firm, a barrier between him and the unknown. His parents, well-meaning but misguided, spoon-fed him lies about safety and boundaries, instilling fear of the outside.

School became his next cell—a classroom with rows of desks, each one a miniature prison cell. The teacher droned on about multiplication tables and historical dates, while Edgar’s mind rebelled. He longed to eviscerate the textbooks, tear apart the rigid syllabus, and set fire to the curriculum. But instead, he sat, his spirit wilting like a forgotten flower.

The 3x3 office cubicle awaited him after graduation—a beige box suffocating under fluorescent lights. His colleagues shuffled papers, their faces etched with ambivalence. Edgar’s dreams of creativity and innovation were crushed by the weight of bureaucracy. The walls closed in, and he wondered if he’d ever escape this bourgeois nightmare.

The daily commute was a tin can hurtling through traffic—a metal coffin on wheels. Two hours a day wasted, trapped in a sea of exhaust fumes and honking horns. The radio blared ubiquitous pop songs, their mind-numbing lyrics echoing his own frustration. Edgar yearned for an open road, wind in his hair, but the traffic gods laughed at his impotence.

And then there was the small apartment in the sky—a concrete box perched among other identical boxes. The view was a postage stamp of gray buildings and power lines. Edgar’s neighbors were strangers, their lives intersecting only in the elevator’s awkward silence. He stared out the window, wondering if the sky beyond was just a painted illusion.

The lies of childhood echoed in his mind—the false promises of safety, the illusion of purpose, the myth of contentment. Edgar’s frustration simmered, a slow burn that threatened to consume him. He yearned to break free, to shatter the glass walls of his existence, to taste the forbidden fruit of rebellion.

But the bars remained, invisible yet unyielding. Edgar’s spirit withered, and he wondered if he’d ever glimpse the world beyond. Perhaps freedom was a mirage, a cruel joke played by fate. And so, he sat in his prison, a man forever trapped, his soul screaming silently against the lies that bound him.
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Purple7x08_24 said:
Round 18: Welcome to Prison, a place we all know too well

In the heart of the city, where the sun rarely penetrates the concrete canyons, there lived a man named Edgar. His existence was a relentless cycle of monotony, a symphony of mediocrity played on a broken piano. Edgar had never known freedom; he was born into captivity, ensnared by invisible chains that tightened with each passing day.

His prison began in the womb, where he floated in amniotic fluid, cocooned in darkness. The world outside whispered promises of adventure, but Edgar’s reality was confined to the rhythmic thud of his mother’s heartbeat. He emerged into a sterile hospital room, greeted not by warmth and love, but by the sterile gaze of indifferent nurses.

As a child, Edgar’s playground was a child safety gate, its metal bars mocking his curiosity. He pressed his tiny hands against the mesh, yearning for the forbidden world beyond. But the gate held firm, a barrier between him and the unknown. His parents, well-meaning but misguided, spoon-fed him lies about safety and boundaries, instilling fear of the outside.

School became his next cell—a classroom with rows of desks, each one a miniature prison cell. The teacher droned on about multiplication tables and historical dates, while Edgar’s mind rebelled. He longed to eviscerate the textbooks, tear apart the rigid syllabus, and set fire to the curriculum. But instead, he sat, his spirit wilting like a forgotten flower.

The 3x3 office cubicle awaited him after graduation—a beige box suffocating under fluorescent lights. His colleagues shuffled papers, their faces etched with ambivalence. Edgar’s dreams of creativity and innovation were crushed by the weight of bureaucracy. The walls closed in, and he wondered if he’d ever escape this bourgeois nightmare.

The daily commute was a tin can hurtling through traffic—a metal coffin on wheels. Two hours a day wasted, trapped in a sea of exhaust fumes and honking horns. The radio blared ubiquitous pop songs, their mind-numbing lyrics echoing his own frustration. Edgar yearned for an open road, wind in his hair, but the traffic gods laughed at his impotence.

And then there was the small apartment in the sky—a concrete box perched among other identical boxes. The view was a postage stamp of gray buildings and power lines. Edgar’s neighbors were strangers, their lives intersecting only in the elevator’s awkward silence. He stared out the window, wondering if the sky beyond was just a painted illusion.

The lies of childhood echoed in his mind—the false promises of safety, the illusion of purpose, the myth of contentment. Edgar’s frustration simmered, a slow burn that threatened to consume him. He yearned to break free, to shatter the glass walls of his existence, to taste the forbidden fruit of rebellion.

But the bars remained, invisible yet unyielding. Edgar’s spirit withered, and he wondered if he’d ever glimpse the world beyond. Perhaps freedom was a mirage, a cruel joke played by fate. And so, he sat in his prison, a man forever trapped, his soul screaming silently against the lies that bound him.
Click to expand...
That was me, until I went to the pub at lunchtime with my cow orkers and never looked back
 
I blame Purple7x08_24 for the mind worm he introduced with his stories that caused this vivid dream last night....

The rebellion started slowly, a ripple over the smooth pond and smooth brains of the SFA hegemony.

But that ripple grew, and spread, a veritable tsunami of opposition to the hare brained schemes and ideas of the admin group.

As one, the Warriors split from the SFA and formed the Super Sweet Football Association. All teams except the OOF'S remained behind, they could try to beat themselves and often did.

Dinsdale took it upon himself to rewrite the Simulator, renaming it the Central Scrutinisor. After 30 years of programming supercomputers and intelligence systems, Shirley this version could only be better.

20 seasons later the SSFA had flourished, and the Warriors still hadn't won a flag.
 
Purple7x08_24 said:
public class GameDayPreparation {
public static void main(String[] args) {
// Set up equipment
boolean helmet = true;
boolean shoulderPads = true;
boolean cleats = true;
boolean jersey = true;
boolean mouthguard = true;

// Review plays
String[] playbook = {
"Run left",
"Pass deep",
"Screen play",
"Play-action",
// ... other plays ...
};

System.out.println("Equipment check:");
System.out.println("Helmet: " + (helmet ? "✅" : "❌"));
System.out.println("Shoulder pads: " + (shoulderPads ? "✅" : "❌"));
System.out.println("Cleats: " + (cleats ? "✅" : "❌"));
System.out.println("Jersey: " + (jersey ? "✅" : "❌"));
System.out.println("Mouthguard: " + (mouthguard ? "✅" : "❌"));

System.out.println("\nPlaybook:");
for (String play : playbook) {
System.out.println("- " + play);
}

// Mental focus
int meditationMinutes = 10;
System.out.println("\nMeditate for " + meditationMinutes + " minutes to stay focused.");
}
}
Click to expand...
IMG_0127.jpeg
 
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