Players have been bailing off the sinking ship of my fucked up tennis team so fast we renamed ourselves the “Rats” (maybe*).

Sure, sure you read the tennis team category, and you know everybody left because of this Bullshit Blog. Fuck you — you are only partially right.

I will stipulate the Wingman T-ball story is probably the reason Jesus just left the fucked up tennis team and he is bound for the new crustaceans. (No apologies to ZZ Top and Jesus Just Left Chicago).

Maybe it was because I compared Jesus to a rickety table next to the shitter?

Or maybe because I typed out he had the half-grin of a narcissistic psychopath?

Or it could be that his real name is John or Bob or Bill or something completely fucking boring, and we all call him Jesus? (Pronounced like the Walk-on-Water kind — not the landscaper.)

With Jesus, who knows. That dude holds his thoughts in like he is the “creator” and they are the fucking mysteries of quantum mechanics. Wish we could say the same about Jesus’s genitals… but I promised I wouldn’t tell that story.

The Crustaceans are not really a team in our league. We just call them that, because last year I said the team captain “Traitor McGee” has the personality of a crustacean. Which is funny because it’s sorta, kinda true, but not true at all.

Well, Traitor McGee was busy this off season, using his exoskeleton charm to recruit tons of new soft-shells. It’s like a bad episode of the Deadliest Catch. At least 5 guys ditched my fucked-up team in the last 2 seasons just to be hauled up in the traitor’s crab pot.

He picked up Angry Ed, the Colombian drug dealer now living under witness protection. For the past 4 years, Ed’s been compensating for his cocktail weenie of a penis by switching teams every season. And much like sticking his half finger up his nose, he spends all of his time trying to pick a winner.

I took my revenge early on Ed. We went to a tailgate party at the local catholic high school football game with another friend. I asked Ed to bring the beer because I didn’t have a “cooler.” He brought an expensive 6-pack with an assortment of German “craft” beers. I slammed down the Dunkle and polished off all his other beers and left Angry Ed drinking Michelob Ultra. That’s what you get you fucking crustacean.

Ed also stole Josh off the fucked-up team. Josh is barely 40 but his favorite band is the Grateful Dead, who were burned out and boring before he was even born.

But more to the point, Josh is a half-grown man with a teeny-tiny pony tail, who is afraid to say no to Ed. I would be too. Ed has been known to follow Josh home or on vacation. And nobody wants a living room (or a hotel room) full of Angry Ed.

Clearly switching teams in a “recreational” league just to “win” is over-the-top compensation for something missing in your life. Whether it’s a horribly undersized weiner or your brain has been addled by way too much LSD is hard to say… Either way, fear is a definitely a factor for Josh — fear of Angry Ed or fear that his “little” secret will be fully exposed, too.

Pot-smoking Marc and Eric from Seattle or Portland (or some goddamn “nice” place in the summer) jumped ship too. There’s probably a few more, but who can keep track of all these dickless wonders…

On the bright side, the Crustaceans switched to the Third World Club. The lights and the courts will be crappy, but the quick access to kegs and bad chicken wings will be good. We will even push the mice out of the way so every Crustacean can have a seat at the bar.

* Ohh, the maybe “Rats” name… Our new team captain, Griffin, the tennis Dracula, has a last name that starts with “Rat…” So he may tell you he named us all after “him.”

That’s just a bullshit cover story. We all know, if the ship is sinking, it’s better to be a rat and stay on board, than bail out and become just another fucking Crustacean.