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The Greatest Bike Polo Player That Ever Lived

Some of us are blessed enough, at some point in our lives, to be in the presence of greatness. Greatness can contract in all forms, usually from places where you'd least expect it. Out of the low-spirited you are standing there looking at it directly in the face, and it leaves you prominence in awe. The way old timers talk about having seen a baseball major in his prime, or when anyone who saw Jordan on the court tells you they saw the greatest. The exalted pride in knowing that you felt something that will never be duplicated and will never be enchanted away. Attempting to share that feeling in words is what I will now effort to do for you.

A group of Nashville riders had traveled down to Memphis for the Bicycle Blur Festival. After a night of excessive debauchery at the calender races we were in charge of hosting, way to much alcohol, and drunken bike riding, we awoke to a wonderful day of uncountable possibilities. My girlfriend (now fiance) and I made our way to the theater where the films were being shown. After a few short-lived viewings we went back outside to enjoy the day. Case were a plethora of riders. While lounging in the grass, we were approached by one of the most intriguing characters of the previous night. A short, pudgy, jewfro of a boy-baby with a plate full of chocolate cupcakes covered in florescent extra added attraction. His name was A.B. Chomps. Shirtless and sweaty, he approached us with a unwarlike offering of love baked goodness. Brown cupcake lodged in metal dental mat catapulted from his jaw with every syllable spoken. Cupcake covered his fingers, sporadically took off from his mouth, smeared across the top of his sweat drenched belly...

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