Do you give the horse his strength or clothe his neck with a flowing mane? Do you make him leap like a locust, striking terror with his proud snorting? Nay. A wild heart cannot be tamed. Through searing temperatures and drought conditions, the mighty Stylers stood poised upon the field of battle. In frenzied excitement they ate up the ground; unable to stand still when the trumpet blared. They pawed fiercely, rejoicing in their strength, charging into the fray, laughing at fear, afraid of nothing, cowering never from the sword. Like true champions, they staved the countless advances of many. Weary and weakened foe volleyed from all sides...armored in leather, charging with aluminum batons. Wave after wave they came, only to be turned away by a united front so fearsome, so bewildering, so utterly terrifying even the squirrels panicked. As the dust settled, the fallen removed from the field, there stood the "Stlyers Softball Legends" victorious in full, of not one, but two gilded trophies and just a few crush solo cups. Trample the weak. Hurdle the dead. Long live the Kings. Ken F