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Volume 27, Issue 12, october 28, 2004

Opinion

Colorado crusaders: The final battle

mugJoel Tagert
Columnist

“Are you ready?” Lord Wayne Allard asked.

“Sure, sure,” replied Lord Peter Coors. He winked lewdly. “After the time I had at the brothel last night, I’m ready for anything. I’ll tell you, those who say money can’t buy you love are dead wrong. It’ll buy you six buxom loves all at once, and a gallon of perfumed oil to boot.”

The two men sat on their horses in easy camaraderie on a high hilltop, surveying the assembled armies below. Immediately before them, their own forces stood in readiness, including the large mercenary contingent Coors had hired.

In the distance they could see the banners of their opponent, Suzerain Salazar. The tension was thick; the battle would begin soon.

“You know, Coors, even at a time like this, you just seem so relaxed,” Allard remarked.

“How do you do it?”

From a pocket Coors withdrew a silver flask and showed it to Allard. Engraved in its side was an image of a naked young woman beckoning suggestively. Coors took a hefty swig and grinned broadly. “I’m drunk,” he said. “Hell, Allard, I’ve been three sheets to the wind since I was fifteen.” He paused reflectively and went on, “Truth is, I owe everything I have to alcohol. You could say it’s who I am.”

He took another swallow and put the flask back in his pocket. “Anyway, let’s get this party started.”

“Go get ‘em,” said Allard.

Coors rode down the hill, finally coming to rest before the assembled companies. As he raised his sword, the men quieted, waiting expectantly for the speech they knew was coming.

“Men, you probably know me mostly because of my beer company,” he began. There were some scattered cheers. “But, you know, there’s a lot more to me than that.” He paused for effect. “I also like baseball.” More cheers.

“Seriously, though; I want you to know what we’re fighting for here today.

“We’re fighting for a world where every good, Christian, white man can have a nice big house with two horses in the stable.

“We’re fighting for a world where the Sodomites don’t dare to show their faces and where the women are free with their favors.

“Most of all, we’re fighting for a world where a rich man can feel free to kick a beggar now and then. And isn’t that what freedom really means?”

Again he paused. The soldiers were with him now, he felt. “So get out there and tear those infidels apart!” he cried. Again the men cheered.

Now for the real motivation, he thought. “And when we’re done, free beer for everyone!”

“Beer!” the army roared back.

“And women!” Coors went on.

“Women!”

“And all the roast meat you can eat!”

“Meat!”

“And a bucket of gold for every man!”

“Gold!” they screamed feverishly.

“God wills it!”

“God!” they cried, and as Coors lowered his sword they charged. The battle had begun.
Coors returned to the hilltop.

For the next few hours he and the other commanders watched the battle intently, giving a constant stream of orders, occasionally leading a company themselves. The day wore on and on, but it became apparent that the two armies were closely matched indeed. By late afternoon, the situation was desperate.

“It’s now or never,” Allard finally said to Coors. “We’ve got to go down there ourselves for the final push.”

Coors nodded in agreement, and with that they joined the fray. Now the work was hot and heavy, the melee swirling unpredictably, blood flowing freely.

It was almost sundown, his arm tired, the battle still roaring around him, when Coors spied his opponent on a steed just ten yards away. “Salazar!” he yelled with all his might. He was gratified to see Salazar look up for just a moment—just enough of a distraction for a footman to spear Salazar’s horse in the throat.

Coors grinned fiercely, gloating internally, but too soon. Instantly, he heard his own mount scream as its hamstring was cut.

He jumped off his horse before he could be trapped beneath it, staggering to the ground.

Now the battle cleared a little, and there standing before him was Salazar, sword in hand. For a moment both men regarded each other in their heavy armor.

“Howdy, Ken,” Coors said. “How are things?”

“They’re all right, Pete,” Salazar replied. “Looking forward to decapitating you.”

“Well, hey. We’re not so different. Why not just put down your sword, and we’ll work this out like reasonable people?”

Suddenly, Salazar leapt forward, thrusting at Coors’ abdomen. “We’re very different,” he said. “Even if we do agree on most issues.” Coors parried, but Salazar twisted his wrist and spun his sword toward Coors’ face. “And I’ll drop my attacks when you drop yours.”
Coors, though, was faster than Salazar had anticipated, and his second parry became a slash to the face. Salazar jerked his head back, but not quickly enough to avoid receiving a long, shallow cut on the cheek.

It was minor wound, but it stung unreasonably, and within a few moments Salazar found himself slightly woozy. In a flash he deduced its cause.

“Poison?” he said.

Coors smiled with satisfaction. “A little something from Clear Creek.”

Salazar shook his head, trying to clear it. “I should have prosecuted you when I had the chance,” he said. With this poison, I’ll run out of time if I stay on the defense, he thought. I’ve got to attack.

“Die, corporate polluter!” he yelled, leaping forward with a powerful overhead blow.

But Coors blocked and counterattacked with equal force. “That’s all you got? Well, you’re soft on terror!”

Now both men fought furiously, holding nothing back, rapidly trading blow for blow.

“You’re a two-faced lawyer who can’t be trusted,” accused Coors.

“You’re out of touch with the common people!” Salazar snarled back.

“You want to raise taxes!”

“Your ads are demeaning to women!”

“You’re just a calculating politician!”

“Your beer tastes like piss!” Salazar screamed, spittle flying; and with overwhelming force he knocked Coors’ sword out of his hand.

Desperate, Coors lunged forward with his shield. Off balance from his attack, Salazar felt his own sword go flying and himself being borne to the ground, but not before he could grab his opponent’s breastplate and take Coors down with him.

With a plop they both landed in the copious amounts of horse shit left on the field by the many steeds around them.

Now, the two rolled in the filth, each seeking an advantage. Here, though, Salazar’s long experience revealed itself, and he ended up on top with his knife in his hand. Coors saw the strike coming and with his left hand caught Salazar’s upraised arm by the wrist.

But with weight on his side, Salazar’s arm continued to move downward, the blade inching towards Coors’ throat. Coors flung manure wildly, hoping to get some in Salazar’s eyes, but to no avail.

Gotta hit him with something, Coors thought. Scrabbling frantically, his hand encountered a large lump in his pocket.

Yanking it out, Coors hefted his sturdy silver flask and prepared to bash Salazar on the head with it.

Thank God for booze, he thought.

Next week: To the victor go the spoils.