I was recently driving through Michigan on my way to the annual Satanic festival on the west coast. If you are unfamiliar with this festival, then I highly suggest you make the trip out there. It’s a collection of west coast pongers who sacrifice farm animals, milk them of their blood and gift the remains to the powers that be at bpong.com. The belief is, they are also involved in a very sophisticated human trafficking ring that allows the leaders to throw multiple satellite tournaments and 5ks around the country during the course of the year. If you would like anymore information on the festival, please contact Chris Garcia, Mike Seivert or Jeremy Peckens. Anyways, I roll into this small bar just outside Grand Rapids called The Rusty Coat hanger. It wasn’t unlike any other midwest bar I had ever been too. There was some old creepy guy who was hitting on all the fat chicks, the same guy with the address of the bar listed on his license (Nick Velissaris). Other than the cheap beer and the bad company, there wasn’t much to this bar at all, until we went upstairs. Walking into this raised chapel I found signs of life in this place. As I heard the roars of the crowd of 50 or so upstairs, I fight my way through the crowd to satisfy my curiosity of the untamed intensity. Witnessing with my eyes, I am truly shocked to see what must have been a thousand dollars on the table. One man had the gall to challenge anyone to a single game of beer pong, his 1000 dollars to the challengers 100. Game after game, sinking cup after cup, collecting 100 after 100, 10-12,10-13, perfect game, 10-11, perfect game, 10-12. This kid was automatic, what was he thinking wasting his talent here at the Rusty Coat hanger? Surely he must have heard about the World Series in Vegas. No way anyone this good could ever miss the series, I mean come on, we all would be shorted on witnessing such a pure shot. The end of the night, having pocketed just over 2000 in winnings from his proposed challenge, another town conquered, another night of countless victories. I felt compelled to introduce myself to this machine, and introduce him to the greatness, the competition, the friendships, and the intensity of the world series of beer pong. As I put my hand out to greet this mystery man, my memory is awakened, and the face of someone familiar has come to light. The mystery man was none other than Vincent Bolhuis.