This week we continue the tale of four fellas and a sheila on their quest for glory at the 2005 World Rock Paper Scissors Championships in Toronto.

For those who missed out on the first installment of the story last week, here's a quick recap in ADD form.

Drizzling rain, Hard Rock Cafe, drinks, an early alliance with Team RPS of the Living Dead, enemies made of pretty much everybody else, more drinks, an intimidating stare and two quick victories for the anti-hero of this story, the ridiculously outfitted Bubbles - or Casey, as he's more commonly known.

After an intense first round in which two opponents quickly fell to my wrath, I waded through the rabble in search of my teammates.

Upon regrouping, we found out two had fallen in the first round and the other two had advanced with me to the round of 128. While one of the losses wasn't totally unexpected - suffered by an RPS virgin and team rookie - the other was lost by a member who made it to the round of 32 last year, ranking him in the top 32 in the world. RPS is a fickle mistress and her whimsy spares none.

Unfortunately, the first round, in which 495 competitors are whittled down to 128, takes forever. And as we were in the first of four waves, we had time to kill.

Enter Street RPS.

Street RPS is an unregulated, controversial form of play introduced this year in which two challengers set their own terms and then battle it out for RPS "Fun Bucks." The collector of the most Fun Bucks would leave the tournament $1,000 CDN richer.

Our team spent a few matches practicing amongst ourselves, wagering small sums of RPS cash in hopes of testing the water before taking it to the streets.

Of course, the streets wait for no man, and before long the challengers came to us. One of whom was a girl I had whipped in the first round and then walked away from after she offered her hand.

Still obviously seething from the snub, she saw me and came over with her boyfriend and another girl to challenge me to a street match. A hard-faced skinhead, the guy looked ready to get some revenge for his girl. I sneered at them and we quickly set the terms of a match.

Three sets later, I was five RPS bucks richer. Unhappy again with my refusal to shake hands with her boy, the girl - the originator of my new nickname "Bubbles" - got in my, face and started ranting about "rude Americans."

Whatever. Listening to Canadians isn't my style.

Two hours, dozens of Street RPS matches and a few beers later, the culling was finally complete. The round of 128 was set and three of us were poised to continue cutting a swath of destruction through the herd.

It was right about then that fate reared its ugly head and unleashed a grand conspiracy against us: two of us were competing in the same arena, along with one of the kids from our allied team, RPS of the Living Dead. One who I had specifically wished good luck to as well.

In the opening match, none of us were paired together. Both my teammate and the Living Dead member advanced in heated play. My match was the last of the round against a vicious opponent who had a smack-talking trainer.

As soon as they set to work trying to wear me down verbally, I knew I had already won. After three tough sets, I emerged victorious, a cold gaze showing them the folly of their ways.

However, this left us with four people standing in the arena, with three of us being aligned. In what we now regard as a tactical error, we asked them to ensure that myself and my direct teammate were not matched against each other. They honored our request and I was paired against our now-former ally.

My teammate went first and he lost in a tough bout with a slick fellow in a leather jacket and shades. Our third teammate reported in about now and informed us that he had lost. It was down to me, the last surviving member of our merry band.

If this were a fairy tale, the story would go on to relate how I overcame ultimate adversity to take home the prize. I'd cry, thank my mom and wish for peace on all of planet Earth. The Disney movie adaptation would be so precious we'd just melt. I'd probably have been a nicer guy too.

RPS cares not for such fluff and after we each took a set, I attempted to stare down my opponent. His shades deflected my ire and with a deft throw of paper, he covered my brutish rock. The unthinkable: I had lost. He offered his hand and broken, lifeless and with all meaning lost, I shook it.

Disgusted, we puttered around for another hour, eventually losing all of our RPS cash in street play. We didn't stick around for the finals. The next day we left Toronto, without the trophy, without the glory and without much cash.

Of course, we did leave with an 8-5 record overall and two team members ranked in the top 64 in the world, which is nothing to sneeze at. And you can bet we'll be training year-round in search of even greater glory next year.

And if you see me on the streets, feel free to challenge me to a match. Just don't expect me to shake your hand after I beat you.