The Kentlands Athletic & Pizza Commission presents
*not actually against each other. same corner. always have been.
Gray wants the mic. So the mic is the first thing on the page. Put a name in, hit the button, and the building finds out who just walked in.
Best with the volume up. If the voice doesn't work on your phone, the lights still do.
Every pie gets a ring name, a record and a finishing move. Tap one to see the tale of the tape.
Card subject to change. Dad reserves the right to add something.
Pick two. Argue about it. That's dinner.
Judges are still eating.
Six rounds from flour to face. Ring the bell to move on.
Held by one man. Never written down. Passed corner to corner.
"I couldn't tell you the dough recipe." — Gray, on the record
Gray's floor plan, exactly as he described it: a ring in the middle, a mic hanging over it, tables all the way around. Tap anything.
When Washington plays, the room changes color.
Commanders on the big screen. Wizards on the small one. Burgundy and gold on everything else. The Burgundy & Gold comes out of the oven at kickoff and doesn't come back.
"We've bonded over those. Honestly he might just like them because I do — which is a pretty great dad thing to do."
“There's no one big memory. It's just always been the thing we do.”
Gray, asked for his favorite pizza night
GRIFFIN — also has a nickname, also eats his weight, also in it. Undercard on paper only.
Because that's what Dad calls him. Tito. Tito Tito. You don't get to pick your nickname — that's the whole point of one. It gets given to you by somebody who's paying attention.
Putting it on a sign is just making it official.
CURRENT HOLDER — TITO'S OWN, undefeated
Changes hands about once a year, usually to whatever Dad tried last Friday.
TITO'S isn't open.
Not yet. Right now it's a dad, a kid, an oven somebody bought on purpose, and a dough recipe nobody's writing down.
Every restaurant was somebody's kitchen first.
0 bells rung on this page
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