She ran through us like a... Unicorn...

I had a strange day today. For starters, I have had three hours of sleep in the last 37, and am feeling fine. Could I non-consciously be shifting to a polyphasic sleep schedule? Who knows.

Team G had a game last night, followed by a good old-fashioned meal, after which Derek and I hung out and spoke of the game and Thierry Henry's handball. I beat Derek to his house, having to drop of Steve and Carissa, so I decided to catch a few z's in my car, which recently had his 250-thousandth kilometerday, on which I bought him (Charlie, the car) an X-treme car wash.

Derek woke me in in the most horrifying way I've ever experienced; he shook the car. What must have been one second of confusion felt much longer than that, and I felt as though I had just driven my car into a river, with Steve and Carissa inside. What happened next is beyond me, but I'm pretty sure I tried to say sorry to Steve and Carissa for killing them, before flinging various items around my car so violently I messed up my rear-view mirror in the process.

All the while, Derek was laughing hysterically outside of the car while I panicked for my life, at two in the morning, on his driveway. What else could friends possibly be for?

I'm glad it happened though, for I think I've learned a few things from the experience:

• I've learned that it's mighty scary.
• I've learned the importance of not driving your car into a river.
• I've experienced it, so the next time it happens I should be able to cope with it better. That, or I'll just curl up into a ball and whimper if it ever happens again.

So after Derek and I went over the game, I left for home, where a pleasant surprise awaited me; I had an envelope from my university containing a test I had taken a few weeks prior on my desk. I opened it up, and it turns out I aced it. As in, actually, 100% aced it. I'm not sure how I did that, I had an hour and a half of sleep, and I rushed through all of the online lectures while playing video games.

The game Derek and I went over was a rough one with a ref that (Resa and I both believe) had a grudge on our team, and in particular me, for fouling him pretty badly a couple weeks back. I was fouled for card-able offenses at least 4 times, none of them resulting in cards. I didn't get injured, but here's a short run down of some of the more marquee moments I was fouled in.

First, there's my first few touches of the ball. I had two defenders in front of me, so I scooped it lightly between them and then went off the the races. I ran around the first guy's outstretched leg, then got an absolute haymaker of a toe-punt to the shin.

Second, I went up to win a header, and won it. In fact, I didn't even touch the guy, but when I came down I was running alongside him. I'm not sure why, but he decided this an excellent time to backhand me in the chest somewhat lightly. I told him in a nutshell that that's not how you play football, and he responded by emphatically ("Bang!") dispossessing me a few minutes later, when I had received a bad pass. I showed the idiot what was up, and as he ran down the sidelines once, I nudged him and knocked the ball away pretty well.

Third, fourth, fifth, and probably a few more are quite similar in nature; I had ran by some defender(s) and I was subsequently fouled pretty much every time.

With what could've been my Waterloo had I not made a very important decision earlier that day*, I was holding the ball up in the corner against two players. One girl decided to try and neuter me. My legs were spread, so this wench decided to hoof me as hard as she could in the slats. Oddly enough, the amoebic nature of my junk decided to render the entirety of this deathblow useless, but I was still a little deranged from the attempt. At this point I was done with the terrible officiating, so I quite literally thrust my ass out to push this girl away, and I knocked the behemoth clean over. The other guy that I had mentioned was covering me tried to pin me in the corner by closing me down was easily dangled, and he ended up falling over as I went backwards up our sideline slightly. I cut in with the ball on my right foot, and attracted yet another defender, who I handled with speed in a short couple of steps. His attempt to block the shot that housed the anger of three-hundred legions of ballistic† vikings was futile, and he fell over in the process, as well. The shot screamed, no, roared towards the near post, and sent their goalie the entirely wrong way, effectively leaving him grounded as well.

I turned around, and walked off the field in a quiet state, if I remember correctly. I had, in one way or another, bested four of six of their entire team in a few short seconds, but at that moment, it didn't seem like it. Until Resa told me at dinner, I had no idea that there were three of them, not including the goalie, still on the ground as I walked back to the bench.

It's strange, sometimes in games I just turn completely emotionless, and don't even celebrate goals I score. What I'm about to say definitely would warrant somebody to say "Stop being such a bloody moron", but, in complete honesty, it seems like I actually go into a strange trance-like state for a short while. Today was a fine example, but another I can refer to was when I scored the goal that put us into the finals of our title-winning year; I turned around and began walking calmly to centre, and about ten seconds later the realization hit me that I had just done what I did, and I jumped into the air throwing a triumphant fist pump to the heavens. I think I screamed a little too, and ran out really fast with, well, a look quite similar to what I would perceive a combination of every expression in the following picture.

And yes, my hands were posed in the same way. However, imagine all of that, while running around wildly.

Apparently, good things happen in the trance, and so I need to figure out how to force it upon myself as opposed to waiting to have it thrust onto me by some strange, unpredictable circumstance. I've noticed it occurs when I'm extremely focused or extremely driven, the first being an example of the playoff goal instance, and the second being an example of how I wanted to just rip the opposition apart myself. Insult me if you will, but I'm genuinely convinced that this isn't some strange notion I get about myself because I'm as vain as they come.

Over dinner, we discussed what it looked like from the bench when the girl tried to put me in a world of pain, and the common consensus was that the following picture fit the bill quite nicely. In fact, the event reminded Jay of this picture.

Sans screaming and with more blind determination, of course. And yes, I actually did see her knee on the wrong side of my body.

In a game that should have resulted in a drubbing in our favor, we won 4-1, and I believe that is largely due to the officiating. I assisted one of the other goals when I directed a header to a team mate off a clearance, and created a double-"Ohhh" moment from our bench when I played a fantastic no-look one-two with Shaun which resulted in volleys that were just shy for both of us.

The more I think about it, the more I realize how absolutely hilarious it was that I had no emotional or physical component to go along with being kicked in the danger zone, and that it had done so much as only justify me to ass-check that girl.

There is no question in my mind, I must have seemed like a psycho, a robot, or a psychotic robot.

* - I had no clean compression shorts, so I was going to purchase some that day. I distinctly remember telling Steve that if I were to forget to buy a pair, I'd play commando. I did forget, and I did play commando. I am incredibly thankful for it; had I not, my package would have likely been held in place by the shorts, and I would probably be hospitalized right now while some unfortunate doctor would be searching my intestines for one of my testicles, and the field of the coverall for the other.

† - Pun alert. The team we played was Ballistic. I suppose "really mean" would fit in there as well, but that's not the team we faced.

Alright, Ronaldo.

Good old two-post Thursdays.

I really think that the first post today will be a "classic" of this blog, if this blog were to ever garner the recognition of more than one fan. Thanks Derek.

Not a few hours ago, Team G played at the Coverall. Turns out any rivals we had were moved up in the divisional hierarchy, as well as two of the three guys who really have a chance to catch me in the top scorer's list. The other is Jeff, on my own team, and he's at six. I am confident, but you really wouldn't believe this guy. He's impossible to describe as a person or football player without the words "hard shot", "spastic", and "lucky", or any of their synonyms.

Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy, except for when he used Dan's hand to smack me in the face.

But really, I'm not sure how he does it. Like a few of our team mates, he takes shots from impossible angles, and he often runs down the boards right into people. Somehow, the ball and him get by, ad he keeps going. This fellow has absolutely no technique, other than the variety required for ludicrously hard shots, nor does he have any position sense. He's a cherry-picking midfielder, if you will, but he somehow gets back to defend. I don't play on the same line as him often (both of us being midfielders in a 2-1-2 formation), but from my understanding, people that play with him just let him do his thing, whatever it may be.

I recall the first time I saw him play, he wanted to use a move to pass a defender, so he put his hands out as though he were pushing an enormous stone that was quite close to him, and moved his hands up and down in small, quick movements, while stepping quite rapidly, all the while, going at a quick speed down the field with the ball somewhat near his feet. If I recall correctly, the result was him flying into the boards and falling over due to nobody's fault but his own. Another half decent analogy for the maneuver would be giving a large person a brisk Eastern-European-style massage, while preforming some sort of sacred ceremonial dance taken from the finest medicine men of the Western Aboriginals.

To this day, I've never seen him attempt a step-over, lower a shoulder (for faking purposes), or (god forbid) try his luck with a roulette, but somehow, he doesn't need them. He's a fast kid with a great work rate, and the way he runs down the field screams "Watch out, seriously, I'll hurt the both of us."

To this day, he denies ever flailing his arms while running, but everybody else (including me) attests to it. I must say, I do a pretty good impression of it, myself.

Reading this, you may think to yourself, "This kid's a threat to your top-scoring superiority?" Yes, he is. Unless, of course, his uncontrollable body ends up breaking his foot again by missing one of his howitzer-esque shots and kicking the ground. His blessing was a curse in that instance.

Today, the team we played really didn't put up a fight. We won 9-2, or something like that, and I scored on three volleys with my right foot. I should've had more, but I had a bit of an off day. Today was one of those games where your opponents don't close you down, they didn't block your shots, and they didn't really run much. Maybe I should find some stiffer competition, because I think I played down a slight bit. While I was juggling at half, their goalie kept calling me Ronaldo (at least three or four times). I'm not sure if he was heckling me or whatever, but I'll take it all as a compliment.

Jeff scored three as well. The first was a free kick he shot the the bottom-center of the net, the next was a hard shot from an impossible angle, and then the last was a hard shot after running through (literally, they line up on the boards and he just squeezes by) two or three players, then the goalie.

That being said, I'm still above him by five, four games in.

* - Denotes that they are no longer in this league. FC Inter was moved up, and Colin was moved up to the C team.

This is most definitely going to go ass-up on me, as I asked the league manager if there'll be trophies for the top scorers. He said no, but I arranged with him to pay for my own trophy. Karma is a cruel mistress, though, so I'm on the lookout.

I don't think I've ever been so hungry for anything though, really. Except natural requirements, such as sleep, or food. Look at the last few times of posts, my slumber schedule is truly "whack". Some might even say I have DSPS, and I'll give you a hint; It's not Defense Support Program Satellite.

Though I'm sure I wouldn't having mind that.

I am working on getting out of this (commonly occurring) nocturnal phase. Just yesterday, I went to my first morning class in weeks, right about at the time I'd be a few hours into my sleep. On my way to school, I saw two sheep just hanging out at the side of the road, and began to laugh for no good reason. Do you get the irony that I just now got myself? If not, give it a bit of thought first, please.† After my morning courses, I went home and slept for four and a half hours, then went to work, then the game. I should be tired, having four-and-a-half hours of sleep in the last thirty-nine. However, I'm not all that sleepy, so I'll leave you with a decent story.

Today, at work, an extraordinarily beautiful girl came in with a team, and as I set up the net, began to talk to me. I had my trusty Wolverine Badminton shirt on, so she asked if I came from West Kildonan Collegiate, the school of the Wolverines. I said yeah, and we spoke about graduating classes. She graduated three years before me (2003), and we joked around and spoke about about other things for a while. Things were going truly well. When we got to the names part, I she turned out to be a Michelle. Michelle looked somewhat familiar, but I had assumed that was because she went to my school at the same time I did. As it turns out, she was a good friend of my older sister's, and I knew this because of her last name.

Immediately, any chances to treat this fine lady to a wonderful night out went down the drain, and you may be asking why. Well, back when my sister hung out with her pals at my house, there was one instance where they were watching some strange dance-music television show where people just clubbed it up and were videotaped. I was offered five dollars by one of my sister's other pals to imitate how the dancers danced on the television.

Being around 10-12 years old, I gladly accepted. Five chocolate bars was a veritable gold mine for a chocolate-craving, hyperactive banshee, you know. I still don't regret it.

I really have to move these two-post days to Tuesday.

† - I should've been counting sheep as I was counting sheep.

The Dental Episode

I suppose, with yesterday and today's games, I should do yesterday's first.

On Tuesday, I played three of the four games at work. All three were largely uneventful, and the last was one I ought to have been reffing anyway.

When I say largely uneventful, aside from some assists and such, there was one occurrence. I chipped a tooth.

Many might think, "Oh, well, it's small, so whatever."

Yes and no.

Yes, in the sense that it can be fixed. Also yes, in the sense that it can be fixed.

No, in the sense that I hate having "permanent fixes" in my mouth. It just doesn't feel like the real thing. I'm not sure why, but I've always been a purist in those regards. If you know me well, you may know that I'm not a fan of tattoos, piercings, et cetera. I feel like some old grandpa at times with my beliefs, but I suppose there's a decent reason. My feelings used to be way stronger, but in recent months they've abated. Maybe I just don't care as much anymore.

Anyways...

I bloody well hate damaging my teeth, but I suppose I cut a pretty understanding character when I just said "Ow" then spit out a chunk of tooth. A small one, at that, but nevertheless, a part of my tooth. I'll go to the dentist's to cap it up tomorrow, or something, but I'll most likely postpone it weeks.

Perhaps not though, I am a pretty vain person, and I do recognize that the last time I was at the dentist's office, I was fully anesthetized, and decided that after my wisdom teeth were removed, I could walk out of the office without help from the nurse. And that I could drive.

Thankfully, my dad was there, and didn't let me drive.

Anyways...

My dental agenda is to get everything fixed up after my soccer "career" is done. Braces, filings, hopefully no fillings, and all that stuff. Here is a fun collection of dental Greg facts for you:

• I had a small cover-like-object placed over a front tooth as a child because of some discoloration.
• The only other time I've had chipped teeth was the result of trying to backflip off a tube that was being pulled by a boat going a handful of kilometers an hour. I chipped both front teeth (central incisors).
• On one of my lateral incisors, I have what looks like a small "L" that might also be a chip. It's strange, because it's on the face, not a corner. I was always suspicious of my sister carving it on me when I was younger, as her name starts with "L"; Lindsey.
• I required four days of healing and no pain killers while healing from my wisdom teeth surgery. The two more annoying parts of the procedure were that I got rice stuck in the gaps left behind the day after, and that I coughed up a piece of bloody gauze a couple days after that. I do realize, I had it good compared to many who get their wisdom teeth removed.
  

Anyways...

The damage came from a stray ball kicked by one of those girls who just lashes at the ball with her arms pressed against her chest in the fashion that her softly closed hands are inches from a chin home to a quivering look of worry. Other damage included a bit tongue, a sprained jaw, and my ego.

Figure that one out.

In fact, figure out everything I just posted.

In other news, the rest of the soccer that night was pretty dull, aside from teams bothering me to see the chipped tooth which I was ashamed to show them, and a pretty rough game at the end of the night. All three teams I played on lost. Do I ever hate small nets.

Ha ha you just got judged by a girl with shorts cut to her labia.

Sunday's Chillies game was against a tough team, against at least one player that I've faced before. He's pretty good, and definitely used to be better than me, but I really think that I've progressed to the point of being a better player than him. That being said, we vary in many attributes, and he's more of a striker than I am (better finishing, harder shot), but my dribbling is better, my left foot's better, and I can contain him while playing defense, while he can't contain me.

That being said, he scored the first goal for the opposition as I (sort of) marked him, because I was pulled off my marker because a teammate got dangled. I ran at the guy who got by, and he had a shot, but he passed it.

I assisted one of our goals when I sprinted up with the ball with one man to beat, but beyond that, I had no other direct contributions. I missed two free kicks fairly badly, too.

However, I was crowned king of the dangles by rainbowing some guy pretty badly. I'd have had a good shot on goal had I not been fouled.

Mine was better. Seriously.

But I bloody well rainbowed a guy. It was the best thing I have ever done in my entire life. It was somewhat spur of the moment, too. I thought to myself quickly "how should I creatively beat this guy?", and the rainbow was my first though. The conditions were perfect; he was placed the ideal distance from me, he was never going to expect it, and he wasn't closing me down. to pull it out, and so I took a small touch, and executed it perfectly. I flicked it over my left shoulder, and ran to his right shoulder, so I got the bloody thing right over his head.

The best part was the cheering that came from my bench afterwards. I came off after I took the free kick fairly badly, and gloated a little.

We ended up losing 5-3, in spite of being dominated in the first quarter of the game. I thought the scoreline was nice considering that, but we definitely played much better in the second half. We had them on their heels too, at some points. A fun game though, for sure, aside from the fact that I had three other partners playing midfield with me. Afterward, I got kicked out of Hooters, hence the title.

In Memory of Robert Enke

Tuesday night was one unlike many others. Team G played a game at the good old Coverall, but more importantly, Robert Enke, a man who I admire committed suicide. Obviously, I did not know him personally, though through various accounts, he was a great man. Many see suicide as a selfish act, but every case is different, and thus it's extremely difficult to make that sort of blanket statement with any sort of accuracy. There is always a bigger picture. Rest in peace.

The game on Tuesday was against a team that I had been licking my chops to play against. The team they played before us, Inter FC, destroyed them 12-2, and I consider my team about equal with them. I was fortunate to not be in too much pain from my ankle injury, or too sick, so I played, and got a lot of play time, as we had a fairly small squad.

Hearing about the news of Enke's death beforehand, I felt as though any goals I scored should be in his memory. It seems superstitious and largely pointless, but I see it as the only thing I can do to show respect to a man I have sat in awe watching videos of during late night Youtube sessions.

Arriving somewhat late to the game, I had bandaged up my foot to prevent further damage, and for some reason, Colin, my midfield partner, was required to stay on for about 7 minutes before Derek replaced him out of pity. I'm sure he didn't mind though, he had a particularly prolific game, with 5 goals. That, and he's a nice guy.

I got on, and in my first carry of the ball, encountered a defender who decided to use the shuffle step defense method. I stopped the ball and let him come at me, half in awe, half in disbelief, and so I just put the ball on one side of him, and ran the other. He hugged me as I passed, so I felt it was going to be one of those games. Fortunately, it wasn't, though rugburn on my elbow, knee, and awkwardly enough, my shoulder would beg to differ. I clumsily hauled a guy down later at one point myself, but I did get ball, so in part, I'm being a bit of a hypocrite. While we're on that topic, I was brought down fairly ruthlessly by a guy who just hacked my leg as a was well past him, and the resultant free kick was a beautiful curling effort from about 17 yards out, that was about a foot shy of the top corner I aimed for. It was alright though, as I had four goals, including a perfect hat trick*, and we won 10-1.

My first goal, I received possession close to our own net. As I prepared for a Messi-esque run, I realized that there was nobody coming to close me down, or even remotely in front of me, so I hit full speed while dribbling and blew right by everybody, then tapped in with my right foot.

My next goal was similar, I had the ball on the right flank, and ran diagonally at the goal, banked the ball in off the near post. The run wasn't nearly as long, though.

The header came next, Derek took a free kick with his bad foot, and though he was aiming for me, missed. The ball bounced off the boards and then up to my head, so I nodded it and it trickled in.

The completion came when I had the ball in front of the net with, again, nobody covering me. I was running sideways for some reason, and I spun and shot with my left while horrendously off balance. After a bit of running to regain my balance, I ended up tumbling to the ground, hilariously.

I'm not sure which I'm more proud of:

1. A four goal game with a perfect hat trick.
2. Playing well, according to anybody whose opinion I received.
3. This;
   

Take that, Italy.

There's my conquest of the week. I'm not sure if it'll be a two, three, or whatever horse race for the golden boot, but if i win it and don't get a trophy at the end of the season, I don't care, I'm making one myself.

In addition to that, I made a bet with Josh about the bicycle kicks I keep not doing for the sake of others' safety. Basically, I will win the goal of the season trophy (made by Josh) by scoring on a bicycle kick in a game. If I have to, I will showboat to get it. I have a couple ideas on how to set myself up for a bicycle kick.

In addition to that game, I played two games at work. After playing an entire match the the Wannabees where I got headbutted in the temple, I was pretty tired, but still managed some nice little moves off, including Ribery's little gimmick;

Wowwee, kiddo.

I then played goalie for one half for Off in the Woods, then out for the second have of the same game, for The Soccer Team, who bought me a lovely birthday card. Gosh, the smallest things.

* - "... the golden or perfect hat trick ... tremendous skill ... the player must score three goals: one from the right foot, one from the left and one from the head." - Source

You're a Soccer God

When it rains, it pours.

At least, with complements, anyway. This one might've beaten the last, it's pretty good.

I've come to the notion that I need to move forward as far as opportunities to play go. How I do this, I'm not sure, but I have to get going on it. As an axiom I read on a window tonight says, "time is your most valuable resource". I suppose I should brainstorm a couple goals I need to attain very quickly. I suppose I could start with "find a team that I can learn from, and play a lot with".

The Chillies won a game 5-1 tonight. Sometimes, I feel unfulfilled playing in a lower division. I danced around these guys whenever I felt like it, and focused a lot on passing to my teammates in front of open nets. I took three shots, all three placed just a short distance wide. Hilariously enough, I hit the near post so strangely (from quite an angle, too), it ricocheted just past the far post. Of course, practicing placement is lovely and all, but sometimes low leveled players can really do some reckless stuff. I re-sprained my ankle by getting in the way of a shot that was from an unthinkable distance out. I'm not sure why I blocked it, but this guy was far out and wide, and he really toe-punted the hell out of that thing.

Sometimes I don't know why I bother. I should be on it in a week, but I'll have to be Tuesday, if I want to keep getting game time.

"Look where the ball is, I won it!"

Last night's (tonight's?) game was ripe with frustration, but not because I couldn't score or anything like that. Again, the issue was that I got absolutely no protection from the ref, aside from an extremely blatant foul that fortunately was called. It got to the point, where around one of their players who was particularly disgruntled, I had to brace myself against the boards because I knew he was coming for blood.

Earlier in the game, that same guy fouled me by basically hip checking me into the boards as I beat him. He had some great rationale, as seen in this post's title. Because of this, I was more focused with playing with force than finesse. Fortunately, that was the only time where I got knocked to the ground. Most of the other fouls were subtle elbows to knock me off my center of balance, and when I grazed by a guy (who I beat quite quickly) to get position, I got called.

In spite of my gripes, I was told I had a good game. I was tenacious, particularly at the end of the game, because I was focused on just getting a bloody goal to make it all seem worth it. I neglected this because of better passing options, which were fruitless. I don't feel particularly as though the game I had played was good, because I wasn't able to beat people like I had in the previous couple of matches. In part, this was because I got fouled off the ball early and often, and so it made me more reserved about going crazy with the run-ups. Also, the ball didn't come to me as much as I'd have liked, so the opportunities were limited. Perhaps a teammate's logic had the best impact on what I should do, (though he was probably trying to impress his new girlfriend); "I shot it because we were up four one and I hadn't got a shot all game".

Maybe I should shoot instead of passing to him next time. After all, with most teams, three-on-ones or three-on-a-goalie results in a goal.

In spite of my particular bad luck in getting passes that could give me any scoring opportunity, we still won 4-1. Perhaps, like last game, it was the line I was on, or perhaps they just guarded themselves from counterattacks very well.

Whatever the problem, I'm excited for the weekend, sans a couple essays that have been nagging to be done for a while now.

Also, as an aside, that moron fucked up my knee, it feels pretty tender.

Time for Two-Post Tuesday Thursday

Before I begin, let me just say that many, many of the people I've spoken to really doubt the severity of the swine flu, me being at the forefront of it. I've wanted to contract it, in order to prove to everybody that it's really not that bad (he's just misunderstood, I suppose).

Looks like my wish might just come true. These past couple days I've had some typical symptoms, aside from a truly noticeable rise in temperature. Of course, this could be any number of things, but with the amount of contact I get with people, I wouldn't doubt that is indeed H1n1. It's not big deal though, everybody, I intend on playing soccer and writing from the grave, if that's where I end up. For my one fan, it'll be like I never left. One fan. Wow. I feel like Flight of the Conchords.

At any rate, I played two games last night, and was abnormally tired by the second game. Mind you, this is probably because I played the entirety of the first and 90% of the second. In the first game, I scored two in a 5-4 loss with a team that I am "officially" a member of, called Off in the Woods. If you're wondering about the name, hilarity is supposed to ensue when another team beats us. Ha.

My first goal was a neat little dummy that a girl set up by saying "take it" as I ran by her. Indeed, I took it, and slotted into the far post from an extremely tight angle on a net two meters wide. The second was inspired by my good English chap Hadley, who called me Ronaldinho as I dribbled (either through the air or on the ground) through a crowd of people. I shot once, got the rebound, and shot againthrough a wad of people and scored. I felt like the good old Brazilian for a short while. That goal put us ahead, and then they countered with two goals to win.

The final game of the night was with the Wannabees, who wanted to play because they had four girls and a goalie. I obliged, even though the team we played was The Soccer Team, another one of my "official" teams. The Wannabees won 5-1, two of the goals were mine, and I think I assisted the three other taps ins that were had. The first goal was a dime-a-dozen dribble and shoot from a not-so-far distance. The second, however, was a piece of brilliance.

Their goalie (and a science teacher at my former high school) ran parallel from his net to clear a ball, and he cleared it right to me, at half (roughly 15 meters away in that puny gym). I took two touches - the first, I kneed it with my left leg over to my right foot, and then volleyed it without it touching the ground. Like a child on his first tricycle, it went hard and fast to the target.

Both goals I felt guilty about. The Wannabees certainly at it up though, we/they've improved since their first season's finish (last).

In loving memory...

In my recap of the summer, I forgot to mention one important match I had with the Hurricanes. It was my first match playing sweeper (and the team's second last), and early on I went in to make a slide tackle on some guy carrying the ball up the side. The result(s)? I knocked the ball out of bounds, and the following occured:

From the guy's cleat when he jumped on me.

Note the black area. I placed a binder inside the jersey to showcase the rip that the cleats caused.

A better picture of a blood stain in the second picture.

Needless to say, it hurt. However, the fact the I got up and continued playing after a large groan still fills me with pride, and so I am keeping the (unwashed, unmended) jersey around in a plastic bag until I see fit, which will likely be forever. I suppose I'm lucky my liver wasn't perforated or something silly like that, nor that my skin was torn open. Between that and the fact that my cleats had been falling apart, I looked like I was playing just after getting in a brutal street fight.

One of the "old hombres" that had served me well through four outdoor seasons. They were a pair of Adidas Traxions, and "trax'd" they did.

Those boots deserve a monologue for all they've done for me, so here it is. Normally I'm not the sentimental type, but those cleats saw me at my very worst, and lasted better than I could've ever imagined when I bought them for some paltry fee. I remember the first real contribution I had in outdoor soccer with them; I had been playing left midfield in highschool footie, and I delivered a long through ball to a striker, which he went on to score from. We won the game by a landslide, but regardless, I had contributed. Up until their last days where they were even duct taped together, they had been getting the job done, regardless of whether the eventual wear had caused a nail that held the sole in place to cut my foot open or not, or whether the side (shown in the picture) was splitting or not. The very least that could be said about those two faithful allies was that they were my first pair of real boots, and were a testament to all boots out there. Through what must've been at least a hundred games played with them, they have set a benchmark for other cleats, but at the same time, they have filled me with hope for when I purchase a new pair, for I know that there must be cleats as expertly crafted as those.

Thank you, old hombres. You will be missed.

The Gypsy of the Coverall

I asked Derek about who I've been reminding him of lately, after taking his advice on using my speed. In all honesty, I've been making a lot of Messi-esque runs lately. That being said, I'm nowhere near equal to him, but there is no shadow of a doubt in my mind that I've improved recently.

Messi.

Derek's answer was probably the best compliment anybody's given me in months. He thought I was comparable to Cesc Fabregas, "Cause theres a lot of raw talent there with the potential to improve. Good vision with the ball, but doesn't score as often as u/he could". Wow. Just, wow. That text message will forever bring a smile to my face. What makes it all the nicer is, if you're easily provoked to remember nuances (and have read the particular post) when Michele mentioned he thought the best player in the world was Cesc Fabregas. There's a strange coincidence between this entry and that one, other than the whole Fabregas deal - see if you can figure it out. As always, the answer is at the end of this post.

Before we get too far into that, I'd like to recap a game from last Wednesday, with the Chilly Willies.

First, there's a gulf in talent the size of my town between the leagues, so I used it as good opportunity to pass the ball around to my new teammates and get a feel for how they play. I ended up getting one or two assists and a couple nice goals in our game to seed us in a higher league - we won 10-5. There's a huge issue about fitness though, you know it's bad when teammates have to go throw up. Fortunately, I wasn't one.

The first of my goals was a long curling shot headed for the bottom corner. I had the time to do so, so I fired a speculative shot from about fifteen yards out. It was quite nice, indeed. The second goal was a classic turn & shoot from the top right corner of the box, that went across the keeper, bounced off the far post and went in. A huge thank you to the EPL commentators for telling me a couple days previous that those sort of shots were hard to save. 'Bout time I learned from TV.

Now, today, with Team Gigantic, I started on a shift with a few of our more inexperienced players. The opposition, who were aptly named the Smurfs (They were blue and troublemakers) began hammering us, shot after shot. They eventually got a free kick and scored off the rebound due to a lack of marking, then turned up the heat again when they (quickly) regained possession. The first time the ball hit my feet, I literally thought "Fuck this" to myself, and began sprinting to their goal from 4/5ths of the field away. It was almost as though I saw red for a short while, literally - I wanted that goal. I darted and dashed through many a player, and when I had made it past enough of them, which was many three or four defenders, and let it rip, and nailed the crossbar with quite a bit more force than Newton's laws could calculate. I think, in that short second, my heart broke then quickly fixed itself.

My lack of touch/luck for goals in that game really didn't subside until the dying few minutes, where I hit a normally pretty easy shot pretty badly. It was headed well wide, easily by 5 meters, when a poor girl happened to cower in its way. The second the ball hit my foot, I knew it was terrible, and I was about to turn and throw my palm into my face, or vice-versa. It just so happened that the fearful member of their team deflected it with a surprising amount of force into their net, and thus, I had my goal. I'm sitting on four goals in two games, which isn't all that bad. I'm proud to be leading the team, but ashamed to not be leading the league, which is the ultimate goal for the quenching of my ego. Unfortunately for me, some guy managed two hat tricks in two games.

Maybe I should aim for second best. That, or I can see if I've got any more five-goal games in me.

I suppose the 5-2 victory was bittersweet, as I absolutely had the shit kicked out of me. I distinctly remember flying a couple times due to challenges from various men built like bags of bricks. I should maybe ask Fabio to protect me a little more.

Answer to quiz: In both posts, Team Gigantic had played the Smurfs.

The End of a Hiatus

I skirted my responsibility at the start of summer to write my blog, and I really wanted to get back on track this whole time. There probably wasn't a better time to do this than now, so I figure, why not now? Here are a few good reasons:

1. It's four in the morning.
2. I have classes starting at 9:30 tomorrow.
3. It's four in the morning.

The reason I'm up at this hour is because ofxams. Fortunately, my midterms are over, however, only recently. They ended up turning me nocturnal, somewhat.

Alright, so here's the extremely truncated lowdown of the summer:

1. The St. James Hurricanes avoided relegation. Barely. I played in every position at different parts of the season, and ended up being most effective as a sweeper. Now, you may be making a strange face at your monitor at this point, but apparently, it worked. We were in a HUGE relegation scrap near the end of the season, and ended up winning out last game to stay up.
2. I forgot what happened to my co-ed teams.

The new season has started up, and I'm playing on three teams at the Coverall and four with WRL. A mens team is in the brewery, so to speak, and I'm not sure what's going to happen with that.

Two of the Coverall teams are with Team Gigantic. We had one team play Saturday (twice), and another play Monday. We creamed and then were creamed on Saturday - We played a D side then a B side. I scored a hattrick in the 7-2 win. Apparently, my finishing is better. All three were breakaways thanks to good passing, good footwork, or a combination of the two. I felt somewhat tired in spite of trying to keep my fitness levels up over the break. In the second game, our pulverization was partially due to our fatigue, and partially the fact that they shut our counterattack system down wholly and completely. It doesn't help that we're a one-trick pony kind of team.

Yesterday, we played friendly rivals "Superfriends". We opened the scoring with two goals, but then got smarted pretty well by a 4-goal bounce back before half. No goals were scored in the second half. We played much better at that point. I almost bicycle kicked a ball goalwards, but I had enough time to not do it, because the ref was singling me out pretty well today. I asked him later, and he said it would have been alright to do it, had nobody been near and been kicked in the face. Next time, I suppose.

Tuesday (today..?) I played three games at work, and thus, I'm pretty bagged.Three games, three loses: 7-4 (The Soccer Team), 3-2 (Wannabees), 6-1 (Off in the woods). I scored two, a tap in for the Soccer Team, and a Messi-esque run through literally an entire team, to cap it with a shelved left-footer. It was brilliant, and that's me being modest.

I suppose it's bedtime. And don't worry, more in-depth summaries are coming next post - I had to catch up, first.

Tomorrow, it's tuxedo time.

"You just threw a block of cheese at me"

Nothing much to mention lately, though I think I'll be playing center-mid for the Hurricanes tomorrow. I'm pretty excited for that. We barely beat a team Tuesday, thanks to a hand ball in their box. They were a good team to beat, because we'll be competing to not get relegated with them. We won 2-1, and I played right back. The man I was supposed to mark scored, but that's because I had began to run at an unmarked guy with the ball in front of our net, near our penalty spot.

I'm completely oblivious as to what happened in the games earlier this week, other than the fact that Team Gigantic lost, I reffed half a game for Fabio (the manager of the Coverall), then lost with the Electric Shoes.

Taking a look at my schedule for the next few weeks, I have HUGE blocks of games. at one point, for about 6 weeks, I play every day except Fridays and Saturdays.

My kicking power has been lacking lately, so I have to get to work. I just hope I don't over-exhaust myself.

You go to Turkey, and you get busy.

I'm not sure what it was, but I've got some sort of throat infection currently. This is both good and bad, though. Bad because my throat hurts, good because I can still play soccer. I suppose it's an extreme overstatement when I say that it's good, because it's really not - I'm just fortunate to be able to play.

Monday's indoor game was frustrating, yet a good example of why a small team can do well. Unfortunately, my team wasn't the small team (the small team was Sabres, they had no subs whatsoever). In fact, it was quite the opposite. I really cannot play on a line of three people, it's unbelievably hard to get into any sort of groove. We lost in the last minute because of an overcommitment while we were attacking, and while Derek made a good save on the counterattack, we got unlucky with the bounce off the rebound. These are easily the most frustrating kinds of games - those where you can do nothing about what you see.

Last night, I had four games and work. I made it to one and a half of the games and work, unfortunately.

The fortunate thing was that I managed seven goals in those games (Team Gigantic Indoor and Team Gigantic Outdoor). All of them were fairly textbook, especially in the indoor game in which I scored five. I also had a bagful of assists, but it was all a blur. It didn't feel fantastic because of the team we were playing, we managed to rout them 10-2. The outdoor game was 2-0 for us (both goals mine) when I left, and we won it 6-2 (or something to that effect).

In other news, my excellent friends Stephen and Carissa are back from Ontario. In their last few days there, they caught a Forest City London game, and they think I could cut it on a USL team such as FC London. I'm flattered, but I still think that I have a lot of work to do.

I suppose I should get to it.

Aren't there a lot of criytosporidiums in there?

I have been more busy than I can even remember, lately. Where I last left off, I had a game on the 24th at the Coverall with good old Team Gigantic, then an outdoor game with them the next day. Friday was a game for the Hurricanes, and Sunday involved an outdoor game with Team Gigantic and a practice for the Hurricanes.

I suppose the best way to go over them all would be chronologically, though being brief will be the order of the day - I've two baseball games and an indoor game later.

In the indoor game, We lost 5-2, or something akin to that. I scored one off a nice touch off the boards and a breakaway, but it was nothing special. Passing was good, defending was good, we just didn't have what it took, if I remember correctly.

By the outdoor game, I was well beat from the games earlier in the week. Everybody there had to play a full game with no subs, so that wasn't the most fun. We barely hung on to beat one of my other teams (albeit only in the winter), the Flood Minotaurs, by a score of 3-2. I played terribly because of exhaustion, and the grass being Amazon-height definitely didn't help. Somehow, the bugs were not bad at all though. Go figure. I had an assist for Jay's goal from half.

I finally saw some life from the Hurricanes, too. We beat a team of old Croatians 5-0, while I played right back. I didn't see much action in the first half because of the way they played their forwards out wide, but I made some runs in the second half that were tons of fun to do. I even popped a goal in in the 90th out of boredom. And yes, I know that fullbacks aren't supposed to be in the middle of the other team's six yard box. There was also a bit of a fleeting feeling of fame. I kicked the ball away from guy, out of bounds. Nice and high, and nice and hard. We played in the U of M indoor facility again, and so the ball hit the glass banister that (somewhat) guarded the spectators. Given my luck with these sorts of things there were three young boys standing not a foot away from where my ball had hit, and they all jumped. I said sorry, and they gasped and ohh'd. I'm not going to lie, I felt guilty at first, then just plain old special.

The break on Saturday was a well required one, I was really starting to feel fatigued. Sunday, things picked right up again with an outdoor playoff game for Team Gigantic on a really windy field outside Winnipeg with virtually no tree cover. We got absolutely beaten to a pulp, 6-1. To add insult to injury, at the end of the game, I was settling a ball and one of their team members decided to charge at me. My jaw hurt like hell at the time, but I seem to be fine now.

"I know a guy named Krebdg"

Both of last night's games have tired me out more than I can recall in recent memory, but normally indoor complexes in summer are pretty hot and muggy.

In my first game back with the Electric Shoes, we had three subs total. In spite of a lack of a formation, we played alright, but generally were unlucky. The pinnacle of our lack of luck came when I lifted the ball over two legs, had my foot stepped on and knee of my other leg kicked, and no foul was called. I also messed up a breakaway by shooting just wide. My passing was plentiful though, perhaps too plentiful. I still need to shoot more. We lost 5-2.

My competitive game was a gong show. I'm not sure why, but I was sat for the first half, then I went in and played striker. Then Right Wing. Then Striker. Then Center Midfielder (this was by my own accord, as nobody else was playing it).

I have no idea what is going on with that team. I know I can be used as a utility man, but I have played every position on the field in three games, aside from left back, left mid, and goalie. The worst part is that nobody is in shape, and no practices are willing to be had. If we go down at the end of the season, we deserve it, unless this ceases to continue.

It felt like, during the game, nobody on my team gave support, aside from certain times. I made a few good passes, but generally the other team was on top of us. We lost 1-0, against an over-35 team. It was obvious that they had played together for a while, but really, the more impressive thing was that they were in much better shape than us.

Five minutes from time, I was fouled just outside the box. I'd have liked to take the free kick, but some guy on my team came up and took it (far too lightly). The goalie was forced into a relatively easy diving save.

I really don't know what to do about these guys, I feel as though we could be a half decent team if we put the hours into it. The individual skill is most likely there, after all.

How is this a fiesta?

Early in the afternoon today, the St. James Hurricane played our second MSA cup game against a team a division higher than us. We came into the game with a mix of optimism and pessimism. I, personally, was pessimistic after what I had seen a half week earlier.

Due to the usual (again, from what I've seen) lack of defenders, I played stopper for the first half. It was a strange position to get used to, but after a while, I found my footing, and began to block shots, snuff out offenses, and that sort of stuff. While I didn't enjoy the lack of attacking freedom, I felt I played well - their first goal came from an unmarked tap in (see: not my man), three minutes into the game.

The fact that I was in the stopper position meant that this particular team funnelled their attack (usually) into me, but in the second half, things changed. I could swear their coach told them to use more over-the-top balls, because in the first fifteen minutes of the second half, they put two more in on us by using aerial through balls. I subbed out five minutes later in hopes I could get slotted into the midfield, but after a sip of water, a goal was scored against us. Shortly after that, our sweeper went down and I was back in the fold, this time playing sweeper.

Sweeper's a little stranger, but I'd say it's quite a bit easier. After some running around, a midfielder was looking for an "easier" position to play, so I made my way into the midfield. By then, we were down 5-2, and I was given no instruction on which spot to play. I asked around, but came up with "just go over there" from a few different sources.

And so the cup dream is over. This could be a blessing in disguise though, seeing as our league form needs to pick up if we don't want to get relegated.

"Go eat a sandwich"

One competitive game that I'm back for, and I'm already beaten to a pulp so much to keep me in bed for an extra two hours this morning. Part of the reason for that is how I got 80-85 minutes of playtime when I expected and asked for 45, another part is the two niggling injuries I went in with. Thankfully, my ankle's doing fine.

Take a look at my sock, though.

That lovely stain is thanks to this nice raspberry shown below, which I got from sliding in baseball. And don't ask what the black stuff is, I'm not entirely sure.

The best thing about it was that I was able to actually squeeze blood out of my shin pad after the game.

Otherwise, I took a kick to the calf on a slide tackle that reminded me of my calf contusion two years back. Thankfully, I can walk this time around, and I should be good for Sunday's game.

We played a team of old Polish folks who shirt-tugged like nobody's business, and I played right back before getting subbed out due to the kick to the calf. Our team was doing horrible up until the end of the first half, we had no offensive linking whatsoever, and the closest thing to a goal we got was (albeit pretty close) a disallowed header off a corner for pushing off. The other team simply outclassed and out-conditioned us. The closest thing to an offensive I was able to create for right back was a give and go that ended in me getting fouled, then a nice little roulette move to beat a guy, which also ended in me getting fouled. Our opposition went up two goals before the half.

In the second half, I played on the right side of midfield. From here, it felt like I could control the game much better than I was, but that might've been because my fullback partner was more involved this time around. I worked hard for every ball and had a few good link-ups, but ultimately nothing came of it. Closer to the end of the game, our goalie got injured, and our striker played in goal, so I played up front. Were it not for a few stray passes, I probably could've made some plays, but in that last 15 minutes, the only time I got the ball in their offensive third was a loose one that I chased down then crossed inside for my strike partner. It was about as on-target as you could ask for, but again, nothing was made of it. For the last 5 minutes and 10 minutes of stoppage time, I switched into midfield, but I was really too tired to do much.

We lost 2-0, playing a considerably better second half, against a team that has been together for years.

It was a good taste of all the positions that I could end up playing, though. I think our team could be pretty good if we worked on some of the passing and moving and cut some of the fat, if you know what I mean.

And by that, I mean conditioning.

And cutting players.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a repeat of a Brazil game to watch.

"That was you trying to catch up to girls"

A month and a half ago, I buggered up my ankle in a pretty nasty event at an Electric Shoes game. In stretching to win a ball that was passed, a girl kicked my leg (accidentally) right as I planted it. I landed on it with all my weight as it was bent sideways, and tore a ligament, or so I believe. Some say it was stupid to not see a doctor, I say "yes, but go to hell".

I'm almost in peak condition again, though there are definitely some things that have changed with my play style, both good and bad, in the few games I've used to get back in shape.

The Bad:

• I'm not playing with my head up as much.
• I'm not turning as fast.
• I feel like showboating more.

The Good:

• My dribbling has improved.
• I'm holding up the ball better.
• I'm playing with a greater sense of craftyness.
• I'm not longer afraid to just take it and shoot, in some cases.

And so, I need to work on keeping my head up and my turning. Everything else will come.

I played two games when I really shouldn't have, and I scored a goal in each. Otherwise, I've been keeping up my fitness with dodgeball and softball. Yesterday I started drilling in my yard.

Today's the real test though. I play with the Hurricane, and we have to turn our season around. We've scored two goals in five league games, and allowed nine. They want to play me as striker, and with some of the E-mails from my team's coach, I think they have high hopes for me to put in a few goals. We have progressed in the cup though, with a 3-0 win over another team in our division. I'm not entirely sure how they'd like me to play, the closest thing to a game I've played for them was a scrimmage tryout where I played a playmaker role. I suppose I'll try different things, it really depends on my strike partner too. I just hope the service is there, because I'm confident that even 45 minutes will be enough to throw one into the good old onion bag.

Until then, I'll just pace around my house nervously.

"That is just the ultimate gross"

Life's surprisingly hectic in spite of the lack of school and full-time work. Really, it almost seemed less busy back then. Though, I suppose I'm getting a lot done now. Today, I had an appointment for an immobilizer for my car fit surprisingly well with a golf game I had planned. Even though I dropped my car off at noon for a four hour job, they said to pick it up at six. That was fine, except for the fact they closed at six. Right.

There are almost too many games that I've postponed "until tomorrow" that I need to touch on, but I'll give a short idea of how it all went.

Last Tuesday, Team Gigantic's so-called feeder team played and lost to some other indoor team. It was frustrating not being able to play the ball off to people who I knew could do what they expect to with it, but that's just the way secondary teams work when there are just too many people to fit on a single roster. We lost this game, and I took it fairly seriously. It was just frustrating, no bouncing ball went our way, runs weren't found, and in particular, I was fouled inside the box by their goalie twice. If I remember correctly, we lost 5-2.

That Saturday, we had a windup, which was spent scrimmaging for two hours, followed by all you can eat pizza. Needless to say, the next day would have been hell had I played a good amount of football.

And as luck would have it, I did. A chilly practice with the Hurricanes (the coach of whom told that he wanted me to stay around), followed by a short practice with Josh made way to the fourth pizza dinner in as many days, then I played with Team Gigantic and the Electric Shoes, back-to-back at the coverall.

One of the obligatory games against the Sabres was on the plate for Team Gigantic, and they played an entire half with 4 outfield and a goalie. We dominated without playing well at all. They got a couple more people in the second half, but we kept banging them in to win 7-3. I scored once (a flukey sidefooted volley) and set up a few golden chances that were not to be.

The Electric Shoes game was a riot, though. By that time, I had played for three hours that day, and two hours the day before, so I was fairly exhausted. They put me on defense yet again, and I came away with a Greg Walker hat trick: A goal, a goalline clearance, and an own goal. Fantastic. I spent the game covering a really strong, fast forward, and I made him fairly useless, which was nice. I made it look pretty good, too, fortunately, because many of the tackles were taken at the last second. I did this three or four times. My goal was a simple yet effective "pass outside the offensive zone so I can hammer it goalwards with one touch" that had a couple people screening the keeper. Otherwise, he was really difficult to get past. My goalline clearance was awesome, but typical. The ball bounced in front of the net when I got caught on a two-on-one, and before a girl could tap it in, I lunged at it and kicked it up and out. Fortunately, it was called a goal kick as opposed to a corner. The own goal is one I'd rather not dwell on, but quite simply, it's on Facebook, and it involves a ball coming off my leg and bouncing into the net.

Yesterday evening, after a game of golf, there was another game which we won 4-2. I set up one with a neat little sombrero flick then cross, then got a goal myself from a free kick when I got fouled just outside the box. The goalie set up a two-man wall, so I just shot it low and to the corner, and it rolled through his hands. I believe that's my first free kick goal, too.

Sunday's the first outdoor game for Team Gigantic, and I have to sort out teams by then. It would also help if certain teammates of mine paid their fees, as well. In addition to other football politics, the manager of the Coverall leagues doesn't want me playing on three of his teams, so I have to axe one, at the very least. I think I have my choice of which to drop (out of both the Team Gigantic teams and Electric Shoes), but I'll have to chat it over with him. I'm leaning towards the B-team for Team Gigantic.

To make it all more confusing, I got this E-mail today from Jahan.

"Hey guys,

How is everyone doing ? The reason I'm sending this is that I need two guys to volunteer to handle the affairs of the Fury.It's a little difficult for me to run both a league and a team for the obvious conflicts that exist, but I still like to keep playing for the team that I've started over 6 years ago under the same name.

The responsibilities include contacting the guys at least 24 hrs. before an scheduled match and reminding every one about it and making sure we have a full team with at least one sub at the game.In return these two guys get to play for free this season,and also a chance to play for the second division Major League team that I'm coaching.

You can divide the responsibility by taking care of half of the guys which is more convenient and means you are bringing out only 6 players to each game.

If any of you guys are up for the task please let me know ASAP,because we have 5 teams and we want to start the season with Fury next week.A couple of friendlies are happening this weekend.Check out the website for the time and addresses."

So that's three division two teams that I could see about getting on, if I go through with this, though I don't imagine getting enough playtime on Jahan's. I'll think it over tomorrow.

And in case you're wondering, I played two rounds of 18 at Blumberg, and I had improved on my previous score by five, with today's game.

"And that's what friends are for."

Tonight's tryout went well. The new complex at the U of M is incredible, though the turf is a little hard. I walked onto the field unsure of what to do, so I did a small dynamic stretching warm-up then joined a pass circle. It comforted me to know that some of the guys made bad touches during the warm-up, though I had entered feeling confident. I shot a few at the nets and skied a couple, but really, things got better after that. Be warned; beyond this, it's a brag-fest.

We were playing a 10-a-side game on a half field, and for the first time ever, I got the chance to play as an attacking midfielder in a good team. We played a midfield diamond, with 3 defenders and two strikers. There were some weak links, but my team managed to play through and win 1-0.

I had five great chances, the first was a header from a cross that just went wide, the next I tapped just wide of the net after being released, the next I headed a long cross right at the goalie (though it's not like I could've directed it elsewhere), then I missed a curler I sent goalbound with my left foot (incredibly, from 16 yards out, it was a few feet over). My final and best chance came when I went in front of the net and popped in a rebound, though the original shooter was ruled offside. I played very centrally, and rushed back to defend when needed. It seemed like I was in better shape than most others, including the midfielder who played behind me (I was behind him at times when my team defended and ahead of him always on the attack). I noticed that I involved a lot of my team and passed the ball well, and kept excellent control of it. I also disrupted the opposing team's build-up a lot, and filled in for players that were out of position.

Most importantly though, my movement and passing terrorized the defense. I had a couple bad through balls, but after a while, my team started playing a lot of the attack through me. This might be because I was in shape enough to get open, or possibly because I was recognized as a good player to pass to. I always seemed to find a gap to run into, which is part of the greatness of playing centrally behind the strikers.

One problem I did have was with my teammates positioning. After a while it became sloppy, and wingers became strikers and vice-versa. The unfortunate thing from this was that at times we had nobody guarding the side, so I had to slide over and cover. One thing that also could've happened was that because of the pitch's lack of length, strikers moved over and played wider, leaving me in a strange position while attacking.

I recieved a fair amound of compliments afterwards, I had marked my opposite number out of the game for the most part, and was hard to mark myself. I feel that if I did play for this team, I'd be a first-stringer, but there were five people that didn't show up that will still be trying out. One of these people was named "Ali". Now, I'm not positive, but he could be one of my pals from AFC Soccer. If that were the case, he would most likely play the same position that I play, so I'd need to get moved somewhere, most likely winger or striker.

I intend to see what this team can offer me (as far as playtime goes) before I choose this years' MMSL team, with the other possibility being the Aeros.

One thing I find funny is that I would honestly rate myself a league above these guys. If you recall, last year I was basically a reserve player that practiced with a premier-level team, for the first part of the season and the year before that, I missed the cut for a 3rd division team. This team is a second division team that last year went to the finals for promotion into the first division, and I look set to be offered a spot on it.

Funny what a good amount of practice, a lot of games, and whatever else I have can do for you.

At any rate, I need to stop this gasconade and get either some rest or some bookwormin' done. But first... Because I haven't left any of my adored readers* with any truly stimulating visual baubles lately, feast your eyes, if you feel so inclined.

"Darn it!"

* - Pluralization applicable?

"You're going to have to tone it down a little so I don't get complaints about you"

Yesterday night, I played my first game with Electric Shoes. The team takes a few of the better players from White Eagles and mixes them with a bit of young blood, a bit of old blood, and a bit of feminine blood.

Overall, it looks like a team that shouldn't be in the bottom level of the Coverall's co-ed hierarchy.

But we are.

I was placed on defense in a 2-1-2 formation. Our girls attacked. In spite of "going easy", I played well enough to not allow any goals when I was on, but badly enough to make a few mistakes. I'm not sure if Fabio telling me to tone it down got to me, or if it was just the fatigue, but I let the ball roll under my foot one particularly bad time, and generally eased the pressure on their attacking players more than I should've. We won 4-2.

The fact remains though, that I want more license to attack. I'm positive I looked like a caged animal back in defense, as I ran far forward whenever I had the chance. I'm going to pitch the idea for a 1-1-2-1 formation as we looked pretty solid in the back, hoping that the two girls that would play the attacking mid positions (who were excellent passers) could come back and defend when needed, and otherwise give us width. The reason for the one striker is that we just lacked a bit of an edge, and a strong front man could give that to us.

Tonight I play in my city's new complex over at the university. Should be interesting, as it's a tryout for the Saint James Hurricanes. Unfortunately, I miss a Team Gigantic game for it, but sacrifices must be made, I suppose.

In other news, I'm sick, and exams. Oh, and I missed the first and last playoff game for the Eagles because it was at 11 AM. And I was sick.

Stop rolling your eyes at me like that.

"I was half drunk, half blacked out, half passed out, and they still couldn't make me put shaving cream on my face."

It has seemed longer than a week since my last post, but it's been a busy last little while regardless.

Perhaps the reason I've been putting it off was because the last game I played, the finals, is one I'd rather forget.

But before that, the Eagles had their last game of the season against the top team. This was the one that I may have mentioned had the (at one point) best player in my province on their team, and boy, he's difficult to mark. He's got quick movement, and a good touch as well. I got beat by him a few times, but I kept up for the most part. The most unfortunate thing was that I'd shut his shooting and running lanes down, and he'd just back up and pass it to a teammate my team left open. We lost that one 4-8.

As far as the finals go, as I mentioned in the last post, we played Academy. The game was fairly end to end, but in the end, we lost 3-1. Our only goal came from Matt, who had the ball deflect off two of their players from a long shot and roll in. The last person the ball hit was actually "Big Old Fuck", if you remember correctly, and he flipped out and was an asshole for the rest of the match. Not that he wasn't before, of course.

Two of their goals were set pieces in which the wall was set up like this:

Except, kick coming now, before the wall is set.

That's not to say we didn't set a wall. We did, except we just didn't cover the open part of the net with either a goalie or more wall.

Then I shot a penalty shot at their goalie from a handball. The funny thing is that I hit three perfect penalty shots in the warm up. I'm over it though, and the team forgave me. I feel considerably better that we ended up losing by two as opposed to one. I suppose I was just tired, as I took a huge run up and just blasted it. In my defense, there's not much else to do in indoor soccer.

Most recently, I've taken up baseball. Now, that game is so relaxing, I have a hard time calling it a sport. Really, you hit things with a bat, chill in the outfield, catch balls, and that's about it. My first practice was yesterday, and I ended up slipping on the part of the field that was still wet - I was soaked. Fortunately for me, I had come prepared with a change of clothing.

Also, it turns out I'm somewhat of a natural. I went to bat a few times, and for a couple of those, I hit deep center field drive, over the outfielder's head.

"It was like the spinorama llama-dama empty-netter"

After Team Gigantic had booked themselves a place in the semi-finals, we found that we would be playing Sabres, another friendly rival. In the other semi-final were the not-so-friendly rivals Academy, and another old unfriendly rival, FC Inter.

FC Inter came up against us a couple times in our first season, and they beat us thoroughly. At one point, one of their guys decided that getting into a fight with Stephen would be a good idea, but unfortunately it never happened. It did work well for Stephen though, he really got under the guy's skin with some well-placed sarcastic comments and a smile that could make a small child wet himself. Him and I laughed about it afterwards, and still do to this day.

Though it turns out Academy beat them, so it was them and the winner of our game in the playoffs.

If you need an introduction as to what Academy are like, well, to put it shortly, they're a bunch of assholes. Check some of the previous posts tagged "Academy" and you'll find out.

Now, the Sabres game started well for us. Jay and I each put a goal in, mine was a simple rebound-and-volley. By just after half they had tied it up with one particularly terrible goal, where Jay fouled a guy in the corner, and they took it quickly. Shaun managed to somehow save the first in a 2-on-him, but they then equalized off the rebound. My team started to freak out a little because of the lack of control over the decision and the quickly taken free kick. We had people questioning the ref more than concentrating on the game, and fouled more than playing the ball. Admittedly, we were getting a little jumpy, so I sat on the bench and quite literally silently meditated to get all of the other distractions out of the way.

I had not even employed it as a method to improve my game, but the next shift I was on, it seemed to have worked. I pounced on a loose ball by their net, roulette'd it out of the way of the goalie, and then slotted it into an empty net as I heard multiple footsteps approaching behind me. It was a fantastic goal that fired everybody up, and Jay went on to put in one more after that, so we won 4-2. I couldn't really contain myself after the goal, and I did the typical clenched-fists facing-up-but elbows at my side while running and screaming. I think I've found my default celebration (which may have fired my team up more than the goal itself).

It's funny how such a momentum change can occur so quickly though. One moment, we were pissed off and fouling everybody, then after the goal, we calmed down and played a fantastic rest-of-the-game.

My dad, one of our many spectators today, had really enjoyed the game. With him were Josh's parents, who dubbed my goal today's title.

And now our most challenging test this season is about to come, this Saturday. I've got to really step up in this game, as I've been somewhat responsible for the push to playoffs and sparking our momentum in the playoffs. The thing is, I've scored one goal in maybe 6 matches against Academy, and that goal was a gift, however deciding of that game it was. Contrasting that to my recent form in both that league and others, though, I might do well. I have 6 goals in as many games for Team Gigantic, and I can't remember the last game that was not an AFC Soccer game that I haven't scored in.

We'll just have to wait and see, I suppose.

"Ohh, thank you, patient young man."

I'm a few days overdue, but my most recent playoff game deserves a separate post than this, so I'll go over my last few games.

First off, Jahan called me at 9 Saturday morning to alert me of a game in a couple hours. I woke up at noon, so I missed it. They lost against the top team in the semis anyways.

A few nights before, Team Gigantic played friendly rivals Superfriends in a quarter final match. I'd have expected it to be a low-scoring, tough match, but I was wrong. Team Gigantic changed our strategy for this one, we decided to man-mark the central (and usually most dangerous) player on their team. It worked fantastically, we tired their most dangerous player out, frustrated him, and ended up winning emphatically (7-2). I scored the first by pouncing on a loose ball and then slotting it into the bottom corner. Then 6 other guys on our team scored as well, which is odd. Usually, Jay and I score the majority of our goals (over half when put together in regular season).

On Sunday, Fury played their playoff game as well. I thought it'd have been an easy win, but I was wrong. I scored once in an 8-4 loss. My goal was a simple little rebound-and-shoot. Another highlight was that I definitely didn't feel so lost this time around, I robbed a couple guys and really put some pressure on their defense. I suppose our weakness was that all of the part-timers that played with us decided to all come out, and nobody really knew how to play with everybody. It didn't help that their team had a good goalie.

I haven't realized until recently how important knowing your teammates is. I think this is the key to success that Team Gigantic usually experiences in the playoffs, as we usually start the season slow, then end with some Cinderella-esque playoff run. The core of our team usually doesn't change, but newcomers do eventually work into the (lack of) system that we use by then.

Or maybe we're just lucky.

While we're on the topic of cohesiveness, I'm off to a White Eagles game, with whom even the best cohesion could not save us. This game should be interesting, as I'm going to (try) mark one of the former best attacking players in Winnipeg, currently with 40 goals in 15 games in our league. Why on earth is one of the best player playing recreation mens? I don't know. Maybe it's because his brother is playing. At any rate, his name is Dalibor Planicac, and I believe he used to play for Lucania. he's seemed out of shape lately, but we'll just have to see.

Who knows, maybe I'm pick up something from him.

"Stop being stupid, I will shit... Hit... Shit you!"

I refrained from making a post immediately after the game because of my mood. I was glad, but more or less in a state of disbelief.

Tonight was the quarter-finals for AFC Soccer. I went to the game, fully expecting to be benched for the majority of it. I wasn't. Our goalkeeper did not come, and Jahan wanted me to fill in. I'm not fantastic, but I can deal with corners well, and I'm not afraid to get hurt.

Jahan gives me the goalkeeper gloves, which were, and I wish I could make this up, a child's size right-handed "Hot Paw" glove and another right handed wool-lined canvas mitten. I declined use of them, opting for the good old spit-and-hands method instead.

We looked to be running away with it, in the first 20 minutes, leading 7-2. By half, they pulled a couple back on us. 7-4. No biggie, I thought, and the guys tried to raise my confidence at half.

After half, I had lost my concentration. I let a few muffins in, and they were back in it. That is when hell didn't quite break loose, but I certainly saw what it could be like.

One of our players (our top scorer) refused to leave the field. Jahan eventually grew frustrated, and pulled one of our own players "until he got off". At this point, we were up by just one. Jahan let somebody back on after about a minute, and then got on the field himself, yelling at the ref to take our renegade player out. He complied, and the other team complained.

Complaining's a bit of an understatement. The clock had to be stopped for about five minutes, while the other team yelled at the ref about not carding Jahan. I leaned against the post, trying to regain some of my confidence that had been lost when I heard "their goalie is their weak point! Shoot a lot!" from the opponent's bench a few minutes earlier.

We resumed play, and I went to punch a long ball that was put up for a shorter player in front of me. Turns out punching is not allowed in this league. What? I assumed the ref felt bad for me, as it wasn't a penalty shot, but rather a free kick just outside the box. They missed, after yelling at the ref some more. I think, that during one of the two kerfuffles, the ref was shoved by the other team, and then he began to take control of the game.

By this time, it was too little too late, and everybody had settled down for the last five minutes. A yellow was given for a high kick on our side, but we managed to shut them down long enough to hold out for the win.

I came home and watched Mantracker, because that was all I could do. My brain was just mashed to hell by the stress it had been under, and I'm still a little shaken, four hours afterwards. I probably would've shit my shorts had it gone into penalties.

It sounds a bit dramatic, but would you want to disappoint guys who pray before the game?

Tomorrow things are a little easier, aside from that essay I haven't started, due in six hours.

"Hey Ali, how many scores did you miss, a thousand?"

By Saturday night, I was crawling around the floor, speaking things that didn't make much sense, and in a general state of delirium. The crawling was based on the physical fatigue, while everything else was mental fatigue. I had played three games that day.

Normally, when I've played three games, it doesn't really get to me. I've done it a few times before.

But the arrangement and circumstance was the deadly aspect of it all. I went to bed the previous night at 4, woke up at 9 to drive my parents to the airport, and then had a game at noon with AFC Soccer.

Jahan pulled me aside and told me that I had raised my game once more, and I in fact did. I made few errors, created a few plays, and could've easily had a couple goals. The only error that comes to mind was failing to chest-and-then-volley a pass that would've created a 1-on-1 with the goalie, and there was really no excuse. Perhaps on a day with some more sleep, I'd have been able to hit it.

Aside from that, I had a lot of dangerous runs, a few dangerous and smart passes, and a couple where I almost could've scored if another player on my team decided to pass as opposed to beat the goalie in some manner. I am not complaining though, as we won 10-5.

After that game, I went home and relaxed. I had a White Eagles game at five.

At the game, I played defense. As an indication of how tight the footballing community is around here, the referee that took care of my noon match was also due to ref this match. Even stranger, though, is that the Eagles called up a couple players that one of the guys worked with, and it was a couple of old pals from Euro FC. For anybody not in the know, Euro FC was a team of Portuguese guys that won only one game, had terrible attendance, and was my team two summers ago. We practiced three times, and the great majority of them tired after three minutes of playing. They lacked speed and defensive abilities, but were somewhat decent in taking on men. Perhaps this sticks out in my mind because they did not pass, just tried to beat everybody.

Playing defense for the White Eagles is usually quite occupying, but tonight was an exception. We were playing a team that originally had no substitutes, so it game me license to move forward a little and provide a target that actually moved. More than once I had to pass it back to my own goalie because not a single striker on our team moved, and they had a man on right behind them.

I made one normally-suicidal attacking run forward, and managed to pass most everybody on both teams. I gave the ball to one of my Portuguese pals, and continued sprinting. He gave me a surprisingly excellently weighted ball to chase down, and I latched onto it with a touch or two. By this time, the opposition's goalie and a defender closed in on me, and the defender pushed me over. During the push, I was able to chip the bouncing ball over the oncoming goalie's head, and I was over by a foot. The ball bounced back, and by this time, I was on the ground. There was no whistle, so a rebelious part of me told me to play on. While on the ground. Which is normally illegal. Now, just try to imagine...

This, mixed with...

Wait, what?

Well, very basically, the ball bounced off the panel above the crossbar back to me while my back was on the ground. It took a bounce, and the oaf that bowled me over tried to clear it. He didn't. I bicycle kicked it while on the ground, and somehow scored. The other team complained, and I thought it wouldn't have counted either, but apparently it didn't count as a slide nor a high kick. I'll have to ask some officials at my next few games. It was easily one of my greatest goals to date. I'll have to make a list of them some day.

I've been working on a few other skills to suplement being lucky while on the field. One of them, the Trivela, is surprisingly handy given its asthetic value.

Sure, I can't hit it like that...

I took about a 50 yard free kick using this, and managed to pick out a head on the far post. Pretty good considering I didn't have much room to manuever. I put a ton of spin on it, too. I imagine this becoming a great tool for me.

Other than my personal performance, the Eagles game was routine, aside from the fact that we won 4-2. Most of our players played terribly, leaving HUGE gaps in the defense and not moving on offense. At half time, two of our players got in a fight because one wanted to switch sides as striker, and the other just told him to man up and put up with his defender, who roughed him up.

At least we got that elusive second win.

I grabbed some food after that game, then headed to the Coverall to play with Team Gigantic. We had a game against one of our friendly rivals and league leaders, Sabres. Strangely enough, they are only rivals because of Derek, who declared them so after he realized Greg on the other team and I were old pals on our high school soccer team. They creamed us the first half, 7-2. I was not into it due to fatigue, and the entire team played badly. In the second half, either they took the foot off the gas, we stepped up, or both of the aforementioned things happened, because we ended up losing the half 1-0. I personally played better at that point, as that was when runner's high seemed to kick in. I was able to beat people with ease, and have many shots, though few were on target. I also went a little crazy and laid down underneath the bench, which was a bad idea, but I wanted rest. All in all, we lost 8-2, but I did as good as I could, having very little sleep and enough rest time between games to make me feel like I was not tired.

It hit me later, at Jay's house, after we watched the taped version of last year's championship final, and after Matt and I decided to play some strange combination of pool and snooker with our hands, trying to bend the pool balls. Matt and I did this for about an hour.

I got home at four, let my dog out, then passed out. Big game tonight, though. AFC Soccer plays in the quarter finals of the championship at Skylight. I'm trying hard not to get nervous about it, but it's tough. Ahh well, at least it'll take my mind off that essay due tomorrow.