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.
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.
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