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.