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.
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.
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.
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