I was waiting for a phone call from someone in Toronto on Monday. In the middle of the afternoon, I did get a call, but I didn’t recognize the number and the area code was 818—San Fernando Valley (a.k.a., Los Angeles). “Who would be calling me from there?” Continue reading “Oh. My. Gawd!”
He should’ve been wearing a World Cup
It happened when I was watching the Ecuador-Croatia game on ESPN this morning (I think I could pass as a “Non-Violent, Non-Drinking Soccer Hooligan”… assuming that’s not an inherent contradiction…). I didn’t mind the commentary provided during the game, but because of a tragic event that occurred on the field, I came to the conclusion that one of the guys skipped too many classes in Anatomy 101.
During the second half, Croatia took a shot on goal, the ball got deflected and eventually headed towards midfield, then the camera zoomed in on an Ecuadoran player lying on the ground with AGONY written all over his face. (And it was written in team colors, no less…) A replay from a camera behind the net showed the shot, the back of the player as the ball hit him somewhere in the waist area and him immediately collapsing onto the turf.
As the cameras kept switching between replays and the live shot of the Ecuadoran player nursing his injury, the commentator explained that “when you get hit in the stomach, the lower stomach, it just knocks the wind out of you.” However, the attentive viewer should have disregarded that because the player wasn’t clutching his abdomen—he was lying on his back, grimacing and sticking his hand down the front of his shorts. Repeatedly.
And in case that wasn’t enough evidence to prove where the impact actually occurred, the camera showed him again as he was walking off the field under his own power (which I thought was pretty impressive under the circumstances)—he was smiling at the medics as he took a water bottle, pulled out the front of his shorts and squirted some water down into his crotch. That’s not getting hit in the stomach, my friends. Not at all.
But then I thought about it and wondered what the commentator could have said instead. ESPN is generally a family-friendly TV station, so I’m not sure he would have been allowed to say what most guys were thinking: “When you get hit in the nuts with a soccer ball like that, it hurts like hell. My eyes are watering just thinking about the pain he’s in. I hope he’s not expecting to have any more kids in the future. I wonder if he’ll ever walk ag–OOF!! Why did you just elbow me?! All I’m saying is that he’ll probably be pissing blood for a couple wee–OUCH!! Quit hitting me, asshole! You wanna find out how he’s feeling down there? He feels like THIS!! Ha! Suck it, bitch! Huh? Oh, hey there, security guy. What’s up? Whaddya mean, how much have I been drinking? I’ve just been up in here talking about the game—leave those empties alone! I can get a quarter back from the store if I bring ‘em back! Hey, lemme go! What, you wanna know how he’s feeling, too? I can show you exactly… wh-what’s that? It looks like pepper spr-AAAAHH!! MY EYES!! FUCK YOU, ESPN!!”
Nope, that definitely wouldn’t go over very well. Much better to say the player got hit in the stomach, get his quarter back from the store at the end of the game and sleep it off until tomorrow. Then he could wake up, clutch his throbbing head and try to remember if hangovers were covered during Anatomy 101 as well.
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Man, that looks like it hurts…
I’d like to take a moment to thank The Powers That Be for making me a sturdy person.
I was playing soccer this afternoon and collided with someone. More specifically, my kneecap collided with his. You could hear the *CRACK* from across the field (at least I assume so—given that I was involved in the accident, I only know it was loud). He fell to the turf. I stayed upright, watching the guy hold his knee and roll around in pain. He needed help getting off the field. I stood around and waited for the game to start up again.
I’m not that big—about 195 pounds—but I’ve yet to run into or get kicked by someone on a soccer field and not jump right back up again. Conversely, I’ve left several opposing players on the ground who… well, they didn’t get right back up again. And I’m not even a thug anymore. I’m trying to develop a little finesse, learning how to maneuver and dribble the ball around people instead of barreling into them. If you flash back about a decade, I didn’t bother with that crap—I played defense and I could rumble with the best of them.
My favorite memory happened when I was about 16. We were playing in a tournament against the host team. They had a forward who… let’s just say he didn’t appreciate the art of defensive thuggery. As I kept pressuring him, he got more and more pissed off. It eventually came to a head when our arms got linked together at the elbow. Instead of letting go and running towards the ball, he tried pulling through my arm. Well, that was just plain silly—I kept my arm locked and pulled back. Neither of us let go and after a few more tugs, he spun around and punched me in the throat.
Why is that my favorite memory? A couple reasons:
- That was the first time I was directly responsible for someone getting a red card and thus kicked out of a game.
- It was one of my best acting gigs ever. After he hit me, I stumbled backwards, grabbed my throat and bent over at the waist (that way, no one could see me smiling as the linesman went to tell the center referee what happened).
- The final score was 1-1, but we played them again for the championship. Because of the red card, he had to sit out and watch from the sidelines as we won 3-1.
That doesn’t make me a bad person, does it? Enjoying the fact that I took advantage of his frustration? I mean, just because I was bumping him around doesn’t mean he’s allowed to take a swing at me. Think about Star Wars—Greedo and Han Solo are facing off outside the bar, talking smack until Greedo whips out his gun and shoots first. Then the ref runs up and gives him a red card. Okay, maybe it didn’t happen quite like that, but give a man a degree of poetic license here!
But the reason I mention it is because I’m becoming a little less “hands-on” while playing soccer now, trying to dance around Greedo and keeping the gun in its holster. It’s worked to a degree—I haven’t been punched in the throat in over ten years—but sometimes people don’t appreciate the effort I’m making. Sometimes they play really aggressively and someone’s going to get victimized. When that happens… sometimes you gotta cap ‘em. Pun intended.
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Injuries can be fun!
While playing soccer during the last few months, I’ve strained a few muscles, cramped up a couple times, developed bumps, bruises, rug burns, and a variety of other injuries, but I picked up my favorite during a game tonight. Continue reading “Injuries can be fun!”
