A DARK BEGININNG
The final ¡FUTURISMOS! game had a most inauspicious start. Our opponent was Von Raschke’s All Stars. I petitioned the league to schedule our finale against VRAS both because we played them in our most thrilling game of the season (a 2-2 tie in which they leveled in the final minute: see blog entry from 05/06) and they were a great natured lot. Alas, VRAS were a little short at game time only having 5 players plus the keeper. They were one lady short.
“No problem,” you may be saying to yourself aloud right now. “The ¡FUTURISMOS! are famous for an abundance of women. Surely one of the ¡F! ladies would happily side with VRAS both so there could be a proper game AND because VRAS were a good natured lot.”
That’s what I thought.
Katie, a CSC Sports official, and the Captain of VRAS approached to request a lady as we were huddled up before the game. They asked me, the ¡F! Captain, if we might loan them a lady for the game so we could make a sporting go of the season finale. Seeing as we had so many and they so few I granted the request without a moment’s consideration.
The ¡FUTURISMOS! ladies were all standing behind me. I turned around and asked who would play with VRAS.
They replied in unison, “No. It’s the final game of the season and we want to play with our team. It wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”
I explained that if one of them didn’t play for VRAS there would be no game and therefore there would nothing for anyone to think fun much less think anything else.
Again they replied, “No. It’s the final game of the season and we want to play with our team.”
In the light of obstinacy I made a command decision. We would settle this with a round of Bubblegum, Bubblegum, In A Dish and demanded they all stick a foot out.
Once more they held firm, “No.”
I expect this sort of sheepish selfishness from the likes of Hermione and Stilts (aka Platinum Platter), but ¿Li’l Pete? I wasn’t devastated. No, it was worse—I was disappointed.
Now is the appropriate time to acknowledge I attempted to retire from the ¡FUTURISMOS! a few weeks back. We have improved to the point where we can reasonably expect to play well and even win most every game we play. Dynamo would still lay a hurtin’ on us, but at full strength on a good day we could make them work for it. But a funny thing happened on the way to futbol proficiency: efficacy varies inversely with silliness and turns out I care not for the former and the world for the later.
We had a team meeting. I addressed these concerns with the club and there was widespread agreement that we had lost touch with silliness and we would make a concerted effort to both win and be silly. Placated I withdrew my resignation.
Yet there I was, pleading with half my team to be good sports and play with a worthy opponent for the greater good. ¿And what was a getting? Flack. ¡OY! So in the face of this dismal display of poor sportspersonship I did the only thing I could. As captain of the ¡FUTURISMOS! I can consent to opponent requests. I proactively gave VRAS permission to play with one man who declared himself a lady, declared myself a lady and joined VRAS.
Your ¡FUTURISMOS! cried foul and howled in protest. “It’s not right. ¡Not you! You can’t play for them. ¡It’s the last game of the season!”
I was vexed. It was as though the ¡FUTURISMOS! had collectively lost the ability to reason—a common symptom of crowd logic—and could not grasp the reality of the situation. If one of the ¡FUTURISMOS! didn’t play with VRAS there would be no last game of the season. Period. Nothing for anyone to enjoy.
The correct-est thing would have been for a lady to play with them. That wasn’t going to happen and I would have been damned had I not salvaged the game for the greater good of everyone (the ¡FUTURISMOS!, VRAS, CSC Sports, futbol itself, the spirit of play, the very nature of the human soul). So I swapped out my Argentine Blue & Cloud White jersey for a plain white t-shirt and took up sides with my opponent.
One last time: Shame on every ¡FUTURISMO! lady in attendance of the season finale. Not playing with VRAS was poor form.
Enough of that. On to the game.
THE FIRST HALF
[Details are in short supply this week because I didn’t have time to encode much because I had to play significantly more than usual.]
Before anyone out there cries foul about this not being a real game on account of VRAS being short handed (they had the requisite 7 but no subs), let it be known this game was practically speaking over by the 12th minute. The first two ¡FUTURISMOS! goals came within the first 3 minutes and a third was scored somewhere around the 12th. That is to say the score was 3-0 before VRAS—including yours truly—were properly winded.
Elliot and TB scored the first two goals. I can’t remember who scored first. Both goals were mini-breaks with numbers but not all-out jailbreaks where two or three ¡FUTURISMOS! were bearing down on a defenseless keeper. Sohei assisted on both goals (I think… I know he assisted twice).
Around the 12th minute (the midpoint of the first half) Hassle notched her first nugget of the season. ¿What happened? I don’t remember. I just know I was defending on the weak side when she scored. And so it came to pass that the ¡FUTURISMO! most deserving a goal was granted one. I told ya’ll it was only a matter of time before the gods deemed her worthy of the gift.
HALF TIME: ¡FUTURISMOS! 3 — VON RASCHKE’S ALL STARTS 0
The spirits of VRAS were not broken at the half. They were certainly a touch fatigued but far from extinguished. Big Pete offered to switch with me and be the honorary VRAS member for the second half. I declined but he insisted it was for the greater good that I spend the second half with the ¡FUTURISMOS! (and that it was a good trade for VRAS was no doubt somewhere in the back of his mind). So I bid my VRAS comrades adieu and re-upped with the ¡FUTURISMOS!
THE SECOND HALF
Elliot scored his second goal of the game sometime after the 34th minute making the game 4-0. If memory serves it was a classic long distance Elliot dive bomb special. According to Elliot it was meant to be a cross but either he kicked it funny or the wind got it. It happens. Zidane’s “assist” in Zidane: A 21st Century Portrait was clearing a shot that someone just got in the way of. It’s part of the game. But I could be wrong about that.
The VRAS goal was a few minutes latter (maybe I have the goals backwards) and the direct result of Li’l Pete being out of the game. I think she took herself out just to get someone else on for season finale some time. In the resulting vacuum before we Li’l Pete-less defenders got our act together a VRAS guy found himself a good look from 25-feet out and put it in the upper left corner.
That was about it.
IN THE END A FITTING CONCLUSION TO THE SEASON
Despite its ominous prelude this was a perfect game to finish the season with. The combination of the VRAS circumstances and the 2 quick ¡FUTURISMOS! goals meant this game quickly became fun for fun’s sake. Despite the fact that all of our games are in reality fun for fun’s sake it’s easy to loose track of that from time to time. Had I the foresight I would have prayed to the Gods for just such a game. As always, the Gods were one step ahead. “Thank you, Apollo.”
LI’L PETE AWARD
Nobody’s getting it this week. Not because nobody deserved it but because I don’t know who to give it to. Watching half the game from the VRAS perspective made it difficult to follow who was doing what well for the ¡FUTURISMOS! I’d just give it to Li’l Pete but that’s a cop out.
¿You know what? Never mind. VRAS is getting the Li’l Pete Award. With only 7 people total they played a good game. And both of their ladies played the game preceding ours then the 3 guys played a game after. Good show. That's the Li'l Pete Spirit.
FAUSTIAN MOMENT: SERBIAN SQUEAL
It’s late in the game and the ¡FUTURISMOS! are on the attack. We have numbers. It’s looking good. The ball is kicked to the Serbian and she’s set to receive it on the run about 20 feet from the VRAS goal.
The ball took a hop and bounced hard off her shin guard shooting toward the end line. The Serbian squealed in shock. Then to her credit she ran as hard as she could those 20-feet to retrieve it but the dye was cast, the ball lost. Hermione and I were both within 10-feet of her at the time and burst out laughing at the sound and sight.
¡OH!, that brief squeal. Like Team Monday’s 16, it was as though she had been startled by false scare in a horror movie. It belied that she was absolutely engaged mind, body and spirit in receiving that ball and that its unfortunately bounce was a stunning affront to her intentions. Even for the likes of Ronaldinho and Kaká sometimes the ball takes a funny hop and scoots away. The Serbian’s response was appropriate—one I suspect Ronaldinho and Kaká are well acquainted with—and one that had Dr. Faust been on hand he would have yelled “¡STOP!” to the nearby Lucifer and traded his soul for right then and there.
Thank you, Serbian.
¿DON’T YOU WANT TO PLAY?
I don’t know where the ref was from but he was outstanding. I couldn’t place his accent, he sounded Caribbean-ish, but a couple of things he said made me thing maybe he was either Central or South American. I reckon he was 25, give or take. He kept things moving and left no doubt as to his rulings. During the game he’d even occasionally give pointers or compliments to the players.
At one point I kicked a through ball that none of my teammates could catch up with and it went out of bounds. I turned around to walk back to my position with my head down and he said “No. Get your head up. That was a good ball.” I pointed out it had gone out of bounds. He replied, “You just saw the opportunity before they did. It was good ball.”
I loved that guy.
So late in the game, right after the VRAS goal as a matter of fact, we had just put the ball in play when an errant futbol sailed onto the pitch rolling near the game ball we were playing with. Elliot stopped and put his foot on the game ball. The ref ran over and booted the errant ball off the pitch. Elliot then passed the game ball to the ref to reset play. The ref one-touched it back to Elliot and said “game on.”
Elliot stood dumbfounded with the ball for a moment before saying something like “¿don’t you want to reset it?”
The ref replied without hesitation, “¿Don’t you want play?”
This exchange froze everyone on the pitch for a moment of existential reflection.
“¿Don’t you want to play?”
Elliot replied with the only correct answer—He took off with the ball dancing beneath his feet.
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