The problem with sport as a metaphor is there are times when it’s just that: a metaphor. Sports can’t fix your non-sports life. They can help you think about it in new or insightful ways but they can’t change a thing. This week my non-metaphorical existence—the one that makes up the 167 hours in a week that aren’t the 1 hour of futbol match—took precedence and I haven’t had time for the write-up.
I’d say “sorry,” but it would be disingenuous. I’m not sorry. Sometimes real life blows up in your face and you have to run around looking for the pieces and putting out fires. That’s life and so is your club getting steamrolled for absolutely no discernable reason whatsoever.
I have no idea why Transformers thumped us so good. Their level of talent didn’t appear to exceed our own to any great degree. But make no mistake about it, they kicked our butts. Our lone goal came when Elliot—our keeper— got the ball and ran it all the way down the pitch and scored on a shot he took from inside the Transformers’ box. I think that says it all.
Next week’s game is against our sister club, King Vidor’s Double Ataris. Most of your ¡FUTURISMOS! have played for the Double Ataris at some point and vice versa It will be a kind of Super Homecoming Family Reunion. All goals will be celebrated World Cup style. The pitch will be alive with chatter. Everyone will laugh. Most people will dance. And for one hour our un-non-metaphorical lives won’t exist.
Behold, the power of sport makes 1 more valuable than 167.
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