Abrío la cabeza

I really.
Really.
Really.
Hate soccer.

I hate being bad at stuff, first of all, and if there's one sport on the planet I wasn't meant to play, it was soccer. I haven't got the aptitude for it. I have logic, I have basic math skills, above-par science skills, a decent vocabulary, a dry sense of humour, and (for most people anyway) a genuine concern about my fellow man. Even if I'm not exactly emotional and sypathetic about it, I can care for others. I could be a doctor, a journalist, a scientist, a psychologist- but I could never be a professional soccer player. And let's face it- would I want to? It's a waste of any of my other perfectly well-honed abilities. I'm not saying this to brag, pul-ease... I'm just pointing out that never in my life have I ever harboured outrageous dreams of being a professional soccer player.

Soccer is a good sport. Don't get me wrong- it takes real skill and endurance (neither of which I have, by the way). But it's not that which ruins every soccer experience of my life. Skill? I haven't got any, particularly as a keeper, but I can ad lib pretty much anything at this point. Endurance? Granted my body is basically falling apart, but I do my best, I really do, and even if that doesn't help me keep up with the rest of the team, I do it, right?

No, it's the mental game that I hate. Not so much the mental game against the other team, that I can handle. They are meant to be your enemies, you must fight them, win win win, yadda yadda. And this year I'm even feeling more a part of the team. But I don't think that you should feel like your fighting your own coaches. I know I suck really bad. I've come to terms with that. But still, I'm not to sure that gives the coaches the right to laugh at me behind my back and viciously blame everything on me. I mean, yeah, okay, a hell of a lot of stuff is my fault. But not everything is. Aren't the other people on the team supposed to look out for each other, yell at one another what needs to be done, lend support to one another, etc. And they do, I'm not debating that point. However, it seems as though suddenly the entire team cannot function without my wisdom and insights. Aparentally I am the one who has to direct the entire force of the field. Now I'm not saying that I am without this responsiblity at all, but um, hello, aren't the coaches supposed to do that? I can't even see what the bloody forwards are doing half the time, thanks to our superb field conditions, so how do you expect me to order them into combat? I can't yell that loud- I'm sorry, but it's hard to hear someone that's 120 yards away no matter what, and you expect me to be able to yell over the cries of 22 other field players, about five coaches, and however many people are on the sidelines? Not to mention the slew of irate parents.

I have several solutions in mind. One is that I could get my vocal chords removed. Granted, you're supposed to get sick first, but I could probably come across that particular strain of bacteria, I'm so apt to illness as it is. That would be a large blow of irony on the coaches, after telling me to yell louder, if I suddenly lost use of my voice for about three weeks. Another is any other sort of perilous injury that they oculdn't even weasel me in for- such as a broken bone, a sudden bout of diptheria, or a fractured skull. A final, however not to appealing option is death. However, that limits future endeavours and makes my first paragraph pretty much completely moot.

On further reflection, I notice the irony that surrounds this team. Poor Summer was hurt since the summer (odd sentance, I know). They took Sheila on the team partially in hopes that she could take over as keeper in the future, but alas, second scrimmage in and she's got a fractured wrist. Then Karen, our ultimate auxilary keeper, freakishly pulls her leg and can't even play for the time being. Carly is the only JV keep, they can't do anything with her... so what are their other options? Ellen? I find their ironic necessity for me both amusing and catastrophic. Amusing because I think they deserve the horrid plight they're in, and catastrophic because it means that I actually have to play.

Maybe if they ever get weened off their bitch pills and stop destroying my already fragile self-esteem (in the soccer realm anyway) I could pull together a little confidence and suck less profoundly.

However, until they do that (aka never) I will continue to be nervous and hesitant, and all in all a sucktastic keeper.

amen, sister.

This is our lives on Holiday

Summer vacation draws so near to a close. And I'm an idiot who felt the overwhelming need to fall asleep for three hours earlier today, and thus I cannot sleep now.

So I shall relay the interests of my day. I spend the morning and afternoon forcing myself to read- I actually got a lot done, and that's probably what I should be doing right now. Then, after waking up from my stupid nap, and being forced to endure family time, I walked to St. B's, the old alumni, and met up with Tricia and various bandos. I almost feel mean, everytime I hang out with them I'm just like "oh, the bandos". But yeah, the carnival was just as lame as last year, perhaps lamer with its lack of jousting and its two dollar rip off snowcones.

So after about half an hour, Tricia, Renee, Roland, and Alexander (look! They have names! They are not just bandos 1-4) came over and we sort of chillaxed in the comfort of my basement. Others, including Carly Koss and Magaret showed up later on, but they could only stay for a little while. AKA like ten seconds.

So by now it's about 10:30, and I come online ,and Cait asks if I'm going to Mary's, and I was thinking "a bit late, now, isn't it?" but nay, it's never too late for a bonfire, so Cait picked me up at around 11 and we drove out to elyria. That was cool, so I got back at one. And then I talked online and attempted to sleep, and an hour later, I gave up, and here I am, typing another useless bloge entry.

Um, well. That's all. I htink I may do more reading?

yeah sure.