Maybe it's the incredible beating we take each Thursday. Maybe it's the lack of players. Or the amount of running with minimal--actually, no--no reward. Just punishment. It's cold out and my legs hurt and I just want to sit at home and eat some queso.
We're not unsung heroes. We're 90-pound weaklings. And I'm sick of getting dirt kicked in my face.
And so it was last night, when I was asked to leave a soccer game for the second time in my life. Am I proud of myself? Maybe a little. It sure felt good. Nothing like throwing a guy to the ground to work out a little pent out aggression. Besides taking off your Oakland Raiders belly-baring sweatshirt and pumping iron in the dark in tight acid-washed jeans as the sweat pours out of your luxuriously thick mullet and glistens on your giant, barabarian chest while your beautiful neighbor sits smoking and listening on the other side of the wall, smiling seductively at the primal sounds of you pumping a literal ton of iron. Of course.
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5 comments:
i just wrote the most beautiful sentence of my life.
That was astonishing. Well done, sir, well done.
I for one am proud to know you Josh you are as Nick says, one though cookie!
I miss me some db.
the fact of the matter is mac daddy is a mac daddy. and by that I mean that he will kick anyone's ass into the ground at any time, anywhere. just when you thought macnanimous was just this soft spoken, kind hearted, non-boozing (unlike wannabe tough guy dick trickle), whispering sweet nothings lover man, out math-ing your lame know nothing ass (our resident genius)...it turns out he also can defend the likes of any co-rec team losing 10-0 when they are out numbered 11-8. In short, Mac-and-yummy-cheese is a pure master of all that life can throw at him.
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