soccer report

[rone]

Centavo returned to the path of victory by defeating Silicon Valley United 8-1.  The difference?  We had practically the whole roster there; fresher guys defend better, which led to me looking real good because i could focus on one thing at a time.  Even the one goal we gave up came on a chaotic scuffle and the ball glanced off my glove.  SVU's attackers charged into me at least three times, but not maliciously.  My guys made whiny noises, but the ref made the easy and correct call each time, and i immediately helped the SVU guys up (that's how i show what a SUPERHERO i am, "YOUR PUNY CHARGES ARE LIKE SO MANY FLIES SMACKING A WINDOW").  We also got lucky; just about every close call went our way.  SVU didn't help themselves by making many slide tackles (which are verboten).  Early on, we made their goalie work hard, and he had a lot of nice saves, and he got screwed by his defenders on some of the goals (one notable goal came on a free kick where the two guys forming the wall split and let the ball through towards the undefended part of the goalmouth).

It feels good to win again, even though i took a good knock on my right triceps.  One more game left in the session, and i hope it's a good one.

Comments

[ronebofh.livejournal.com]

Oh, i've read enough sports reports to know that any knock to the head is bad news. I would take my ass to a hospital... i have enough brain damage.

[eejitalmuppet.livejournal.com]

To be blunt, after the knock to the head, you're in no condition to make those decisions. I didn't play on out of bravery, but I had been smacked upside the head, so the possibility of alternatives didn't occur to me. Hell, thought of any description barely occurred to me.[1] This is why you need someone else on the team to make the smart decision.


[1] In a vaguely related theme, a few years ago I keeled over while packing for a weekend trip (and cut my head open while falling). No obvious reason was found, but that isn't the point. I awoke on the floor, vague and fuzzy, and vaguely remembered packing. So, packing resumed as if nothing had happened, until blood ran down from the back of my head, round my neck and onto the bag. A shortened version of the thought process would be something like, "Hm, blood, weird. Better clean that up, I suppose . . . Waitaminute, why was i lying on the floor over there?" A check of the clock, a rough guess at how long I had been out for, and I called for an ambulance, perhaps 15 minutes after I regained consciousness.[2] Without that cut, which was medically insignificant, it might never have registered that I had spent a while unconscious: people do strange things after they've been out.

[2] In the range of 5-10 minutes. I probably wouldn't have bothered with the ambulance if there was a flat-mate around to inform, but keeling over again, on my own, seemed like a bad idea.