So tomorrow we play the Bone Crushers. Yes, that is their team name. And currently they're undefeated, so I guess they've earned it. (We're the Hawks, remember? Nice Muir-style nature imagery.)
Oh, and I know one of the moms.
Why is it when I know a parent on the other team, suddenly I care even more whether or not we get slaughtered? (Did I say slaughtered? No more negative talk from me, no ma'am.)
So we had a few busy practices. Tonight the boys were all over the place, so I laid into D. Yes, Coach's son. He's the only one I can lay into with impunity. Except he was even more all over the place than the others, and he punted a ball into my sternum. Don't worry, I'm fine.
So why does any of this even involve me? Why are my emotions the subject of this post? I ran some drills with them. I consulted my assistant coach about rules I didn't know. I did my part. It's up to the boys now, right?
After practice, in the twilight, the Coach from last week's game (4-0, them), came over and said, "Tough game." Then he proceeded to tell me about his daughter's team last year and how they lost the first few games and won all the rest. "Sometimes it just takes a while for them to kick in." (Somehow he was able to flex his muscles with every statement he made. How is that even possible?)
So that's his story. Except I kept thinking about the other teams that must've turned to losing after their initial wins. And then I thought, Hey, why is this guy saying this to me? Does he feel sorry for me?
Well, he should. For now.
But these Bone Crushers better be ready. Because if I there's one thing, it's that there's a whole lot of bones in the human foot alone, and we have 18 of them -- so they better be ready! There work is cut out for them.
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