The most constant montra preached by Coach Estes throughout this roller coaster season has been "this is just another step." Though one of his favorite movies is, I'm almost positive, the classic Bill Murray film, "What About Bob," where Bob, played by the now versatile Murray learns to overcome his hang-ups, which include everything from germaphobia to the habit of spontaneous and meaningless cursing by employing the simple technique of "baby steps" ("baby step to the door. Baby step onto the sidewald. Baby step onto the bus."), I don't think that is what inspired Coach to preach this message. "This is just another step," was not only a statement for our season and something he said before and after each game, but a statement for life and the continuing saga that it is. That is what Coach believes because he's lived life to the fullest and realizes that every minute, every conversation, every task accomplished or failed "is just another step," in this walk of life. And that is the way the purple pigs of the greatest town on earth, Walhalla, South Carolina, went about their impressive season. They relished the victories and suffered through the losses. But the next practice or game following was always a new day and their heads didn't get too big and neither did despair set in. They suffered injuries, tamale capers, gale force winds, multiple-personality disorders, playing on a beach, crazed, bearded leprachaun shenanigans, insults from hillbillies, yuppies and two girls at McDonald's in Pickens, McDonald's hamburgers, dehydration tactics in Worstminster, bad referees, worse referees, referees that double as horse jockeys, and much, much more with humor, togetherness, and by singing rousing renditions of "Sponge-Bob Square Pants" to sooth their embattled souls.
Coach Mike commented the other day that he has never been apart of a team that had such a high level of commeraderie and good will toward each member of the team. These razorbacks are a true family; and that closeness was obvious from the time they started working out in October through all the bus trips, games and practices until the end of the season. You are a rare bunch of young men and a joy for Coach Estes and myself to be a part of. You have taught us much.
Though all of us will be sad to know that the six oldest brothers from our family will be moving on and exploring the unknown regions of what is beyond "the Beach" and Walhalla High School, we know that they are all "just taking another step." Their steps are going to now be in a different direction, but we will always be linked together in our walk of life because of what we have gone through together.
We bid farewell to Tom "Finchy" Warner and thank him for teaching us about diligence and hard work and always having a desire to improve. We say adios to Andrew "The Jet" Broome and thank him for letting us in on the secret that he is left footed and loves to play hot, scorching balls into the box for people to tee off on. We bid adieu to Daniel Van der Ginn, who has now changed his name to the more American sounding Daniel Guinn, to the shagrin of his lovely parents, and thank him for his quiet leadership and what he showed us about being a true sportsman even in the face of insults. Oh and also how to be frugal when dining on the road. We say sayonara to Eric "Moxie" Moxley and thank him for showing us how to take a hard criticism and go out and become better and not bitter about it. We say, catch ya on the flip side good buddy to Cory "Captain Clutch" Champion, and thank him for teaching us all about fashion sense and for his pithy suggestions and contributions to this blog. I have to credit him with the whole plethora of different beards idea. Very funny stuff. Maybe you'll write your own blog someday. And last but not least, we say aloha to Michael "the mad hatter" Calderra for teaching us about being a team player and always being ready when called on. You had a great little season. We send you off with all the love in our hearts. Come back and visit us often and keep us in the loop of your life always. Good luck and God bless you all.
Here is to an eventful and spectacular season purple pigs. Good luck this summer. Also, a hearty thanks goes out to all the parents of the players, other family members, students, faculty, people who helped in concessions and at the gate and in other ways not seen but felt. And a special note of gratitude goes out to Mikes wife Laura, and his kids Thad, Mary Grace and Lydia, and to my wife Lindsay, and my kids Isaiah, Ira, Jude and little Jack for being so supportive and for sacrificing some of our time together for the program. You are what keeps us going and we love you with all of our hearts.
j
Friday, May 16, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Walhalla Big Pigs, 4; Palmetto State Trees, 0. Walhalla mini-pigs, 7; saplings, 1.
Now for the fun stuff. (And please understand, everything written in the soccer entries is all in good fun.) But before I begin, everyone who reads this blog should know that the entry below is something that Coach Estes would echo whole-heartedly. More than making all of our young men into great soccer players, his primary concern is that each of these fine kids be molded into fine young men who display sportsmanship at all costs, and class in the face of classlessness. Don't get me wrong, he is a raving, soccer-loving lunatic who wears his old cleats he wore in college to bed on game nights (he's in denial about this) even though he is far past his good old playin' days (This drives poor Laura crazy, as you would imagine. So she began hiding them to save herself from the bruises to her feet she would get from Mikes studs in the middle of the night. But because Mike would then howl at the moon without his cleats, she has since given them back, sacrificing her delicate feet for the sleep she must have to be able to deal with Thad and his shenanigans on a daily basis.). But he is more interested in character, than merely winning soccer matches.
In the Razorbacks first game of the evening, the young JV team put on a dazzling display of ball movement and finishing prowess as they completely dismantled a game and ready Palmetto club, who had come to "the beach" with their sand-pails in hand and their surf boards waxed. No one told them that we didn't actually have any waves, or even any water, so I think the disappointment they felt sort of threw them off for the first 15 minutes or so, during which time young Ovi Espino, or "the Latin Assassin," as he is known in these parts notched a hat trick with some beautiful finishes in front of the goal on balls played across the six by our wings who were in top form all game long. We also got goals from Cristian "the matador" Romero and Steven "Stayin' Alive" Lopez who discoed his way into the box to Andy Gibb his first goal of the season home in thrilling, falsetto fashion. If only he could have been wearing his white tie and dancing shoes. Congratulations to Steven for putting one in as reward for all the shots he has prevented from going in to our own goal. It was great to see everyone on the team get significant playing time. You all played well and the work you have put into your game this season showed Monday night. Good job.
One moment now while I replace my short, contemplative, "boy band" chin strap beard with one more suited to the subject now at hand. I like to call it my deep probing, contextualizing, searching for the key to all that exists (which we know partly to simply be "utilization") beard. A serious beard deserves a very long title like Coach Estes' official, though truncated title - Chief Hog in charge of soccer operations which include administrating, coaching, yelling when necessary, keeping little Napoleanito at a manageable size and monitoring his antics by minimizing the amount of profiteering that he is allowed to do on road trips, keeping track, which includes sorting, color-coding, washing, conditioning and combing, Coach Steele's plethora of splendid beards, head carpenter, janitor, bottle-washer and chairman of the board. The plaque on his desk cost him $422.34, and it would have been more if he would have given them the extended title which is actually too long to reproduce in it's entirety at this juncture. Bless his little heart.
Anywho, "the beach," Monday night, after being set on fire by the mini-pigs, provided the perfect setting for Hogs vs. State Trees II, the first match being a knock down drag out that Walhalla came back from a 3-1 deficit, Joe Frazier style, to win 4-3, despite having the tip of its collective ear bitten off and surviving a barrage of rabbit punches in the effort. Walhalla needed the win to seal away the conference title and continue to forge a new legacy of excellence and well, downright wonderfulness. The Pigs were resplendent in their white uniforms as they took the field with little napoleanito side-saddled on a white steed...hold on, sorry, that's what we had planned, but the steed couldn't make it on account of his getting into some of his handler's Viagra 4 hours before the match. After all we do have young children in the audience. So we had to scratch that, but we still looked marvelous nonetheless. The hogs mostly played cat and mouse the first half but managed a Daniel Van der Ginn goal on a beautiful cross played in by Hong Kong Phooey Flores who would assist Daniel again in the second half.
The hogs came out of the locker room to start the second half in full throat and lit up with desire to show the fans what they could really do. I would describe our play as Tasmanian devil on Valium, wild and ferocious, yet a controlled sort of ferociousness. If a guitar amp goes all the way to 10, we were 11 (that's for all you Spinal Tap aficionados out there). The next 40 minutes we seriously threw the kitchen sink at them. I distinctly recall number 100 getting hit with a runaway strainer right in the forehead. The purple pigs were able to notch 3 more tallies with goals from Eric "Moxie" Moxley, assisted by an incredible, lofted through-ball from "The Rock" or as I like to call him now, "Sisoko Jr. (of Juventus)" Martinez, Van der Ginn and The Flying Tostada off a Jose Arquiza assist. Walhalla consistently got numbers around the ball and found wings who made great penetrating runs all night. Defensively, we transitioned well and consistently got 1st, 2nd and 3rd defenders around Palmetto's skilled attacker and midfielders, ultimately stultifying and stymieing any semblance of an attack they tried to mount. Coach Estes said to the team after the game that they had come of age and were now primed to make a serious run into the play-offs.
The hogs certainly are chomping at the bit, but for the next two nights, just how much progress they have made will be tested as they go up against powerhouses Christ Church, who beat us 6-0 at home, and Southside Christian who beat us 4-2 respectively. We play Christ Church tonight at 7:00 after the varsity girls at their place, and Southside tomorrow night at 7:00 at "the beach." Don your purple and come on out to cheer your purple pigs to victory.
j
In the Razorbacks first game of the evening, the young JV team put on a dazzling display of ball movement and finishing prowess as they completely dismantled a game and ready Palmetto club, who had come to "the beach" with their sand-pails in hand and their surf boards waxed. No one told them that we didn't actually have any waves, or even any water, so I think the disappointment they felt sort of threw them off for the first 15 minutes or so, during which time young Ovi Espino, or "the Latin Assassin," as he is known in these parts notched a hat trick with some beautiful finishes in front of the goal on balls played across the six by our wings who were in top form all game long. We also got goals from Cristian "the matador" Romero and Steven "Stayin' Alive" Lopez who discoed his way into the box to Andy Gibb his first goal of the season home in thrilling, falsetto fashion. If only he could have been wearing his white tie and dancing shoes. Congratulations to Steven for putting one in as reward for all the shots he has prevented from going in to our own goal. It was great to see everyone on the team get significant playing time. You all played well and the work you have put into your game this season showed Monday night. Good job.
One moment now while I replace my short, contemplative, "boy band" chin strap beard with one more suited to the subject now at hand. I like to call it my deep probing, contextualizing, searching for the key to all that exists (which we know partly to simply be "utilization") beard. A serious beard deserves a very long title like Coach Estes' official, though truncated title - Chief Hog in charge of soccer operations which include administrating, coaching, yelling when necessary, keeping little Napoleanito at a manageable size and monitoring his antics by minimizing the amount of profiteering that he is allowed to do on road trips, keeping track, which includes sorting, color-coding, washing, conditioning and combing, Coach Steele's plethora of splendid beards, head carpenter, janitor, bottle-washer and chairman of the board. The plaque on his desk cost him $422.34, and it would have been more if he would have given them the extended title which is actually too long to reproduce in it's entirety at this juncture. Bless his little heart.
Anywho, "the beach," Monday night, after being set on fire by the mini-pigs, provided the perfect setting for Hogs vs. State Trees II, the first match being a knock down drag out that Walhalla came back from a 3-1 deficit, Joe Frazier style, to win 4-3, despite having the tip of its collective ear bitten off and surviving a barrage of rabbit punches in the effort. Walhalla needed the win to seal away the conference title and continue to forge a new legacy of excellence and well, downright wonderfulness. The Pigs were resplendent in their white uniforms as they took the field with little napoleanito side-saddled on a white steed...hold on, sorry, that's what we had planned, but the steed couldn't make it on account of his getting into some of his handler's Viagra 4 hours before the match. After all we do have young children in the audience. So we had to scratch that, but we still looked marvelous nonetheless. The hogs mostly played cat and mouse the first half but managed a Daniel Van der Ginn goal on a beautiful cross played in by Hong Kong Phooey Flores who would assist Daniel again in the second half.
The hogs came out of the locker room to start the second half in full throat and lit up with desire to show the fans what they could really do. I would describe our play as Tasmanian devil on Valium, wild and ferocious, yet a controlled sort of ferociousness. If a guitar amp goes all the way to 10, we were 11 (that's for all you Spinal Tap aficionados out there). The next 40 minutes we seriously threw the kitchen sink at them. I distinctly recall number 100 getting hit with a runaway strainer right in the forehead. The purple pigs were able to notch 3 more tallies with goals from Eric "Moxie" Moxley, assisted by an incredible, lofted through-ball from "The Rock" or as I like to call him now, "Sisoko Jr. (of Juventus)" Martinez, Van der Ginn and The Flying Tostada off a Jose Arquiza assist. Walhalla consistently got numbers around the ball and found wings who made great penetrating runs all night. Defensively, we transitioned well and consistently got 1st, 2nd and 3rd defenders around Palmetto's skilled attacker and midfielders, ultimately stultifying and stymieing any semblance of an attack they tried to mount. Coach Estes said to the team after the game that they had come of age and were now primed to make a serious run into the play-offs.
The hogs certainly are chomping at the bit, but for the next two nights, just how much progress they have made will be tested as they go up against powerhouses Christ Church, who beat us 6-0 at home, and Southside Christian who beat us 4-2 respectively. We play Christ Church tonight at 7:00 after the varsity girls at their place, and Southside tomorrow night at 7:00 at "the beach." Don your purple and come on out to cheer your purple pigs to victory.
j
Great essay by Fred on the sheer nonsense of evolution
I actually posted this entry on my other blog, "beencaughtsteelen.blogspot.com," but for some strange reason it posted over here on "The Purple Pig." So though not soccer related, maybe God wanted it here too. That might not be the case, but it sure was strange that when I clicked "publish post," that it published it here and not on my other blog. So anyway, hope you enjoy. To get to the article, go to "Steele Family Blog" at the right of this page and click on the URL for my other blog. Then, once on that sight, go to the links part and click on "Fred on Everything." (From here down to the end was included in my original post this morning.)When you get to his websight, go to "articles" and read his newest article, which should automatically appear on the page, entitled, "Circling the Paradigm: Protecting the Theory at all Costs," where Fred takes Darwinian theory and turns it into so much fantastical mushy mush. Thanks to Buck Simmons, my great cousin-in-law down in Georgia for pointing this piece out to me this morning. Would do all of us U.S. Americans well if we didn't swallow hook, line and sinker every ridiculous piece of nonsense we are taught by the so called "authorities" of this world. The absolute truth about everything from Iraq, to drinking water is sinking fast into a quagmire of lies. We may have to get dirty to pull it back up, but each of us needs to seek truth at all costs, especially the truth about THE TRUTH, Jesus Christ and who exactly He is, and what exactly, He says. He is not an easy truth. He is definitely not a relative truth. He is not the velvety, soft, blue eyed, "peaceful" truth that most of us were taught about in Sunday school. He came to bring a sword. He came to divide. He is not a cheap truth. But He is the only truth, and whoever will accept Him for who He is and what He shows the Father to be accepts a yoke that is light and easy to bare. Whoever will allow the Truth to cause them to stumble and then look up into the light and accept that powerful stone as the only truth that can save, and reach up to Him, He will grab your hand, dust you off and hold you like you've never been held. And you will weep uncontrollably at your smallness and His infiniteness; His crushing power and His delicate gentleness. Accept nothing but the truth, and it will set you free.
In love,
j
In love,
j
Friday, April 18, 2008
Walhalla, infinity; Crescent, 0
As I sat down in my favorite chair in front of my incredibly huge hearth still baring the stockings from Christmas upon its mantle, donned my silk smoking jacket, took off my working beard, which smelled like a chicken truck accented with subtle hints of whopper w/cheese aroma, and replaced it with my thinking beard and loaded my bubble pipe full of bubblegum scented bubble liquid, I became suddenly aware that I really am a strange little man with some very odd idiosyncrasies. After all, I had spent the evening with a bus load of high school students on a trip out into the wilds of Starr-Iva for a side-line tournament, amongst ourselves, of the ancient sport of Styro-pong (I also have a shoe fettish and enjoy dressing like a hobo). Why we went to Starr-Iva to play Styro-pong when we've got a perfectly good court right here in Walhalla still eludes me but they were very nice to invite us to their football/football field and in a show of celebration of our craft, and as a sign of respect, they wore beautiful, numbered golden tunics. They even ran around on the field in strange and indecipherable patterns trying to kick a small white orb they called a soccer ball, which absolutely amazed and bedazzled our JV team and sent them into a howling, frenzy.
Up until last week we actually had no idea what in the world Styro-pong even was. So we sent the enterprising Hiraldo "Napoleonito" Vivaldo (he makes 20 bucks every trip asking everyone for spare change which he then puts in the bottom of his shoe which then jingles merrily when he walks) and Alex "the Wizard" Cruz, who won the juggling from your derriere competion last night, on an expedition into the high country of Tibet to discover just what the secret to this ancient sport was. They returned with two Styro-foam cups, a suitcase full of Mongolian spare change and grinch-like smiles smeared out on their little faces. They seemed to be enveloped in an ethereal light and able to move as if not moving. We set up a small table for them. They each walked to opposite sides, bowed to each other out of respect and then proceeded to blow our minds with the most wicked display of dexterity, speed and skill we had ever seen. We saw their dexterity, speed and skill but we couldn't see the ball. They were hitting it so fast that the ball must have reached a state of nirvana and went invisible. Only the sound of it hitting the Styro-paddles could be heard. We became addicted to the beauty of their movements and the rythm of the pong. Then they solemnly told us, that the secret of Styro-pong is the secret to the key to all that exists and that the only way to find the secret is to play the pong. And we have been playing ever since, for our sport is not so much about competition and victory, it is about a quest for knowledge.
In a side note, the Starr-Ivanites (no relation to the extremely right-footed Ivan Hoe) challenged us and our JV boys to a friendly game of whatever they were doing out there. We found it extremely exhilerating and actually ended up winning both games by a total of infinity to zero. It was a blast and we are extremely grateful to the Starr-Ivanites for their generous hospitality and for so graciously letting us cream them at their own strange game.
We will resume our quest tonight for the elusive secret to the key to all that exists at 5:30 for the JV team and 7:00 for the Varsity. The Pendletonites of Pendleton high school will be there to support our quest. We hope you'll make it too.
J
Up until last week we actually had no idea what in the world Styro-pong even was. So we sent the enterprising Hiraldo "Napoleonito" Vivaldo (he makes 20 bucks every trip asking everyone for spare change which he then puts in the bottom of his shoe which then jingles merrily when he walks) and Alex "the Wizard" Cruz, who won the juggling from your derriere competion last night, on an expedition into the high country of Tibet to discover just what the secret to this ancient sport was. They returned with two Styro-foam cups, a suitcase full of Mongolian spare change and grinch-like smiles smeared out on their little faces. They seemed to be enveloped in an ethereal light and able to move as if not moving. We set up a small table for them. They each walked to opposite sides, bowed to each other out of respect and then proceeded to blow our minds with the most wicked display of dexterity, speed and skill we had ever seen. We saw their dexterity, speed and skill but we couldn't see the ball. They were hitting it so fast that the ball must have reached a state of nirvana and went invisible. Only the sound of it hitting the Styro-paddles could be heard. We became addicted to the beauty of their movements and the rythm of the pong. Then they solemnly told us, that the secret of Styro-pong is the secret to the key to all that exists and that the only way to find the secret is to play the pong. And we have been playing ever since, for our sport is not so much about competition and victory, it is about a quest for knowledge.
In a side note, the Starr-Ivanites (no relation to the extremely right-footed Ivan Hoe) challenged us and our JV boys to a friendly game of whatever they were doing out there. We found it extremely exhilerating and actually ended up winning both games by a total of infinity to zero. It was a blast and we are extremely grateful to the Starr-Ivanites for their generous hospitality and for so graciously letting us cream them at their own strange game.
We will resume our quest tonight for the elusive secret to the key to all that exists at 5:30 for the JV team and 7:00 for the Varsity. The Pendletonites of Pendleton high school will be there to support our quest. We hope you'll make it too.
J
Friday, April 4, 2008
Walhalla Varsity 3, West Oak 0; Walhalla Mini-me's 4, West Oak 2
All's fair in love and war....
Apparently, the West Oak Warriors have been learning the art of war from the KGB or the Gustapo. Or maybe by allowing Heckle and Jeckle, Wiley Coyote and Tom and Jerry to comprise the bulk of "edumacational" content that has been used in their schools for the last 30 years, they've put some less than sportsmanlike ideas and notions in their citizens' heads. Either that, or modern sports science hasn't yet made its way out thar to the town known by many in the Golden Corner as Worstminster, proud home of the Beef and Rib and an Ingles which never has more than one cash register open at one time...ever. Surely its the former rather than the latter even though I still think the latter is entirely feasible as was demonstrated by their trainer, Cartee Cobb, who wore no shoes and a tattered Gamecocks cap with a fishing hook proudly displayed on the brim, when he liberally applied bacon grease to everything from bloody strawberries to sprained ankles to blowouts on the toes of soccer cleats. So maybe it was nothing more than sheer ignorance, but when I saw the shriveled and gaunt Solimon (pronounced a lot like Saruman, the evil wizard in The Lord of the Rings) "the flying tostada" Garcia come to the side line at half time looking much like Christian Bale in "The Machinist" or Winston Smith, played by John Hurt at the end of George Orwell's dystopian novel made film, "1984," the conspiracy theory that West Oak uses dehydration techniques to weaken their opponents into submission began to become a reality. Yes readers, the unthinkable had happened. They had not supplied us with one drop of water. The scene from "Airplane" when the stewardess informs the people on the flight that there is no more coffee comes to mind when trying to describe what happened when I told them there would be no water and they would just have to gut it out. I thought they were going to attack me. Then in stepped the always calm and serene Mike Estes. With one quick, stinging slap across Eli "Skyywalker" Cothran's emaciated cheek he had the team's undivided attention. And then a huge bottle of Gatorade just appeared from nowhere like manna from the sky. Little did the Warriors know, they had created a monster, because everyone knows that when your whole team drinks out of the same bottle you become one giant mega team, spitting the same spit...bleeding the same blood.
O.k., I admit I got a little carried away there -- about the "bleeding the same blood" stuff. But the mega team stuff is right on the money (reminds me of the old cartoon "Voltron" where the 5 robots combine into one mega-robot -- sweet show). And we were sure thirsty. But after the miracle Gatorade satiated our palates and restored spittle to our cottony mouths we were good to go out and resume our resurfacing brilliance. Mike "The Architect" Estes had tweeked his blue-print because of a revelation he had biting into his second McDonald's cherry pie (ignore that part Laura) while plowing down highway 28 in his diesel guzzling money pit. In his brain he saw clearly the vision of Hiraldo "Napoleon" Vivaldo at the back of his vaunted defense and Jonathon "the rock" Martinez stepping up into the stopper position. Both took to their new positions like a South Carolina Gamecock athlete does to hand cuffs. Little Napoleon was in complete charge from his new vantage point and "the rock"played like he had just gotten out of school for the summer. The ball was humming again.
Alex "Hong Kong Phooey" Flores got his first goal, the team's third goal of the night, for the razorbacks when he got air born and side volleyed a ball with his left foot into the upper ninety, put across by Ishmael "FrenchMex" Martinez. Congratulations to him on a beautiful goal. Alex Cruise did anything but cruise as he turned on the after burners and drove past a defender, putting the ball through from an impossible angle on the left side with the defender draped all over him for the teams second goal. And Jonathon Martinez got the Razorbacks on the scoreboard with a well placed right footed shot right into the side netting, on the right side of the goal, from a ball that was bouncing around in the 18 yard box. The Hogs had countless shots on goal and rattled the frame at least 5 times in a game they dominated due the great play of our middies, Martinez, Van der Ginn and the human grenade launcher, Jose Arquiza.
The night was made complete when Coach Estes got "the side-line crew," including Nick Tubbs, better known as "the Albinican" (the first "i" is a long "i") because of his baby white skin and unyielding desire and childhood dream to own and operate his own low-rider, into the match. In an interview with what we assumed was ESPN the Magazine, Coach Estes had a hard time keeping a straight face as a strange little pot-bellied man with his drawers pulled up to his boobs and snacking on morsels he plucked from his overgrown beard kept prancing around behind the interview trying to break his concentration. If anyone has sighted this little gnomish freak, please call ESPN at 888.7044 and report his whereabouts. Apparently they like his style and want to do an extended photo shoot with him and Christiano Ronoldo.
Come out to the game tonight, if it is not rained out, between your beloved Purple Pigs and the Pendleton Something-or-others. The JV game is at 5:30, after which the varsity will play at around 7:00. Should be quite a show.
Apparently, the West Oak Warriors have been learning the art of war from the KGB or the Gustapo. Or maybe by allowing Heckle and Jeckle, Wiley Coyote and Tom and Jerry to comprise the bulk of "edumacational" content that has been used in their schools for the last 30 years, they've put some less than sportsmanlike ideas and notions in their citizens' heads. Either that, or modern sports science hasn't yet made its way out thar to the town known by many in the Golden Corner as Worstminster, proud home of the Beef and Rib and an Ingles which never has more than one cash register open at one time...ever. Surely its the former rather than the latter even though I still think the latter is entirely feasible as was demonstrated by their trainer, Cartee Cobb, who wore no shoes and a tattered Gamecocks cap with a fishing hook proudly displayed on the brim, when he liberally applied bacon grease to everything from bloody strawberries to sprained ankles to blowouts on the toes of soccer cleats. So maybe it was nothing more than sheer ignorance, but when I saw the shriveled and gaunt Solimon (pronounced a lot like Saruman, the evil wizard in The Lord of the Rings) "the flying tostada" Garcia come to the side line at half time looking much like Christian Bale in "The Machinist" or Winston Smith, played by John Hurt at the end of George Orwell's dystopian novel made film, "1984," the conspiracy theory that West Oak uses dehydration techniques to weaken their opponents into submission began to become a reality. Yes readers, the unthinkable had happened. They had not supplied us with one drop of water. The scene from "Airplane" when the stewardess informs the people on the flight that there is no more coffee comes to mind when trying to describe what happened when I told them there would be no water and they would just have to gut it out. I thought they were going to attack me. Then in stepped the always calm and serene Mike Estes. With one quick, stinging slap across Eli "Skyywalker" Cothran's emaciated cheek he had the team's undivided attention. And then a huge bottle of Gatorade just appeared from nowhere like manna from the sky. Little did the Warriors know, they had created a monster, because everyone knows that when your whole team drinks out of the same bottle you become one giant mega team, spitting the same spit...bleeding the same blood.
O.k., I admit I got a little carried away there -- about the "bleeding the same blood" stuff. But the mega team stuff is right on the money (reminds me of the old cartoon "Voltron" where the 5 robots combine into one mega-robot -- sweet show). And we were sure thirsty. But after the miracle Gatorade satiated our palates and restored spittle to our cottony mouths we were good to go out and resume our resurfacing brilliance. Mike "The Architect" Estes had tweeked his blue-print because of a revelation he had biting into his second McDonald's cherry pie (ignore that part Laura) while plowing down highway 28 in his diesel guzzling money pit. In his brain he saw clearly the vision of Hiraldo "Napoleon" Vivaldo at the back of his vaunted defense and Jonathon "the rock" Martinez stepping up into the stopper position. Both took to their new positions like a South Carolina Gamecock athlete does to hand cuffs. Little Napoleon was in complete charge from his new vantage point and "the rock"played like he had just gotten out of school for the summer. The ball was humming again.
Alex "Hong Kong Phooey" Flores got his first goal, the team's third goal of the night, for the razorbacks when he got air born and side volleyed a ball with his left foot into the upper ninety, put across by Ishmael "FrenchMex" Martinez. Congratulations to him on a beautiful goal. Alex Cruise did anything but cruise as he turned on the after burners and drove past a defender, putting the ball through from an impossible angle on the left side with the defender draped all over him for the teams second goal. And Jonathon Martinez got the Razorbacks on the scoreboard with a well placed right footed shot right into the side netting, on the right side of the goal, from a ball that was bouncing around in the 18 yard box. The Hogs had countless shots on goal and rattled the frame at least 5 times in a game they dominated due the great play of our middies, Martinez, Van der Ginn and the human grenade launcher, Jose Arquiza.
The night was made complete when Coach Estes got "the side-line crew," including Nick Tubbs, better known as "the Albinican" (the first "i" is a long "i") because of his baby white skin and unyielding desire and childhood dream to own and operate his own low-rider, into the match. In an interview with what we assumed was ESPN the Magazine, Coach Estes had a hard time keeping a straight face as a strange little pot-bellied man with his drawers pulled up to his boobs and snacking on morsels he plucked from his overgrown beard kept prancing around behind the interview trying to break his concentration. If anyone has sighted this little gnomish freak, please call ESPN at 888.7044 and report his whereabouts. Apparently they like his style and want to do an extended photo shoot with him and Christiano Ronoldo.
Come out to the game tonight, if it is not rained out, between your beloved Purple Pigs and the Pendleton Something-or-others. The JV game is at 5:30, after which the varsity will play at around 7:00. Should be quite a show.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Walhalla Varsity 2, Southside Chr. 4; Walhalla JV 0, Southside JV 1
The Concussion Game
As I stepped off the bus at Southside Christian Academy into the gale force wind, a bald little man, sopping wet with side-hair almost knocked me over in his frantic chase for what looked like a toupee which was eluding him, as if it had a mind of its own, every time he bent down to retrieve it. It finally landed on a tall piece of grass in a huge ditch cunningly dug out behind the visiting teams warm-up goal. (Needless to say, I spent a lot of time in that craggy ditch before the game and was still catching my breath when the opening whistle blew.) He dusted the renegade hair piece off, chastized it for embarrassing him and exposing his true identity, under his breath, and then walked out onto the pitch with a large pair of glistening scissors to finish cutting the grass which had been doused with a mysterious water-like substance, along with the floppy haired greens keeper, about 30 minutes prior to us getting there.
Despite not being allowed much warm-up time and lacking several key players due to their alleged role in a practice-skipping scandal, the mini-hogs had most of the play against the pocket-knives of Southside Christian but could never get that elusive goal. Hermilio came down from the varsity team and played a stellar game in the goal for us and Hayden Wilson played a courageous game on a severely bruised bum.
The first 15 minutes of the Varsity contest saw the Razorbacks knocking the ball all over the pitch looking poised to dominate the sabres for the rest of the night. Cody "the Dunn" Dunton was flying about the goal mouth in complete charge until he made an incredible save going air born to his right, jabbing the ball with his right hand over the cross bar but clanking into the post (which was round luckily) with his head, knocking him to the ground. After a few scary moments Cody was helped to his feet. The referee asked him to read the score board to which a dazed and dizzy Cody replied without looking up, "0 - 0." To think that he had enough wit and competitive fire to try and dupe the referee and stay in the game is a testament to just what true grit and heart Cody Dunton has. In that statement, "0-0," he showed what a true leader is even though he could not play the rest of the night. Though Tom Warner came in and did an amazing job in his absence making several goal saving efforts, the hogs greatly missed Cody's presence the rest of the night and had a difficult time trying to overcome the loss. From the minute he left the game the tide began to shift, and though Solomon Garcia scored a brilliant goal and Jonathon Martinez was able to pound another penalty kick through, we just could not ever regain the magic of the first fifteen minutes. Our usually fluid game was gone with the wind and as hard as we chased it we couldn't quite seem to catch up with it. Hopefully it landed back in Westminster where we play the dreaded Warriors Thursday night.
On April 24th, both Razorback squads will get another crack at Southside. They will have to come to "the beach" this time where we don't use silver-plated scissors but a large rake attached to the back of a tractor to manicure our pitch. They will have to deal with our rabid fan base with their pitchforks and medieval torches and the haunting shadows that are cast onto the field from the bamboo forest and the giant Leland Cyprus trees surrounding it. They will also have to deal with the dreaded Darlene Kerr who will stare them down with her steely eyes as they step off their chartered tour bus and make them feel like maybe they should have stayed home and called in sick. Don't miss this one Purple Pig Nation. It will be one for the ages.
-j-
As I stepped off the bus at Southside Christian Academy into the gale force wind, a bald little man, sopping wet with side-hair almost knocked me over in his frantic chase for what looked like a toupee which was eluding him, as if it had a mind of its own, every time he bent down to retrieve it. It finally landed on a tall piece of grass in a huge ditch cunningly dug out behind the visiting teams warm-up goal. (Needless to say, I spent a lot of time in that craggy ditch before the game and was still catching my breath when the opening whistle blew.) He dusted the renegade hair piece off, chastized it for embarrassing him and exposing his true identity, under his breath, and then walked out onto the pitch with a large pair of glistening scissors to finish cutting the grass which had been doused with a mysterious water-like substance, along with the floppy haired greens keeper, about 30 minutes prior to us getting there.
Despite not being allowed much warm-up time and lacking several key players due to their alleged role in a practice-skipping scandal, the mini-hogs had most of the play against the pocket-knives of Southside Christian but could never get that elusive goal. Hermilio came down from the varsity team and played a stellar game in the goal for us and Hayden Wilson played a courageous game on a severely bruised bum.
The first 15 minutes of the Varsity contest saw the Razorbacks knocking the ball all over the pitch looking poised to dominate the sabres for the rest of the night. Cody "the Dunn" Dunton was flying about the goal mouth in complete charge until he made an incredible save going air born to his right, jabbing the ball with his right hand over the cross bar but clanking into the post (which was round luckily) with his head, knocking him to the ground. After a few scary moments Cody was helped to his feet. The referee asked him to read the score board to which a dazed and dizzy Cody replied without looking up, "0 - 0." To think that he had enough wit and competitive fire to try and dupe the referee and stay in the game is a testament to just what true grit and heart Cody Dunton has. In that statement, "0-0," he showed what a true leader is even though he could not play the rest of the night. Though Tom Warner came in and did an amazing job in his absence making several goal saving efforts, the hogs greatly missed Cody's presence the rest of the night and had a difficult time trying to overcome the loss. From the minute he left the game the tide began to shift, and though Solomon Garcia scored a brilliant goal and Jonathon Martinez was able to pound another penalty kick through, we just could not ever regain the magic of the first fifteen minutes. Our usually fluid game was gone with the wind and as hard as we chased it we couldn't quite seem to catch up with it. Hopefully it landed back in Westminster where we play the dreaded Warriors Thursday night.
On April 24th, both Razorback squads will get another crack at Southside. They will have to come to "the beach" this time where we don't use silver-plated scissors but a large rake attached to the back of a tractor to manicure our pitch. They will have to deal with our rabid fan base with their pitchforks and medieval torches and the haunting shadows that are cast onto the field from the bamboo forest and the giant Leland Cyprus trees surrounding it. They will also have to deal with the dreaded Darlene Kerr who will stare them down with her steely eyes as they step off their chartered tour bus and make them feel like maybe they should have stayed home and called in sick. Don't miss this one Purple Pig Nation. It will be one for the ages.
-j-
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Walhalla Boy's Varsity 3, Pickens 1; Walhalla Boy's JV 4, Pickens 3; Walhalla Lady Varsity 1, Pickens 0
The Trifecta
The Varsity Boy's and Girl's squads came together in their best attire Tuesday night, hitched a ride out into the unknown regions of Pickens county where it is said that jack-a-lopes, tropical Yettie's with a penchant for dressing up in over-alls and Billy Bob teeth, and Sasquatch, which many are blaming for the sudden rash of overly hairy offspring being born in their hospital, exist and actually interact with the locals at meat and threes and sometimes at square dances, bumped fists and said, "Wondertwin powers activate."
(In 4 part harmony with Ivan as the lone male soprano)
Boys: Form of.... an angry horticulturist.
Girls: Form of.... the most lethal ant killing substance known to man which actually does go into the heart of the earth to kill the queen ant and therefore eradicate the entire population once and for all. (I know guys, girls tend to be a little wordy at times but their large brains must be able to vent out all the stored up knowledge which exists in their craniums as huge amounts of hot steam. Give them credit though. At least they were on the same page. )
Michael "The Brain" Caldera and Solomon "The flying tostada" or as some call him "the Mexican Comet" had 1 and 2 goals respectively, Michaels goal coming off a beautiful header which left him bewildered and unable to pronounce his own name. Coach Estes raved about his purple hogs after the game saying, "This is the most complete game we have played to date. 1 and 2 touch magic."
Meanwhile, speaking of "magic," back at the friendly confines of "the beach" the little hogs had to pull a rabbit out of their collective hat Tuesday night after they went down to Pickens 3 - 0 after the first 20 minutes. But after a rousing, ra-ra, go get 'em boys, win it for the Gipper type speech from yours truly, in which I drew on every stereotypical coach cliche I could conjure up from the book I'm currently reading in the bathroom entitled "199 Favorite Coaches Cliches" by Lou Holtz, and blaming the boys for causing my hair to fall out at an exponentially quicker rate then it has been over the last five years (guilt is a powerful tool on young, naive minds), I saw a light bulb visibly appear above each of their heads, and light up for a few seconds. Never mind that it then shattered. The point is, there was at least a little bit of illumination. We stormed out of the locker room like a herd of pigs into a muddy pen and unleashed the power of purple on an unsuspecting Pickens team for the next 30 minutes. With about 30 seconds to go in regulation Big Ovi Lopez headed a rocket off of a Jose Herrera corner kick that hit the cross bar and rattled the frame. The ball bounced straight down where the ever-sneaky Little Ovi Espino put the finishing touch on his second goal which would prove to be the game winner. Giovanni Cuevas also added two brilliant goals, which along with Steven Lopez' stellar play in front of net in the second half, helped spark a truly great comeback. Here's to the boys! I'm proud of you. And here's to all the Walhalla soccer teams! Great job!
The Varsity Boy's and Girl's squads came together in their best attire Tuesday night, hitched a ride out into the unknown regions of Pickens county where it is said that jack-a-lopes, tropical Yettie's with a penchant for dressing up in over-alls and Billy Bob teeth, and Sasquatch, which many are blaming for the sudden rash of overly hairy offspring being born in their hospital, exist and actually interact with the locals at meat and threes and sometimes at square dances, bumped fists and said, "Wondertwin powers activate."
(In 4 part harmony with Ivan as the lone male soprano)
Boys: Form of.... an angry horticulturist.
Girls: Form of.... the most lethal ant killing substance known to man which actually does go into the heart of the earth to kill the queen ant and therefore eradicate the entire population once and for all. (I know guys, girls tend to be a little wordy at times but their large brains must be able to vent out all the stored up knowledge which exists in their craniums as huge amounts of hot steam. Give them credit though. At least they were on the same page. )
Michael "The Brain" Caldera and Solomon "The flying tostada" or as some call him "the Mexican Comet" had 1 and 2 goals respectively, Michaels goal coming off a beautiful header which left him bewildered and unable to pronounce his own name. Coach Estes raved about his purple hogs after the game saying, "This is the most complete game we have played to date. 1 and 2 touch magic."
Meanwhile, speaking of "magic," back at the friendly confines of "the beach" the little hogs had to pull a rabbit out of their collective hat Tuesday night after they went down to Pickens 3 - 0 after the first 20 minutes. But after a rousing, ra-ra, go get 'em boys, win it for the Gipper type speech from yours truly, in which I drew on every stereotypical coach cliche I could conjure up from the book I'm currently reading in the bathroom entitled "199 Favorite Coaches Cliches" by Lou Holtz, and blaming the boys for causing my hair to fall out at an exponentially quicker rate then it has been over the last five years (guilt is a powerful tool on young, naive minds), I saw a light bulb visibly appear above each of their heads, and light up for a few seconds. Never mind that it then shattered. The point is, there was at least a little bit of illumination. We stormed out of the locker room like a herd of pigs into a muddy pen and unleashed the power of purple on an unsuspecting Pickens team for the next 30 minutes. With about 30 seconds to go in regulation Big Ovi Lopez headed a rocket off of a Jose Herrera corner kick that hit the cross bar and rattled the frame. The ball bounced straight down where the ever-sneaky Little Ovi Espino put the finishing touch on his second goal which would prove to be the game winner. Giovanni Cuevas also added two brilliant goals, which along with Steven Lopez' stellar play in front of net in the second half, helped spark a truly great comeback. Here's to the boys! I'm proud of you. And here's to all the Walhalla soccer teams! Great job!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Walhalla 5, West Oak 0
Purple Gold: A Leprechauns Dream
They came from the south, their war paint bright. I could have sworn that I smelled animal blood as they walked in front of our bench. I also caught a glimpse of a cleverly concealed tommyhawk peeking ever so slightly from the up-pulled sock of one of the West Oak Warrior players as he was doing his war dance before the match. He quickly tried to conceal the weapon but we locked eyes and he seemed to say with his deadly gaze, "You will not leave this stadium alive oh bearded leprechaun man. No one crosses eyes with me and lives. Your pot of gold will be mine."
I quickly replied with my eyes, "You and your unholy tribe has sought to swipe my gold for decades now with no avail. What makes you think you can succeed?"
He just looked down at his shiny tommyhawk and then back up to me with a sick sort of crazed glee. And then with a face like Jack Black when he demonstrates to the young guitar virtuoso in "School of Rock" how to hold his goblet of rock and melt off the faces of his enthralled listeners, he slowly, and yes, very meticulously, dragged what looked to be a blood-stained thumb across his Ichabod Crainish Adams apple. I ran away to the locker room faster than Shaggy and Scooby being chased by a scary old sea captain ghost trying to spook people away from his loot. The expression on his face was bone chilling. I'm actually seeing a therapist today.
When I was finally able to loosen my death grip on the toilet tank and climb down from the seat, the game had already started. What jolted me back to reality and made me realize I was sucking my thumb was the golden voice of purple pig soccer, Charles Fowler, announcing the arrival of some hot pizza. I emerged from that fowl prison of fear and emotion into the Walhalla dusk faintly tinged with a purple hue and smelling a lot like pepperoni, rejuvenated and empty of the fear I had been so paralyzed with just minutes before. I realized later that the purple hue, the culprit in my euphoria, was caused by the dizzyingly mind-blowing matriculation of the ball around the surface of the beach by our Razorback players who had come out spitting nails and shooting fire from their nostrils. We hit the field last night as giddy as teen aged school girls getting dressed for prom. I heard in distant conversations by amazed fans and by the West Oak team themselves that you could almost hear the ball hum.
And hum it did. Into every nook and cranny of the beach it hummed. Onto every surface of every one of our players (except Cody Dunton) it hummed. Into the, hmm-mm, Warriors goal it hummed, five times as the purple pigs of Walhalla put a screeching halt to the war-cry of those marauders from the south and sent them packing up their little tommyhawks and spears (which I found out later were only props - but scary nonetheless) and running for the bus just to get away from the hum created by the unselfish team play of the Walhalla Razorbacks.
It's hard to say who had the best game on this night. It was the epitome of a team effort. Alex Cruz, who added to his total when he scored on a brilliantly played diagonal long ball over the defense by Hiraldo Vivaldo, and Cory Champion, burned a trench up and down the flanks and both served the equivalent of fillet Mignon on a silver platter from the corners to our oncoming forwards in all areas of the box. If we would have finished half of those chances they would have had to call the game early due to the net falling off the frame. We also got great service on the left side from Andrew Broome who - excuse the pun - came out of the closet and revealed that he is a SWM who loves not only turning on the jets as frequently as possible but who is also a southpaw who loves to play wickedly driven balls into dangerous scoring areas of the beach from the left side. Thanks for that bit of information Andrew. We can now hook you up with the appropriate position on the field.
The "Bermuda Triangle" of Eric Moxley, who plays his new position with extra moxie, Daniel Van der Ginn, our delectably smooth foreign exchange student from Holland, and Jose Arquiza, the silent assassin, who scored a truly Beckhamesque goal on a direct free kick about 22 yards from goal by bending it silly into the right, upper 90, put on a display of midfield efficiency not seen this year until tonight, as they helped the hogs dominate the possession of the ball by a count of exactly 98.23% to 1.77%.
Up front, Michael Caldera was rewarded for his stellar performance last week by being put in the starting line-up and providing his, what is now becoming signature, support of the ball which creates vast amounts of space for the Mexican Comet, Solomon Garcia to work his magic, which he did twice as he knifed nimbly through the once impenetrable defense of the Warriors to notch two more goals.
In the back, young Eli Cothran continued to eat the future children of whomever he marks up, but more notably showed a much more deft touch on the ball and played to the feet of his middies and forwards much more accurately. Hiraldo Vivaldo is an impenetrable storm who routinely surprises much larger forwards as he continually out-positions and then out muscles and out jumps them to win every head ball that comes into his vicinity. The unquestioned leader of the razorbacks, along with Jonathon Martinez, also provided spectacular service into the corners and across the field all night long. Jonathon Martinez is a man to be trusted in the back as he led his defense in allowing only two shots on frame all night. Cody "Dunn" Dunton owes him a hamburger and a coke for allowing him to take a 40 minute nap during the first half. He is being contacted by the Guinness Book of World Records for an interview.
In a side note, Ivan suffered a bruised tailbone due to some unfortunate miscommunication with Coach Estes who thought he said, "their in my stomach." The Roadrunner will be back tomorrow though, and ready to roll along with the rest of the Razorbacks who take on Pickens High School at 7:00 at Pickens High School Football Stadium. Take the drive into the abyss and come support your Walhalla Purple Pigs as they take their next step in the quest for the allusive state title.
They came from the south, their war paint bright. I could have sworn that I smelled animal blood as they walked in front of our bench. I also caught a glimpse of a cleverly concealed tommyhawk peeking ever so slightly from the up-pulled sock of one of the West Oak Warrior players as he was doing his war dance before the match. He quickly tried to conceal the weapon but we locked eyes and he seemed to say with his deadly gaze, "You will not leave this stadium alive oh bearded leprechaun man. No one crosses eyes with me and lives. Your pot of gold will be mine."
I quickly replied with my eyes, "You and your unholy tribe has sought to swipe my gold for decades now with no avail. What makes you think you can succeed?"
He just looked down at his shiny tommyhawk and then back up to me with a sick sort of crazed glee. And then with a face like Jack Black when he demonstrates to the young guitar virtuoso in "School of Rock" how to hold his goblet of rock and melt off the faces of his enthralled listeners, he slowly, and yes, very meticulously, dragged what looked to be a blood-stained thumb across his Ichabod Crainish Adams apple. I ran away to the locker room faster than Shaggy and Scooby being chased by a scary old sea captain ghost trying to spook people away from his loot. The expression on his face was bone chilling. I'm actually seeing a therapist today.
When I was finally able to loosen my death grip on the toilet tank and climb down from the seat, the game had already started. What jolted me back to reality and made me realize I was sucking my thumb was the golden voice of purple pig soccer, Charles Fowler, announcing the arrival of some hot pizza. I emerged from that fowl prison of fear and emotion into the Walhalla dusk faintly tinged with a purple hue and smelling a lot like pepperoni, rejuvenated and empty of the fear I had been so paralyzed with just minutes before. I realized later that the purple hue, the culprit in my euphoria, was caused by the dizzyingly mind-blowing matriculation of the ball around the surface of the beach by our Razorback players who had come out spitting nails and shooting fire from their nostrils. We hit the field last night as giddy as teen aged school girls getting dressed for prom. I heard in distant conversations by amazed fans and by the West Oak team themselves that you could almost hear the ball hum.
And hum it did. Into every nook and cranny of the beach it hummed. Onto every surface of every one of our players (except Cody Dunton) it hummed. Into the, hmm-mm, Warriors goal it hummed, five times as the purple pigs of Walhalla put a screeching halt to the war-cry of those marauders from the south and sent them packing up their little tommyhawks and spears (which I found out later were only props - but scary nonetheless) and running for the bus just to get away from the hum created by the unselfish team play of the Walhalla Razorbacks.
It's hard to say who had the best game on this night. It was the epitome of a team effort. Alex Cruz, who added to his total when he scored on a brilliantly played diagonal long ball over the defense by Hiraldo Vivaldo, and Cory Champion, burned a trench up and down the flanks and both served the equivalent of fillet Mignon on a silver platter from the corners to our oncoming forwards in all areas of the box. If we would have finished half of those chances they would have had to call the game early due to the net falling off the frame. We also got great service on the left side from Andrew Broome who - excuse the pun - came out of the closet and revealed that he is a SWM who loves not only turning on the jets as frequently as possible but who is also a southpaw who loves to play wickedly driven balls into dangerous scoring areas of the beach from the left side. Thanks for that bit of information Andrew. We can now hook you up with the appropriate position on the field.
The "Bermuda Triangle" of Eric Moxley, who plays his new position with extra moxie, Daniel Van der Ginn, our delectably smooth foreign exchange student from Holland, and Jose Arquiza, the silent assassin, who scored a truly Beckhamesque goal on a direct free kick about 22 yards from goal by bending it silly into the right, upper 90, put on a display of midfield efficiency not seen this year until tonight, as they helped the hogs dominate the possession of the ball by a count of exactly 98.23% to 1.77%.
Up front, Michael Caldera was rewarded for his stellar performance last week by being put in the starting line-up and providing his, what is now becoming signature, support of the ball which creates vast amounts of space for the Mexican Comet, Solomon Garcia to work his magic, which he did twice as he knifed nimbly through the once impenetrable defense of the Warriors to notch two more goals.
In the back, young Eli Cothran continued to eat the future children of whomever he marks up, but more notably showed a much more deft touch on the ball and played to the feet of his middies and forwards much more accurately. Hiraldo Vivaldo is an impenetrable storm who routinely surprises much larger forwards as he continually out-positions and then out muscles and out jumps them to win every head ball that comes into his vicinity. The unquestioned leader of the razorbacks, along with Jonathon Martinez, also provided spectacular service into the corners and across the field all night long. Jonathon Martinez is a man to be trusted in the back as he led his defense in allowing only two shots on frame all night. Cody "Dunn" Dunton owes him a hamburger and a coke for allowing him to take a 40 minute nap during the first half. He is being contacted by the Guinness Book of World Records for an interview.
In a side note, Ivan suffered a bruised tailbone due to some unfortunate miscommunication with Coach Estes who thought he said, "their in my stomach." The Roadrunner will be back tomorrow though, and ready to roll along with the rest of the Razorbacks who take on Pickens High School at 7:00 at Pickens High School Football Stadium. Take the drive into the abyss and come support your Walhalla Purple Pigs as they take their next step in the quest for the allusive state title.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Walhalla 7, Abbeville 1
Hurray for Jorhito the Flying Burrito
Some people drink bloody marries on the morning after. In Walhalla, we just play another game. Yes we were a bit groggy, faintly glowing memories of yesterday past, echoing about in our domes. But there were glimpses of the promise Coach Estes knows is there. The ball moved from side to side and we played much cleaner and possessed the ball much more. We saw many of our players for the first time and all showed that they will be factors in the future of Walhalla soccer. Congratulations to Michael Calderra on getting the first hat trick for a Razorback this season. Sometimes greed is a good thing. Michael deserved to be rewarded for his unselfish play from the forward position and has set the mark for what Coach Estes wants a forward to be. He is always showing to the ball and plays simple with his back to the goal and has shown a great ability to finish and pick up the trash. Jonathon Martinez looked efficient and smooth playing in the defensive midfield while Jose Arquiza took to the sweeper position like a duck to water. Congratulations goes as well to little Jorhito the flying burrito as he scored his first goal of his career as a purple hog. Against Christ church and their huge defenders he looked more like an egg roll than a burrito but he plays large and that's all that matters. The one goal for Abbeville came on a PK which was earned because Jonathon apparently sneezed in the general direction of the referee. We were not actually informed of the new "sneeze rule" so our apologies to the referee for summarily berating him, calling him a bus-driver and handing him a pair of old coke bottle glasses at the end of the game. Apologies to Lynn our great bus-driver as well for making fun of his profession. Adrenalin sometimes gets the best of all of us.
Come out and support us next Monday, the 17th, as we take on the West Oak Warriors right here in the friendly confines of "the beach." Beachwear encouraged. Purple a must.
js
Some people drink bloody marries on the morning after. In Walhalla, we just play another game. Yes we were a bit groggy, faintly glowing memories of yesterday past, echoing about in our domes. But there were glimpses of the promise Coach Estes knows is there. The ball moved from side to side and we played much cleaner and possessed the ball much more. We saw many of our players for the first time and all showed that they will be factors in the future of Walhalla soccer. Congratulations to Michael Calderra on getting the first hat trick for a Razorback this season. Sometimes greed is a good thing. Michael deserved to be rewarded for his unselfish play from the forward position and has set the mark for what Coach Estes wants a forward to be. He is always showing to the ball and plays simple with his back to the goal and has shown a great ability to finish and pick up the trash. Jonathon Martinez looked efficient and smooth playing in the defensive midfield while Jose Arquiza took to the sweeper position like a duck to water. Congratulations goes as well to little Jorhito the flying burrito as he scored his first goal of his career as a purple hog. Against Christ church and their huge defenders he looked more like an egg roll than a burrito but he plays large and that's all that matters. The one goal for Abbeville came on a PK which was earned because Jonathon apparently sneezed in the general direction of the referee. We were not actually informed of the new "sneeze rule" so our apologies to the referee for summarily berating him, calling him a bus-driver and handing him a pair of old coke bottle glasses at the end of the game. Apologies to Lynn our great bus-driver as well for making fun of his profession. Adrenalin sometimes gets the best of all of us.
Come out and support us next Monday, the 17th, as we take on the West Oak Warriors right here in the friendly confines of "the beach." Beachwear encouraged. Purple a must.
js
Walhalla Ladies 1, Christ Church Ladies 0
In the match before the great tamale caper Coaches James Powell and the infamous Resedniz brothers were up to their usual antics as they led our ladies to a 1-0 blanking of a very skilled Christ Church team. Miguel and Adrian had shaved their whole bodies and purchased very expensive wigs which they cached in a vault beneath the bench in case their services may have been needed; but the lady hogs were stalwart in defense of "the beach" as they layed everything on the line and left nothing on the field in their way to securing the victory. This will go down as a signature win and a feather in the cap of Coach Powell as the lady razorbacks continue their quest for the coveted state title. Great job ladies.
js
js
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Christ Church 6, Walhalla 0
Sabotage at "The Beach"
As I bit into one of Mrs. Vivaldo's delicious homemade tamales before our contest with Christ Church Wednsday night, the thought occurred to me that something just wasn't right. The thought was born and then it just started bouncing around in my empty skull like an HGH enhanced pinball. Was that sweet person who handed me this heavenly treat the same person who lovingly raised Hiraldo and nursed him to health after being born at a birth weight of a mere 2.78 pounds by mixing in Mexican delights with her already creamy Mother's milk? Or was she a secret agent, a perfect look-alike (except for the huge mole with the long hair growing out of it just below her right eye) who had been hired by Christ Church and their evil minions to lock Mrs. Vivaldo in the broom closet and then sabotage her tamales by injecting them with a personality altering drug known in scientific circles as "Mr. Hyde?" This is the only plausible way to explain what 228 loyal fans witnessed last night at "The Beach."
Being in essence, completely lobotomized by the fast-metabolizing (evidenced by the fact that the evil drug took effect only 15 minutes into the match), "Mr. Hyde," the boys played the last 60 minutes of the all important contest like drunken sailors whose legs had just touched land for the first time in six months. Where were the ravenous wild boars we had come to know and love? They were trapped I tell you! Trapped inside the prison of their own minds! I actually had several of the players come up to me 15 minutes after the game was over and say in perfect monotone, looking like children of the corn, "coach, I just had the strangest dream that we have already played Christ Church and got annihilated on our own field." From that point on it was as if I was trying to explain to Rip Van Winkle that people don't use horse and buggy any more and that there are these new fangled things called automobiles, and that we no longer have to send messages via pony express or telegraph but that we use what is called a computer and can communicate through the world wide web. Such looks of incredulity as I told them they had just got done playing and that they looked about as dexterous as a new born deer trying to walk on ice. I saw young Eli Cothran lean his head over to the side and bang on it as if he were trying to get gravel out through his down turned ear. Daniel Guinn was just holding his shoe in his hands, whispering something to it and staring at it as if it contained a secret message inside.
As the lights went out, allowing the blackness of the surrounding night to flood into the air floating in the sphere over what we now refer to as "the beach" I could almost hear Rod Serling's eerie voice bouncing around in the stands saying "and this concludes another episode of.......the twilight zone." Somewhere in a smoky, sweaty room, the pseudo-Mrs. Vivaldo was reaching out a filthy hand accepting the spoils of her labor while the real Mrs. Vivaldo was yelling, "somebody better get me out of this closet or there's going to be hell to pay. Hera! Hera! Did you hear me Hera! You get me outta here or you won't eat for a week!"
A word of warning. We will be back Christ Church. And next time we meet, you will wish you never heard the name of Walhalla Razorbacks. We will be sharp. We will be foaming at the mouth. And in the words of the great Mike Tyson (add lisp in your mind), "We will eat your childrens." Till then I bid you adieu.
js
As I bit into one of Mrs. Vivaldo's delicious homemade tamales before our contest with Christ Church Wednsday night, the thought occurred to me that something just wasn't right. The thought was born and then it just started bouncing around in my empty skull like an HGH enhanced pinball. Was that sweet person who handed me this heavenly treat the same person who lovingly raised Hiraldo and nursed him to health after being born at a birth weight of a mere 2.78 pounds by mixing in Mexican delights with her already creamy Mother's milk? Or was she a secret agent, a perfect look-alike (except for the huge mole with the long hair growing out of it just below her right eye) who had been hired by Christ Church and their evil minions to lock Mrs. Vivaldo in the broom closet and then sabotage her tamales by injecting them with a personality altering drug known in scientific circles as "Mr. Hyde?" This is the only plausible way to explain what 228 loyal fans witnessed last night at "The Beach."
Being in essence, completely lobotomized by the fast-metabolizing (evidenced by the fact that the evil drug took effect only 15 minutes into the match), "Mr. Hyde," the boys played the last 60 minutes of the all important contest like drunken sailors whose legs had just touched land for the first time in six months. Where were the ravenous wild boars we had come to know and love? They were trapped I tell you! Trapped inside the prison of their own minds! I actually had several of the players come up to me 15 minutes after the game was over and say in perfect monotone, looking like children of the corn, "coach, I just had the strangest dream that we have already played Christ Church and got annihilated on our own field." From that point on it was as if I was trying to explain to Rip Van Winkle that people don't use horse and buggy any more and that there are these new fangled things called automobiles, and that we no longer have to send messages via pony express or telegraph but that we use what is called a computer and can communicate through the world wide web. Such looks of incredulity as I told them they had just got done playing and that they looked about as dexterous as a new born deer trying to walk on ice. I saw young Eli Cothran lean his head over to the side and bang on it as if he were trying to get gravel out through his down turned ear. Daniel Guinn was just holding his shoe in his hands, whispering something to it and staring at it as if it contained a secret message inside.
As the lights went out, allowing the blackness of the surrounding night to flood into the air floating in the sphere over what we now refer to as "the beach" I could almost hear Rod Serling's eerie voice bouncing around in the stands saying "and this concludes another episode of.......the twilight zone." Somewhere in a smoky, sweaty room, the pseudo-Mrs. Vivaldo was reaching out a filthy hand accepting the spoils of her labor while the real Mrs. Vivaldo was yelling, "somebody better get me out of this closet or there's going to be hell to pay. Hera! Hera! Did you hear me Hera! You get me outta here or you won't eat for a week!"
A word of warning. We will be back Christ Church. And next time we meet, you will wish you never heard the name of Walhalla Razorbacks. We will be sharp. We will be foaming at the mouth. And in the words of the great Mike Tyson (add lisp in your mind), "We will eat your childrens." Till then I bid you adieu.
js
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Walhalla 4, Palmetto 3
Rain Dance in Cow Country
At the sounding whistle ending the first half of their contest with Palmetto last night, the Razorbacks chances of coming back from a 3 - 1 deficit to claim their second victory in as many tries seemed to the faithful fans in attendance who had made the trip out into the diaspora of West Pelzer, the unofficial cow-chip kingdom of the world and proud home to cow-tipping champion of the universe Dilbert McCoy, about as bleak as the overcast sky that had threatened rain all night but had failed to produce a single drop. But somewhere in the still silence of the intermission, off in the distance, on some forgotten knoll, a single cow began to moo and an ancient Cherokee rhythm began to pulse - the rain dance was being done, and its beat pounded in big Mike Estes' heart as he walked into the circle of despondant, hang-dog faces. I can't recall exactly what the Chief of our clan said but it wasn't about what he said that brought the rain this night. It was the passion that carried his words into the heart of our young warriors and brought their proud chins back up. This night would not be about the precision, triangulation, the beautiful game that has begun to be synonymous with Razorback soccer. No, this night would be the night all Walhallanites would look back and remember as the night sheer willpower was birthed into the collective character of our boys. The statistics and cold analysis of this victory, snatched from the jaws of certain defeat, are not even worth recording However, what must be written is that from the messy afterbirth that was this game emerged 18 steely-eyed faces metamorphisized by struggle and ready for whatever awaits them over the next 8 weeks. It's going to be quite a ride (hopefully I will be able to give more details).
Oh, and in a sidenote, they beat us in a cow-chip throwin' contest after the game. Us city slickers had no clue about the compositional make up of dried cow dung and therefore did not take into account its aerodynamical oddities when deciding on the specific trajectory it should be launched at. We blamed young Abisai Quinones for the loss since it was his mathematical equation that got us all screwed up. We'll get you next time cowpokes.
Goals:
Solomon Garcia(2)
Alex Cruz (1)
Eric Moxley (1)
Longest cow-chip toss:
Andrew Broome: 2 feet 7.29 inches (I know, I thought going to the hundreth of an inch was overkill myself)
js
At the sounding whistle ending the first half of their contest with Palmetto last night, the Razorbacks chances of coming back from a 3 - 1 deficit to claim their second victory in as many tries seemed to the faithful fans in attendance who had made the trip out into the diaspora of West Pelzer, the unofficial cow-chip kingdom of the world and proud home to cow-tipping champion of the universe Dilbert McCoy, about as bleak as the overcast sky that had threatened rain all night but had failed to produce a single drop. But somewhere in the still silence of the intermission, off in the distance, on some forgotten knoll, a single cow began to moo and an ancient Cherokee rhythm began to pulse - the rain dance was being done, and its beat pounded in big Mike Estes' heart as he walked into the circle of despondant, hang-dog faces. I can't recall exactly what the Chief of our clan said but it wasn't about what he said that brought the rain this night. It was the passion that carried his words into the heart of our young warriors and brought their proud chins back up. This night would not be about the precision, triangulation, the beautiful game that has begun to be synonymous with Razorback soccer. No, this night would be the night all Walhallanites would look back and remember as the night sheer willpower was birthed into the collective character of our boys. The statistics and cold analysis of this victory, snatched from the jaws of certain defeat, are not even worth recording However, what must be written is that from the messy afterbirth that was this game emerged 18 steely-eyed faces metamorphisized by struggle and ready for whatever awaits them over the next 8 weeks. It's going to be quite a ride (hopefully I will be able to give more details).
Oh, and in a sidenote, they beat us in a cow-chip throwin' contest after the game. Us city slickers had no clue about the compositional make up of dried cow dung and therefore did not take into account its aerodynamical oddities when deciding on the specific trajectory it should be launched at. We blamed young Abisai Quinones for the loss since it was his mathematical equation that got us all screwed up. We'll get you next time cowpokes.
Goals:
Solomon Garcia(2)
Alex Cruz (1)
Eric Moxley (1)
Longest cow-chip toss:
Andrew Broome: 2 feet 7.29 inches (I know, I thought going to the hundreth of an inch was overkill myself)
js
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