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!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
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.
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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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