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

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

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

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.

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-