'Round' Midnight

It was around midnight when I finally settled into bed and grew still with contemplation like a heavy mask on my face there in the darkness and the starlight glow. My thoughts crawled into the heavens mournful, soulful, searching into the meaning of the memories drenching my mind like thick, dark molasses. But in penetrating through the gloom of things ending before you want them to, like the wind that floats a kite majestically on a March afternoon or the life of a butterfly so bright and lythe...and short, my mournful trumpet thought-stream held a long last note and mingled its voice in dissonant harmony with the incoming flood of a saxaphone yalp and graciously gave the stage to a musical reinterpretation of the dance we had performed. As you watch the Miles Davis quintet perform 'Round Midnight' I want you to get into a contemplative mood with Miles as he lays down the first 2 minutes of the song and sets the table for your mind to go with Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock and the boys as they provide the musical backdrop for the way I think about our team when we play the most beautiful game on earth. Structure and improvisation. Change of tempo, brave exploits, technical brilliance. When I watch you play, I hear jazz in my mind. Jazz doesn't have an end goal - it's all about the way it's played and the new places found in the notes that are there to be discovered. Everytime I watch you guys play I discover something new about the game I've spent much of my life enjoying. I am honored to have had the pleasure this year of watching you become artists and musicians in search of something new everytime you take the pitch. Live your lives the same way and you will have nothing to worry about. Enjoy this piece of music as you remember last nights game and the other great games of your season.

The Miles Davis Quintet
'Round' Midnight



j

Dude from Brookland-Cayce

Palmetto and Mauldin Cup review

Growing Pains

When a hermit crab gets too large for its shell, it searches around for a new one to accomodate its size. It tries on a few different ones and walks around in them until it finally settles on something that feels good and that he can grow into for a while. This season has been the year of the hermit crab for your Walhalla Razorbacks. We've gotten too big for our shell, but we are taking an unusually long time to pick another one to live in. Or maybe it's the year of the high maintenance woman. You know, the one who's getting ready for a date that has too many clothes to choose from. While she's rummaging around in her closet the size of most peoples living rooms looking for the perfect shoes to set off her earrings, Estocrates sits out in his gargantuan truck, his stomach rumbling, honking his horn. Of course, he was ready when he pulled on his shorts and put on his t-shirt at 6:00 a.m. I think we're getting close to picking the perfect ensemble though. It's sort of a Sid Vicious meets Hector "Macho" Camacho motif. Hopefully we can pull it off in time to get to Puerto Nuevo before they lock the doors.

Palmetto Cup 09(April 8th - 11th)

Here's a run-down of the teams that were in it:
(from the State)
"The 16-team field featured Midlands entries host Brookland-Cayce, defending champion Spring Valley, Lexington, Sumter and late-entry Chapin. The out-of-state contingent includes familiar Cup visitor Norman North (Oklahoma), first-time entry Bob Jones (Alabama) and two Tennessee powerhouses – Farragut and Knoxville West.
The rest of the lineup includes Top 10 South Carolina teams from Wando, Eastside, Riverside, North Myrtle Beach, Christ Church, Southside Christian and Walhalla.

John Devlin from "The State" newspaper said in his write up before the tournament: "The 17th annual Palmetto Cup boys soccer tournament, deemed the No. 1 spring boys tournament in the Southeast by Student Sports, opens play Wednesday with eight matches at three sites in the Cayce-West Columbia area. "

The first day Walhalla played host Brookland-Cayce in a match we should have run away with, but instead lost 5-4 at "The Cage," which was the tournaments showcase field. The Bearcats scored all 5 of their goals on set plays and three of those came off throw-in's taken by a kid they referred to as Shao-lin Sam. He had done so many flip throws that at the end of the game he tried to get on the bus with us. I think his brain did a few flips.

The second day we played Farragut High School out of Knoxville Tennessee. This is off their own websight:

"FARRAGUT BOY'S SOCCER 2009 Welcome to the boys Farragut soccer website, home to one of the most successful boys soccer programs in the nation. The boys team have been State champions in 2003, 2004 and 2007. In 2004 they were recognized as the National Champions. The team is coached by Wallie Culbreth (head coach) and Kurt Backstrom (asst coach). Congratulations to the following soccer players who will be representing Farragut for the 2009 season GO ADMIRALS!"

I don't think we had one guy taller than their shortest player. Their center midfielder was 6'5". In fact, he was so tall that Jorge was able to give a graphic description of his belly button after the game. He said it was like a perfect cinnamon roll and that it made him hungry for some of those honey buns they have at Ryans. Most teams in the state would have just layed down in the fetal position and sucked their thumbs at the mere sight of these monsters. Instead, we only lost 1-0 and it should have been a nil-nil draw except in his excitement over a great header by Napoleonito, Cody tried to tussle his Mohawk and unknowingly got a glove full of Dapper Dan which led to him letting a simple ball slide through his finger-tips.

Our next match didn't get any easier when we took on the Barbarians from Alabama's 4th ranked Class 6A Bob Jones High School. We owned the second half of this contest and tied the game up, 2-2, on a classic goal from Alex Cruz with about 10 minutes remaining. But alas, we let down our guard with 30 seconds to go and allowed the game winner in an absolute heart-breaker. Christian Romero, on loan from our might J.V. team scored the first goal for the Razorbacks. We lost our last game to Christ Church 2-o in a match we dominated from start to finish. One thing we can say though: we were the best 0-4 team to ever play in the Palmetto Cup. Comforting I know. That's like saying, "that was the strongest house ever to get blown down in a wind storm." But hey, sometimes you just have to look on the bright side. In all seriousness however, as your Razorbacks slowly made their way off the field after losing to Bob Jones, the Bob Jones crowd gave them a standing ovation. One guy yelled out, "you guys are a bunch fighters!" Yeah, but we sure do hit the canvas a lot. Well, hopefully we can get Mick to "cut us" so we can see out of our left eye, beat Apollo Creed for the state title, and then have enough wits about us to ask Adrian where her hat is.

Mauldin Cup 09 (April 17th and 18th)

What was supposed to be a 12 team blockbuster of a tournament turned into a 5 team dog-and-pony show over the weekend because of having to reschedule the event due to rain. Even though the games were cut to a ridiculous 20 minutes-a-half format, your Razorbacks blitzkrieged the old onion bag for 8 goals in 80 minutes against the first two teams (Greenville Technical High School and Blue Ridge) the opening day, to put themselves in the final on Sunday as the number one team against 3A power Greenville High School. One paper described Walhalla as, "an inflamed hemorrhoid on steroids on the backsides of much bigger schools that just couldn't be scratched" in their write up of the days games. I thought that was a little over-the-top, but we'll take it as a compliment. We need all we can get, especially after coming out Sunday and laying an egg against a Greenville team we should have beaten. The final score...1-0. Anti-climactic...to be sure. Oh well, this week we get to go beat Abbeville and Crescent, infinity to negative 10. Maybe it'll boost our self esteem. Maybe we'll be able to come out of the walk-in closet and be satisfied that we just can't fit into a 2, and that red isn't our most flattering color. Maybe we'll look into the mirror and in the great words of Stewart Smalley be able to look ourselves in the eye and say, "By golly, I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and people like me." Then maybe we'll decide on some shoes (maybe some lime green or pink Nike's), strap 'em on, and go enjoy a few quesadillas with the irate man honking his horn outside.

Come out tonight and watch Walhalla vs. the opposite goal at 7:00 P.M. Should be a classic!

j

Walhalla, 1; Walhalla, 0

Walhalla gets K.O.ed by its own shadow



Everyone knows that the only time it is dangerous to shadow box is in a gale force wind storm because if the wind happens to come from the southwest at 21.3 miles per hour it creates the perfect conditions for ones shadow to actually detach itself and deliver an actual blow that has the potential of knocking the shadow's actual self out. Estocrates knew this when Walhalla, which actually rented out Seneca's soccer pitch because of maintenance to its own field, entered into the game with it's own quite formidable shadow Monday night... and it didn't sit well on his stomach. He had seen what is called in scientific terms, "Unexpected-blow-to-the-head-from-a-non-material-object-in-the-general-shape-of-one's-self syndrome" occur one other time in his life. The painful memory lacerated him to the core and has haunted him ever since.

Monday night, the powers-that-be pored lemon juice on the old wound and sent the mighty Estocrates howling like a half-crazed wolf in search of her lost cub into the eerie night while his bewildered players scurried around the pitch trying to recapture the shadow and reconnect it to themselves before the clock struck midnight, dooming them forever to playing soccer without it. At 11:58 Jesse Cortez, who had lost his shadow before on one of his nightly trips to neverland where he ran spy missions for Peter Pan to discover the secret plans of Captain Hook, snagged the purple pig's shadow by the toe and wrestled it into submission while Backi Mestizo, with his nimble little fingers, quickly sewed it back onto the rest of the exhausted team just before midnight.

Estocrates showed up at his house a day later with holes on either side of his forehead that had been crudely sewed shut and the words "Cephus nose branes" scrawled primitively on his noble brow. According to his saintly wife, Laura, "he was noticeably calm and collected. As soon as he walked in the door he gave me a kiss on the cheek and then started cleaning the house and cooking. Oh, and did he cook! It was like Wolfgang Puck had walked through the door! He made Asiago-stuffed dates with Bacon and smoked paprika; Asian noodle salad with shrimp; asparagus, fingerling potatos and goat cheese pizza; baby greens with artisinal cheeses and charcuterie; and to top it all off, for dessert he whipped up some caramel-apple tartlets with cinnamon-rum ice cream. Then later on that night he started craving sushi, which he hates, and reciting haiku that he had composed for me off the top of his head. One was so touching. It went something like this:

April Visions

Hyacinth breeze blows,
Scenting your hair strands yellow.
Undulating grass.

How romantic is that?"

"He then blindfolded himself and proceeded to quote Shakespeare while making a Michealangeloesque sculpture of my face. I'm writing Cephus' name in the next time I vote for president. He could change the world with his cutting edge techniques."

To be sure, Estocrates is a revitalized human being. He now sees the loss to his own shadow as a positive molecule in the cosmic array of events shaping his hogs. Tonight, we will go on the road to Columbia where we play our first match of the Palmetto Cup. And as always, we will have all our senses open and ready to recieve more clues in our search for the key to all that exists. Wish us luck.

j

Walhalla, 0; Emerald, 2

Estocrates considers lobotomies for several of his players

The idea of brain surgery as a means of improving mental health got started around 1890, when Friederich Golz, a German researcher, removed portions of his dogs’ temporal lobes, and found them to be calmer, less aggressive. It was swiftly followed by Gottlieb Burkhardt, the head of a Swiss mental institution, who attempted similar surgeries on six of his schizophrenic patients. Some were indeed calmer. Two died.
One would think that that would be the end of the idea. But in 1935, Carlyle Jacobsen of Yale University tried frontal and prefrontal lobotomies on chimps, and found them to be calmer afterwards. But it took a certain Antonio Egaz Moniz of the University of Lisbon Medical School to really put lobotomy on the map. He found that cutting the nerves that run from the frontal cortex to the thalamus in psychotic patients who suffered from repetitive thoughts (like: I have the ball...must dribble now...) “short-circuited” the problem. Together with his colleague Almeida Lima, he devised a technique involving drilling two small holes on either side of the forehead, inserting a special surgical knife, and severing the prefrontal cortex from the rest of the brain. He called it leukotomy, but it would come to be known as lobotomy.
Some of his patients became calmer, some did not. Moniz advised extreme caution in using lobotomy, and felt it should only be used in cases where everything else had been tried. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for his work on lobotomy in 1949. He retired early after a former patient paralyzed him by shooting him in the back.

After losing to Emerald's J.V. football team, which substituted for their soccer team, which had been suspended on allegations of rampant steroid use, 2 - 0 on Monday night, Estocrates did what any good coach would do: he stayed up all night googling medical procedures that could help reverse group psychotic behavior. After all, he had tried everything in his huge bag of tricks to get his team to play the unselfish brand of soccer they are capable of playing on a consistent basis. The conclusion he finally came to after way to many colloidal silver, acai berry shakes was that what the team was suffering from must be due to an over-active frontal cortex, and that lobotomizing them would be the only option left that could bring them not only the coveted state title, but help them reach the ultimate goal of finding and capturing the key to all that exists.

Finding a good out-patient lobotomist was no easy task, but Tuesday, while hunting ginseng root in the Elicott's Rock area near the Chatooga river, Estocrates came upon an old mountain man sitting cross-legged on an enormous rock. The man introduced himself as Cephus. "I know wha yer here bosse," he said, exposing a wise, toothless grin. "Yer cawt twixt a rock n' a hard plice. Ah think ah may be able ta hep yuns out. Does the word 'lobotomy' rang eny bayells?"

"How is it you know such a thing?"

"Ah'll aks da queshtiuns 'round here bosse? Be here wit dem boweez 'round midnaght tanaght and ah'll git her done fer yuns. Allz ah waunt fer tride is some a dem hot to-malees Miss Veevaldo makes. An ah wan 'em fraysh, hear! Ah love me sum to-malees."

And with that he disappeared into the dense foliage. As coach drove down the mountain, back to civilization, he pondered what he had just seen and heard. Then, as his eye caught some of the ginseng root he had found just peaking out of the old burlap sack he always used to carry it in, he had an epiphany. "Ginseng," he said quietly to himself as if it was a secret no one could know. Then louder, "Ginseng. Ginseng! That's it. They're suffering from a Ginseng deficiency which has caused they're eyes to go directly down to the ground when they receive the ball, which then eliminates all options but dribbling wildly like a headless chicken right into the teeth of opposing defenses, which subsequently gums up the whole works and makes us look like a bunch of idiots. Man, I can't believe I was thinking about giving half the team lobotomies when I've got Ginseng!"

Was Cephus real, or a figment of Estocrates fertile subconscious which had obviously been over-saturated with colloidal silver and a case of googlitis? We'll never know now, since the great coach came to his senses and found the solution to getting us back on the journey to discover the key to all that exists which coincides somehow with the state title. Now to figure out how to market his new Ginseng shakes so we can raise money for our new team plane which we will use next year for all away games.

Come to Pendleton Friday to see if Ginseng really is the answer as your purple pigs of Walhalla get back to what they do best: melting people's faces with their mind-blowing brand of soccer.

Walhalla 4; Danielle 1

The Growing Storm

As coach Estes and I sat at the northwest corner of "the beach" which seems to be balding in reverse (Why can't my hair do that?) as the warm temperatures return, we were glad that the storm, black and ominous in the western sky, seemed to be held back by some unseen force that apparently wanted to see a really good soccer match. We were also glad that our boys seemed to be gathering the energy of that storm as they warmed up on the sideline during the girls game, which they won in dramatic fashion to set the stage for what would be another great contest.

As we sat, basking in the new fragrances of spring, I was taken back to a poignant moment during a training session we had earlier in the year. As I was stretching the boys out on an unusually balmy day in February, we all saw Estocrates, our great sage leader walking towards us with a blindfold on, dodging flying soccer balls and adroitly side-stepping oncoming J.V. players frolicking and gambolling about the pitch (as J.V. players are want to do), as if he had full vision. At one point in his stride, as a ball was about to hit him in the back, he spun smoothly, received it with his chest, brought the ball down and caught it on his laces and then gracefully flicked it back to his dumbfounded son Thad, who stood with mouth agape, as if he was asking himself, "who is this man who calls himself my father?" As he came into our circle, young Eli Cothran, who just could contain himself no longer jumped up and addressed him. This is what ensued:

Young Cothran: How did you do that coach? You cannot see.

Estocrates: You think I cannot see?

YC: Why do you choose to blindfold yourself? Of all things, to live in darkness must be worst.

E: Fear is the only darkness. Take that ball and try to beat me 1 v. 1.

E: (after stopping him repeatedly) Ha, ha, never assume because a man has no eyes he cannot see. Close your eyes. What do you hear?

YC: I hear young boys playing. I hear the birds.

E: Do you hear your own heartbeat?

YC: No.

E: Do you hear the grasshopper that is at your feet?

YC: [looking down and seeing the insect] Master, how is it that you hear these things?

E: Young man, how is it that you do not?

Then, Coach Estes proceeded to explain to a captive audience that in order to actually be the best team in the state, and to reach Nirvana and find the key to all that exists in the process, that they would have to hone all five of their senses - and that complete oneness with one's own faculties and with those of every other team member was paramount to the achievement of this noble and lofty quest. Then we sat together as a family for the next two hours in complete silence, with blindfolds on, as the sounds of practicing and playing youth faded into the sunset. When we instinctively knew that everyone's heartbeat had been heard, we got up one by one, and left without a word.

Back to the game. After dispelling the mathematically impossible myth that a human could "give it 110%," created by the sadomasochistic Vince Lombardi of the Green Bay packers in order to see if he could steal his player's essence by making them give him something they didn't have, Coach Estes demanded 100% effort from the team before we left the locker room and headed out onto the pitch. His assessment at half-time, at which we were down 1- 0, after consulting our mathematical genius and team statistician, Juan Olvera, who has for his thesis developed a mathematical model for calculating percent effort given during a specific event which takes into consideration like 17 different variables, was that our boys, despite playing an extremely good half, only gave it 85.32 percent. That would change as soon as the second half whistle blew.

Our first goal came about 10 minutes into the second half when crafty freshman, Chris Tueso, torched his man at the left corner of the 18 yard box and was then summarily hacked from behind resulting in a P.K. which Johnny Martinez made short work of. 1 - 1. Then, if I remember correctly (Forgive me. I momentarily lost consciousness after Soloman "the flying tostada" accidentally kicked a ball way up in the air which landed precisely on the little hard button atop my baseball cap before the game started. The details from here on out could be slightly hazy.) Napoleonito did the splits on about the 6 as he made an incredible turn after receiving a ball from Eli Cothran and put another one in the old onion bag. 2 - 1. Our third goal came when Tueso magically spun past a defender on the right wing and crossed a perfect ball onto Richard who faced it into the back of the net. 3-1. And then the icing on the cake came when Alex Cruz skinned 2 defenders and slammed one home to leave no question who the best team in the state is. The last three goals came in the last 10 minutes of the game, a testament to how far we've come.

Man of the match actually goes to two players, neither of whom scored a goal. Alex Flores was a human vacuum in the midfield winning every head ball in his vicinity and completely neutralizing one of the best players in the state, while providing the main link in Walhalla's ability to have 75% of the possession in the game. Ishmael Martinez played a flawless game at sweeper with precision distribution and stellar defending and leadership throughout the match. He and Alex are both seniors who are maturing into two of the best players in 2A in my opinion at their respective positions. Great job Razorbacks.

This weekend Walhalla will be travelling to Mauldin for the Mauldin Cup. Wish us luck.

j

Walhalla 2, Seneca 2

Reunited, and it Feels so Good

Last night at 7:00 at "The Beach" in Walhalla, we played a game of soccer with the Seneca High School Bobcats. That may seem a trivial opening statement, but this game was much more than the tune-up for the upcoming season for both of these teams; it represented a step toward repairing the damaged relationship that ocurred between two perennial powerhouses so many years ago when one (seneca) said to the other (walhalla), "I've had enough of being treated as your doormat; I will not be walked on anymore! You can't just have everything your way and expect me to keep coming back! You can't keep inviting me out on a date and then making me look like a fool in front of your friends! You'll not prance around like the peacock you are anymore, parading your fine purple outfits while I have to dress like a pauper and languish in anonymity. I won't stand for it anymore! We're officially through!" And just like that, like so many before them had done, including: the harmonious duo of Simon and Garfunkel, Spinal Tap, that band amongst bands, Brittey and K-Fed, Sonny and Cher, Prince Charles and Dianna, Kobe and Shaq, The Soviet Union and the original super-continent of Pangea, just to name a few, everything fell apart. The great schism ocurred and the effects of the rift have been felt throughout greater Oconee county for far too long.

But last night, if just for one moment in time, we got a taste of the old glory and saw what it actually tasted like. "But what changed?" you might ask. "How, after such a messy divorce, did they put down their differences and agree to come together again?" Our trusty reportor, and winner of 7 golden globe awards for creativity, style, and candor in journalism, Ron Burgandy, sat down together with both the head coach of your Walhalla Razorbacks, Mike "Estocrates" Estes and head coach of the Seneca Bobcats, Glenn English for an exclusive, one-of-a-kind interview with the fiery rivals before last night's match:

RB: Coach English, I saw the trident you snuck in here. Be honest with me you two - right now you guys are ready to take the gloves off and rumble each other with an assortment of deadly weapons. Would that be an accurate assessment of the hidden anymosity you have for each other?

GE: Whooaaa! Wait a minute Ron! What in the world are you gettin' at here! We're playin' a friendly tonight. It's all in good fun. I don't even know what a trident is.

ME: Actually, that would be a good description of the anymosity I have towards you Ron! I don't know what compells me to do these interviews.

RB: The game tonight appears to the average Joe Shmo out there, who believes everything he hears coming out of media talking heads, to be an actual reconciliation between the two schools. Schools that have an intense, deep-seated hatred of each other. A hatred really, that has gone back to the dawning of time when Leviathan and man coexisted peacefully and fire was still a thing of the future. Coach English, isn't it true that even the ancient Indian word "Seneca" means "murderous devil?"

GE: No Ron, I'm pretty sure it means "Mountain or Stone Snakes." Yep, that's what it means.

RB: Agree to disagree? But either way, it was a snake that decieved Mother Eve in the garden. Will you and your boys use the black arts of deception to cause the hogs to believe they are an inferior opponent?

GE: Whatever. I don't even know how to answer such a nonsensical question. Anyway, I want to make it clear that we do not hate Walhalla and coach Estes and I think that this friendly rivalry is too important to neglect any longer. We should have never stopped playing each other.

RB: Coach English, I want you to be honest here. Why really, do you want to play this game tonight? Isn't it true that your not really a "soccer" coach? Isn't it true that you've got secret underground connections to a mercenary group that recruits the nation's top athletes and turns them into cold-blooded killers whom it then "rents" out to the highest bidder, and that you've had Hiraldo "Napoleonito" Vivaldo on your radar for some time now? That brainwashing him and teaching him your insidious techniques could procure for yourself and your handlers a weapon that if unleashed on an unsuspecting world could change the entire course of human events? You don't even like soccer, do you?

ME: Alright Burgandy, now you've gone too far. Last week you insult my heritage and make fun of me for things I have no control of and this week you badger my good friend with questions that sound like they were hatched at a crack house in downtown Seneca. Are you on LSD right now, or are you just so stupid that people think your eccentric or something?

RB: When in Rome.

GE: That made no sense dude.

RB: There's a lot of passion in this room right now. Two great coaches. Two great legacies. Two great ambassadors for the game known around the universe as... "The Antedote." Come and get your fair dose when these two heavyweights come together to, in essence, renew their wedding vows and then commence to abuse each other physically and emotionally as true married people do. Signing off till next time this is Ron Burgandy?

When the match actually started last night, Coach Estes was still visibly shaken from the interview with Mr. Burgandy, but he was able to compose himself, as all the great ones do, and lead his magnificent hogs out onto the field of play where they would then dazzle the 1000's in attendance for 55 minutes. Yes, at the end of 55 minutes your beloved purple pigs had the game in hand with a 2 - 0 lead on two beautiful goals by Backy Mestizo and newcomer Chris Tuezo who incidentally had to have a large chunk of bratwurst dislodged from his throat just minutes before the game. Apparently, living in Germany for the past few years, he's developed an addiction to the Octoberfest treat that he is now seeking help for at our local chapter of BWA (Bratwurstaholics Anonymous), which was set up to help Walhallanites deal with the vacuum left in our town when the carnies pack up their funnel cakes and brats, kegs of Bud and inflatable slides and go to greener pastures.

But I digress. As I was saying, the game was at hand until we gave the Bobcats some life by allowing a cheeky goal in about the 60th minute which led to them feeling like they could pull an upset, which then led to them tying the game in about the 71st minute of play. When all was said and done, Walhalla had allowed Seneca a tie in a game where they thoroughly dominated the possession of the ball and where they had 161 shots on goal compared to Seneca's 2. Needless to say, the mood was somber after the game. However, Coach Estes was optomistic saying that, "already, this team is in mid-season form compared to last years hogs. If we simply finish around the net and put the game away when we have the chance, then the sky is the limit for these guys. Our fitness looks great, and our concept of the way we want to play is leaps and bounds beyond where it was last year at mid-season."

Defender and Senior Jesse Cortez was a stand-out for the hogs, completely demoralizing the Bobcats best offensive player and basically rendering him a non-factor, while Alex Flores put together a great game as he dominated the middle of the field and acted as the catalyst for what is becoming a balanced and explosive Walhalla attack which will be a force to be reckoned with this year in the state of South Carolina. Walhalla's next game is sometime next week, though I'm not sure when, against somebody I'm not aware of at this time. I'll let you know. And if it's at home, make sure you're there so can break the record for attendance we set last night.



J

2009 Season kick-off Interview with coach Mike Estes

Another season has begun for the Walhalla Razorback men's soccer team. Pre-season work-outs have been tough as is evidenced by Jose Herrera and Solomon Garcia's ever-shrinking waste-lines, along with the virtual disappearance of Jorge into his teeny, tiny uniform. Coach Estes has put the players on a strict diet of raw eggs and meat shakes which has turned our boys into blood-thirsty maniacs in search of the ultimate prey: the illusive Palmetto state title, the creme de la creme of all sports trophies. After a week in arctic Siberia, where the enigmatic coach put the players through the most brutal of work-outs including: running through waste deep snow for miles holding big logs on their shoulders, chopping cord after cord of wood for Vladamir Putin's grandmother, bench pressing wagons full of said wood, and doing sit-ups off the side of a hay loft while he karate chopped their abs into submission, the hogs seem to be ready to take on the world in not only soccer, but any sport. Estes is so confident that he has challenged the Clemson Tigers football team to an all or nothing football game to decide who is the best sports team in South Carolina. He also challenged Russia's Hockey team to a game of hockey but they declined when they heard that we ate raw meat for every meal. And on a bit of a side note he entered Bachi Mestizo in the next American Idol. That's how confident this man is.

Tonight, at 7:00 P.M. the Hogs will travel to Pickens to test the merits of Coach Estes' off-season program. Ron Burgandy of channel 51 news was able to sit down with the general of the purple pigs for an exclusive interview yesterday to talk about the season and whatever else he could think to ask him. The following is exactly how it transpired.

RB: So Coach Estes, is Estes your real name or did you change it when you became coach so as to endear yourself to the Latin players on your team? Because I must admit, you don't look at all Spanish. Is that possibly your wife's maiden name and you took her name because of customs in Spain? What's the scoop?

Coach: Um, excuse me? What in the world are you talking about? Yes, Estes is my name. What are we talking about here?

RB: O.k. Now that we've got that cleared up, I've always wanted to ask you -- you are an extremely large human -- were you that big in utero? And if so, did your mother live through labor? Just a question.

Coach: Um, do you smoke copious amounts of crack cocaine, or did your mother when you were in utero? Because you're acting an awful lot like a crack head. You understand what I'm sayin'? Geesh.

RB: I see. Now I spoke with your wife several weeks ago and she said that she has a really hard time finding shirts that have sleeves long enough to cover the entire length of your arms. I don't see that as a problem. I see it as a beautiful metaphor. A wonderfully rich symbol of a mother hen that gathers her chicks beneath her wings. A symbol of how much love you are able to give to your players. Are you following me on that vibe?

Coach: Actually, the only symbol I see is that pink leotard and half shirt you're wearing. You care to interpret that for me Dr. Freud.

RB: That's a lot of love coach. Now, give me a prediction on tonight's game.

Coach: (after long thoughtful pause he looks square into the camera and licks his lips) Pain.

RB: There you have it folks: terse words, from an insanely competitive soccer fanatic, bent on shaping the soccer landscape in his own image with his enormous arms and supple soccer mind. Thanks for your time coach. And good luck this season.

Coach: Thanks you idiot.

RB: What a philosopher. I hope that you can now more appreciate the genius of the man known throughout the upstate simply as "Estocrates." In the coming days and weeks I will bring you more interviews from the members of your beloved purple pig squad in hopes that you will be able to get inside their heads to be able to more truly appreciate their contributions not only to science but to the great sport of soccer as well. Till next time.

And there you have it. Good luck tonight hogs.

JDS