Byrnes Tournament

Oh-fer

This weekend at the prestigious Byrnes Soccer Tournament things didn't go quite as planned for your beloved Razorbacks. Our first game vs. Blue Ridge, who we beat 4-1 last season at the Mauldin Cup, was scheduled for 8:30 p.m, already a late start time, but didn't actually kick off till 9:30 when temperatures had dropped from "cold" to "I can't feel my feet" celsius. Our attack was so pedestrian that due to lack of movement by their keeper, a blow torch had to be used to unstick him from the spot he found himself frozen to by the time the final whistle blew. Good thing we never got anything going because he was standing on the 18, all blue-lipped, waving his arms and pointing at his feet with still 15 minutes left in the game. That is just how brain-dead we were. Their keeper, frozen to the ground 18 yards from his own goal, and we couldn't even get close enough to chip one into the old onion bag. The final proof of how slushy our brains had become came when Henley Cothran threw out the old "double-dog dare" to his buddy Thad Estes on their way off the field. The whole crowd gathered around in silence while Esto poured hot coffee on his son's tongue to unstick it from the frozen goal post. Well, at least one of us tasted goal.

After Estocrates and I played a long game of "What if?" - as in, "What if we had Leo Messi on the wing, and Sergio Ramos at right back? And what if we could get Kaka and Ronaldo on loan from Real Madrid? etc. etc, we arrived in darkness back in Walhalla, scattered out into the woods to relieve ourselves, got the trash off the bus, got back on and headed back to Duncan. This was not a hugely popular decision but what else could we do? We had to be back on the pitch in two hours and we had an hour and a half drive. I've never been one for conspiracy theories, but something was definitely starting to smell fishy. I wondered, as I sat in the darkness marinating in the aroma of 16 unshowered soccer players, if we would ever be free from the nefarious clutches of OSLAP (Operation Squeel Like a Pig)(Refer to one of the earlier posts if you aren't familiar with it.)?

Our morning match was against a very good Eastside High team, but we came out in the first 15 minutes or so with some very nice stuff and actually got our only goal of the tournament off of a free kick, which we played quickly to Ovi Lopez who ripped a shot from the left side of the box into the back of the net. At half-time we were up 1-0. However, the No-doze wore off midway through the second half, and just as we were entering that all-important R.E.M. phase of sleep the final whistle blew with Eastside claiming a 2-1 victory. Could have been more, but since Joel Putnam, our lanky keeper, is prone to sleep walking, he actually entered his own dream physically, which happened to be the game we were playing, and made some unconscious saves. Thanks for keeping it respectable dude.

After a good hardy meal and a few large handfuls of gel on the hair, the hogs were ready to play again. Yes, we played Eastside totally gel-less, which is probably why we couldn't string more than 2 passes together at a time. We just didn't recognize each other. We finally came alive in the second half of our final match vs. Wade Hampton after much shifting of the line up and actually dominated the possession even though the final score of 3-0 did not reflect it. So out of 6 halves of soccer we played one good one. Hopefully we'll be able to build off of it and improve from here.

We'll be in Abbeville at 6:00 on the 18th, where hopefully we'll get our mojo back.

j

Walhalla 2, Seneca 0

Last Friday night in part one of three clashes with neighboring rival Seneca, your Walhalla Razorbacks came out on top 2 - 0 in a game that hopefully will be a preview of the dazzling brand of soccer the pigs are capable of playing. Apart from a 10 minute segment midway into the second half when several of our boys had to take a break to put a little more gel into their wind-ruffled fohawks, the Razorbacks set spark to the Bobcats windtunnel of a field which rose into a billowing blaze by the time the closing whistle sounded. Though the late February temperature by gametime was cold enough to make even Janet Reno seem hot, the sound of crickets could be heard in the winter silence as the Seneca faithful in the stands sat in muffled awe while their boys ran around like beheaded chickens. Eli Cothran started the scoring in the 15 minute with a powerful finish in front of net off a Walhalla corner kick. The scoring was then capped off with another great finish right in front of goal by Ovi Espino in the 68th minute. Though just a friendly, the game was played with the high intensity we have come to expect from the rivals, both of whom have high expectations for their respective clubs this season.

The two teams will meet twice more this season on March 23rd at 7:00, and on March 31st at 7:00 as well. If Friday's scrimmage is any indication of the kind of nights those will be, you won't want to miss any of the action.

This weekend, the Razorbacks will travel to Duncan, South Carolina to take part in the annual pre-season tournament hosted by Byrnes High School. We will be playing at 8:30 Friday night against Blue Ridge High School and at 9:30 the following morning against Eastside. The winners of each bracket will then play in a championship match at a time to be announced later. If you love Walhalla soccer, don't miss out on a great chance to come and cheer us on.

j

Walhalla v. Christ Church Scrimmage 3-3

Proverbial Monkey Evolution

The common monkey found in the woods of the Blue Ridge, known in scientific circles as monkus appalachia, is a pesky little fella with a real penchant for mischief. Mischief not necessarily of the Curious George variety. When he finds a good perch he tends to do anything in his power to keep that spot for himself and for his future generations of monkeys. Unfortunately the perch they often choose is the back of an animal passing beneath a tree onto which they will jump and begin a parasitic relationship that almost always ends in the death of their host. Beastly little things really!

As a young girl, my beautiful wife, Lindsay, used to hike these woods with her family. She was taken in by the variety of nature all around her and was careful to pay attention to whatever gift the forest might offer up for her senses at any given time. One thing that she wished she never saw though, and which has haunted her dreams like a hockey-masked ax-murderer to this very day, is the sight of a huge, wild black boar-hog staggering like a drunk man through the trees with what appeared to be a small monkey straddling his powerful neck, and speaking into his ear. The monkey's expression has been forever etched onto the canvas of her mind. She almost never sees it without the banjo duel in "Deliverance" playing sweetly in the background. As much as the monkey's relationship to the wild boar was parasitic, the song and the monkey's half-wit, inbred expression, are hauntingly symbiotic, mutually benefiting each other like the oxpecker (a bird) and the zebra for the permanent habitation of a small cavern in Lindsay's mind.

We all know now that it is a "fact" that animals have evolved a common tongue in which they can speak to each other, and that they have begun to build a tower that Darwinists commonly refer to as the "tower of anibabel" located in a little known region in the mountains of Ecuador. We also know, because of extensive "research" done over many years that it is an unimpeachable "fact" that Monkus Appalachia attaches itself to a wild boar for the simple reason that it wants a joy-ride through the woods. The real kicker though, is that it is also a "scientific fact" that at the end of the joy-ride 92% of pigs die from "lack of self-esteem syndrome (LESIS)." This can be treated with a plethora of new and amazing drugs being developed and advertised ad nauseum between each segment of the nightly news with Brian Williams, if the pig is treated within a mere hour after he lies down to wait for the great buzzard (the animal version of the grim reaper) in the sky to take him away. Using a new technique for decoding the final thought that an animal is thinking before it dies, it has been "confirmed" that in 92 of the 100 cases of "pig-death-by-monkey" studied, the last thought that crossed the pigs complex brain is, "I'll never be a wild animal." So Lindsay, now that we know what that monkey was whispering, maybe we can get you some help.

For the last 8 months your beloved, wild razorbacks have been staggering through the proverbial woods with several proverbial monkeys attached squarely to their collective proverbial shoulders. I wonder if I should call Guinness and tell them I've used "proverbial" in a sentence more times than any other human in history? Maybe later. We're talking monkeys now. Darwin said, "it takes time for evolution to work its magic." In the case of most of evolution, like the small pig-like animal that evolved into the modern elephant, about 400 billion years - give or take a few hundred years here or there. But Darwin didn't think about "proverbial evolution" because Freud wasn't around yet to let him know anything about psychoanalysis or any of that stuff. Recent studies though, show that the "proverbial evolution," specifically, the change in species from monkey to gorilla, only takes at the most, 3.5 years. So now we get some clue as to why Pickens High School and the Alumni (hired assassins) were merely monkeys on our necks going for a little joy-ride while Christ Church had become a gorilla doing Chinese water torture on us while sitting atop our finely chiseled bellies. Do the math. It's been less than 3.5 years since our last victory over the first two teams, while at the same time going over 3.5 years since last beating Christ Church.

So, while getting the proverbial monkeys and the huge gorilla off of our backs and bellies in beating Pickens, mentally destroying the Alumni, and not losing to Christ Church, we also inadvertently proved the great Howard Cosell's revolutionary theory of "proverbial evolution," which is in my humble, uneducated opinion, much more probable than actual "Darwinian evolution." Because we have the facts to prove it... Right?!

The only draw back of getting a thousand pound Gorilla off of our bellies onto our own turf the other night is that... what are you going to do with a huge gorilla in Walhalla? We only get carnies in here once a year. We'd have to feed him and keep him housed. Christ Church couldn't fit him onto either of the special "short buses" they commandeered from one of the "special" programs at the private school in order to get him back to the zoo they stole him from. So I guess we could use him as our mascot and dress him up like a pig. I don't think we play against any Gorilla-pigs. No I actually don't think anyone has chosen that mascot for their school yet. The Walhalla Gorrilla-Pigs. Whadaya think?

Tonight your Walhalla Hogs, along with our little brothers, the mini-pigs, are in action. JV at 5:30, and then at 7:00, the main event versus the Bobcats at their place down in Seneca. Paint yourself an obnoxious shade of deep purple and come over to the big city and wreak some havoc.

j

Alumni Game 2010

OSLAP

I told you that we were to play an alumni game last Friday evening. Sorry, I lied, unless the definition of Alumni is: a group of hired mercenaries with no national loyalties, giving out their black services to the highest bidder. James Powell, who played in the game, was quoted as saying, "I swear I didn't recognize one of those guys." As everyone knows, just as Haiti is the main hub for the distribution and filtering of cocaine to the rest of the world, Walhalla is the hub for trafficking ex-Mexican national team soccer players to teams that need a little more "skill" on the field. It's been going on for years right under our noses, but now it comes to our own field, and it has made us bleed our own blood. And you thought Walhalla was only a hub for the best fish tacos (Puerto Nuevo rocks!) on the eastern seaboard. Those curious pictures of Brook Scott and Glen English with Dick Chenney in a poppy field are beginning to make more and more sense.

There is the government that we see, a group of smiling puppets that are nothing more than actors on a stage given scripts on teleprompers that tell them what to say and when to pause. There is also a "Shadow Government," an entity that rules from secret places that extends its dark fingers of invisible power to obscure places across the globe in an attempt to consolidate control over the whole planet onto the plates of a very elite few. You may have heard some of their names bandied about from time to time, names that send shivers down the spine. Names like Rockefeller and Rothschild. Elite groups like the Bilderbergers, the Bohemian Club and the Trilateral Commision. These groups and families sit atop the pyramid. They have agendas, and those agendas must be carried out by someone. That is where we come face to face with Scott and English and the organization they were inducted into in the early 70's after being successfully used as lab rats for the government's sinister MK Ultra program that sought to use psychotropics and hypnotism to program CIA and MI6 operatives to become walking WMD, fully capable of carrying out even the most preposterous sounding schemes, all designed ultimately for the take-over of the entire world. These schemes are referred to as "Black Ops," and your Walhalla Razorbacks have been the target of one particular "black op" for some time now.

"Operation Squeel Like a Pig," or "OSLAP," not to be confused with Backy Mestizo's favorite phrase, "Oh shnap," is something the CIA has had in the planning stages ever since Esto took over the coaching duties at Walhalla. The mastermind behind the plan is none other than the infamous Henry Kissinger, a proponent of eugenics, and the architect of many other "black ops," such as the Bay of Pigs and Gulf of Tonkin Affair. The success of the plan hinges on effectively planting MK Ultra trained coaches into the realms that Razorback soccer is played so as to create havoc and nullify any enlightenment that the people who watch, and those who we play against might recieve. "Estoccer," the brand of soccer invented by Estocrates after a 40 day fast upon the dunes of the great Sahara desert, when played in a state of Nirvana, is known to break the shackles of media spun government propaganda and hollywood brainwashing in peoples minds, and set them free to see the truth of what is really going on in the world. Imagine what would happen if too many minds were set free. The elite's spell would be broken and they would lose everything they have worked so hard to attain over the last thousand years. It is clear now that the hiring of the dubious "alumni" team, the use of Patriot Act cell phone tapping and weather altering technologies in an attempt to get the Razorbacks down and off their game, therefore squelching the Nirvana experienced by their fans and opponents alike, are all part of the Kissinger crafted, but so-far fruitless, OSLAP (Operation Squeel Like a Pig) plan.

Yes, we lost the so-called "alumni game" Friday night 1-0. However, what English and Scott and their devious programmers have yet to understand, and will never understand, is that Estoccer goes beyond the numbers to the essence of all that exists. They thought that by the hogs losing, that our shackle-breaking essence would be sapped, therefore rendering our mind-bending game powerless in setting people free. They don't understand that the game itself is "the game," and that the essence is released when each game is played beautifully, which even in defeat the Hogs did.

Tonight at 6:00 we will play Estoccer against the crusaders from Christ Church who beat us twice last season. Come out and get your fix. You won't regret it.

J

Alumni Game tonight at 7:00

A to B and Everything in Between

Some people talk of going from "point A" to "point B" when making goals in life. They are ordinary mortals. For the Hogs, we must go from "Point A," a lesser dimension known also as "prepubescent JV Zone," to "point A.A," a dimension more aptly described as "Class 2A, region I-AA," to "point A.A-STATE," a dimension between dimensions sometimes equated with nirvana, which will then shoot us to "point A.A-A," or "Dimension Class 3A," in the hopes of someday, after accomplishing a plethora of other herculean tasks including the addition of a sky-cam to the beach, get us to "Point B," which is actually a planet called Nebiru, or Planet X for you lay people. This journey is what Estocrates refers to in his NY Times best seller, "Peanut Butter: It's What's Between the Bread That Counts," as "treading on rice paper." For you cynics out there, no, he did not get that concept from Kung Fu. He actually lived Kung Fu and the real life story that inspired the t.v. show. David Carradine, the actor who played Estocrates' older metaphorical self, sitting in the directors chair barefoot while on set during the third episode, "Take the Pebble From My Hand," said of Esto, who was only 13 at the time, "For someone this young to have a t.v. drama of his life and the future he is yet to live speaks volumes about the depth of his character." Yes, and so does the fact that Esto sat Indian style in a cave up in Pisgah National forest for two whole months prior to this season without food or water, in preparation for the final push to point A.A-State...the dimension where titans clash. NPR's newest yet most seasoned reporter, Ron Burgandy, best known for his work interviewing the great Estocrates, and for his pioneering work as a news anchor in San Diago during the
70's, sat down yesterday with the ever-exuberant Estocrates at his manor in Northwest Walhalla to discuss with him the Alumni game to be played tonight and the upcoming season. What follows is the official transcript of their rivetting conversation:

Ron Burgandy (RB): Hola Senior.

Esto: Hola?

RB: You've lived and you've loved, but tell me Mike, where does your unbridled and omniscient passion lie, now that you've been to the top of Everest and seen the world from the Pope's perspective?

Esto: Hmmm, that's quite a dramatic question there Ron, but I'll answer it the best I can. First of all, you can never reach the top of a game that is always evolving. So I don't know if that part of your question is relevant. However, as far as passion goes, it's where it always has been: seeing players reach their full potential in the game, and as men.

RB: Since you mentioned evolution, don't you think that it would be easier to just get a degree in robotics and form the perfect player out of steel, wire and brawn? Then you could put your passion into film-making, or MMA or something. You would be a beast in the cage.

Esto: I guess I didn't reach the ultimate place of patience in my cave retreat this winter. You drive me nuts Ron. I just told you my passion is developing players. Why would I want to build a robot you buffoon?

RB: Wow....you really are a passionate giant Mike. There's something that puzzles me about you though. Why would you want to build robots that would take away these poor players jobs and probably consequently cause their families to starve without an income? It doesn't make sense Mike.

Esto: You've got to be kidding me right? You're joking right, Burgandy? These are high school players. They don't get payed for this. They do it for fun you idiot!

RB: Hmmm. Agree to disagree? Now, on to the topic at hand. When you take the field tonight against the decrepit and ever-wrinkling alumni squad, will you be employing your usual strategy of breaking some one's leg right out of the gate to send a message that the Hog's ain't to be messed with?

Esto: I've never employed such a strategy and never will. We rely on skill, teamwork and heart to defeat our opponents.

RB: So you will be using goon tactics to completely demoralize an already downtrodden group of men that were never able to accomplish their dreams as soccer players? Is that really the zen thing to do Mike?

Esto: Again, I want to make it clear for the record that we have never used these kinds of tactics and that we respect and honor the former players we will take the field with tonight. Is that clear Burgandy?

RB: So would you say, "When in Rome?"

Esto: I wish you'd go to Rome and stay there.

RB: So there you have it folks. A man intent on destroying everything in his path with his purple marauders disguised as a traveling family band. A pied piper piping a tune of wanton violence and Machiavellian policy in the futile pursuit of the coveted Palmetto state title. Thanks for your time and I wish you and your team all the success you so richly deserve. Great Oden's Raven! Steakhouse is about to close. Sorry to run. Bye now.

The Razorbacks will storm the beach at 7:00 tonight for a friendly with the Walhalla Alumni team in an attempt to avenge the loss they suffered to the alumni in last years contest. Come out and enjoy a taste of the past, the present and the future as you continue to faithfully support Walhalla High School soccer.

J

PS. Totally random video clip. This video shows that Diego Maradona is the only man in the world who deserves to wear pants this tight. Feast on the feats of the greatest to ever play the game!

Varsity Final Roster

The English-Scott Affair

For all those who doubted the more dubious implications that the Patriot Act would have on their privacy, recent happenings in Greater Oconee County have proven that the miracle of instantly accessible information comes with a sword that is to be sure, double-edged. There are also some very dark technologies being developed by the military, stuff that not even the most cutting edge conspiracy theorists including Noam Chomsky, Alex Jones, or even the great Webster Tarpley have the stones to mention aloud in public. Most of you have heard of MK Ultra, but who of you has ever heard of, or would give a second thought to the fact that the most powerful militaries in the world have learned how to harness the weather in an attempt to control the conditions of the battle field and even to create natural disasters. WAT (Weather Altering Technologies) have changed the ways the superpowers wage war. And for a few soccer coaches in the upstate of South Carolina, it has changed the way in which they go about trying to beat the state's greatest soccer power. The cold war between three of the states great teams is still being waged behind a curtain of smiles and handshakes. In the last week-and-a-half both of these aforementioned factors have been used by unsavory blackguards in an attempt to divide and conquer your beloved Razorbacks for the purpose of thwarting Estocrates' ingenious pre-season training regimen, which as you know, last year included a trip to Siberia for a Rocky IV-style workout complete with icy haylofts, huge logs, waist-deep snow and Vladamir Putin's Grandmother. What better way to make impotent your worst enemy than to create a situation where they can't even take the pitch to hold try-outs and decide who this years team will even be. And if that wasn't diabolical enough, to create an evil alliance with a coach from another class, (ahem, Brook Scott of Emerald) but still a natural rival with your vaunted enemy, knowing that Scott wants to keep the Razorbacks, the only team capable of beating Emerald, from standing in the way of winning the 2A state title, is simply nefarious.

So the plan, as we have come to find out was to - just as the CIA and MI6 do in Afghanistan and every other country they've gone into - use the age old Machiavellian ploy of "divide and conquer": first, using WAT to create conditions on Walhalla's soccer fields untenable even for Esto, the most hard-core coach that ever lived this side of the Chatooga river. Bear Bryant once said of him, "He eats lightning, and craps thunder." Or was that Mickey when describing Clubber Lang to a washed-up and complacent Rocky Balboa before their first fight? Either way, it's a good description so we'll keep it. The strange thing is, that in Seneca, just 10 miles away, the weather was balmy and dry, while here in the Garden of the Gods we experienced earthquakes, torrential rain, and, as reported by Jorge Gomez, a small tornado that almost ripped his tiny body from the arms of his terrified mother. The second, was to use wire-tapping technology, introduced after 9/11 by George Bush's patriot act, to scramble text messages sent to Razorback players telling them when and where practices were to be held. One message received by 4 of our most promising prospects told them that practice was to be held at midnight on the Oconee air strip. You should have seen their faces when we bailed them out of jail at 2:00 that morning. Needless to say, we could only get together at most four players at once at any given location for a whole week. Where English and Scott got access to these technologies one can only guess, but a picture has surfaced on the Internet showing them, quite a bit younger than they are now, standing next to a smiling Dick Cheney in full battle regalia with a vast poppy field in the background.

Most teams would have assumed the fetal position and posited their thumbs squarely into their mouths after receiving two such foul blows; but as you know, the mighty Razorbacks are not such a team. In order to get back on track and make up the training missed on account of the cowardly attacks, Estocrates had a temporary make-shift, green-certified geodesic dome constructed over the beach to combat the tempestuous weather. And to make sure each player was informed of practice times he employed a flock of messenger pigeons trained by the former champion of the world, Mike Tyson, who he became good friends with during the time he was his sparring partner for the infamous Evander Holyfield "ear-bight" fight. Iron Mike made a personal call to Esto praising him for his "impetuous style" and his "impregnable" defenses. He also offered his services in other ways telling coach, "everyone has a plan till they get punched in the mouth. They must be ludicruth to think they could mess with a friend of me, Iron Mike Tyson." Indeed they are Mike, but who knew the great Esto was so well connected.

So, after 5 straight days in which we practiced from morning till night, skipping school and stopping only to shave (in Estes' case) and to change beards (in my case), we finally arrived, after painstaking deliberation, at the roster for this year's Walhalla Razorback Men's soccer squad. Here is the list:

2010 Walhalla Men's Soccer Roster

Carlos Aguilar - Sophomore
Keegan Bodiford - Junior
Richard Cantero - Sophomore
Eli Cothran - Junior
Alejandro Cruz - Junior
Giovanni Cuevas - Junior
Ovi Espino - Junior
Jorge Gomez - Senior
Jose Herrera - Junior
Ovi Lopez - Senior
Aaron Lucas - Freshman
Backy Mestizo - Junior
Graham Metalik - Freshman
Christian Romero - Sophomore
Humberto Segura - Junior
Jesus Soto - Junior
Hayden Wilson - Sophomore

Mike "Estocrates" Estes - Head Coach and back-country trailfinder
Joshua "The Professor" Steele - Assistant Coach, team meteorologist, fashionista and head of anti-spy operations

This year's team is young, talented and well manicured and has two goals in mind: the coveted 2A state title, and as always, finding the key to all that exists along the way. Come out to our games and experience a state of nirvana with our mind-bending brand of soccer. In the words of the great Pedro: "We will fulfill all your wildest dreams."

j

2010 Try-outs

The Great Pinata Fiasco

For this season's theme Coach Mike "Estocrates" Estes, otherwise known in his days playing professional soccer in Brazil as simply, "Esto," has chosen the word, "unconventionalism," from his huge bag of motivational vocabulary words. To kick off this radical idea, or what would be more appropriately called an ideal, with a bang, we hired a huge crane to show up at our field yesterday at 3:30 to suspend a jumbo tron-sized and shaped pinata, which would display the score of our last game with Emerald on it. The idea was that in order to find the players with the most desire we would select the sixteen players, after depriving them of food and water for three days, with the most candy in their sacks at the end of the free-for-all. No rules, just have at it.

Unfortunately, on the way to the field the driver of said crane, Mr. Gettys Cobb, stopped at Last Chance and had a few too many Natty lights resulting in a horrifying wreck at the intersection of Catherine and Main street where the unsecured pinata smashed into the stop light and broke open, scattering more candy than the Shriner's on Christmas day. This resulted in absolute pandemonium descending on our little village. There is now a severe milk, eggs and bread shortage at Ingles and some are saying that this could be the worst disaster since the Exxon Valdez spilled black gold into the ocean off the coast of Alaska. Too much sugar in the blood stream of the population can have dire consequences. Anyway, since our scheme was a total surprise and we had told no one about it, and because the driver was so drunk he couldn't remember his own name and therefore forgot who had ordered his services, the fiasco couldn't be traced to us and we have luckily retained our jobs as coaches. And since no one reads this blog I think it's safe to relay the story.

Needless to say, we had to scrap the whole theme for the season and revert back to the more conventional method of just having the players play soccer and whatnot. Not very creative, but hopefully we'll be able to locate sixteen winners who will take us to the coveted state title and get us back on the path of finding the key to all that exists. I'll update you on who makes the team and of any and all ensuing shenanigans that await us in our quest for enlightenment and decent fast food. Oh, and if any of you need 20 t-shirts that say "UNCONVENTIONAL" on the back, let me know.

j

'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

Just Another Step

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

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.