It couldn’t stay buried forever forever forever


In lieu of posting anything new, though I am working on some stuff, I’ve decided to do my last repost from my old blog.  I wrote this in 2010 during the men’s world cup.  It was pretty much my first post like the ones I post now, with pictures and everything.  Hope you like it.

Power Leg(s)!

In anticipation of the World cup, my roommate and I have been, as we call it, practicing soccer, or, as onlookers call it, flailing about like idiots. It has been a wonderful way to spend my afternoons, apart for the swarms of gnats that seem to think my head is an all you can land buffet. It isnt. Unfortunately, I have recently come down with a self diagnosed condition I like to call “Soccer leg.” Since I am right footed, my right leg has been infused with incredible power while my left leg has resigned itself to wither away in disuse. The problems with this are twofold: firstly, my right leg is slightly larger and more buff than my left and scientists speculate that if the current trend continues my right leg will continue its unparalleled growth and, I fear, end up absorbing my left leg, much like a fratricidal twin in the womb, and I will be left with one all-powerful Gargantuleg. Secondly, as I discovered today whilst running, the extra use that has given my right leg it’s strength also weakens it after a soccer practice, and around a mile into my run I found myself with an over-exerted right leg. This was my left legs chance! It desperately wanted me to press on, but sadly for me (and for my left leg) all I could manage was a swift hobble, which is slower than a lethargic stroll. All seemed lost. It was not however a total waste, for my slowness of pace did allow me to take note of my fellow “runners” and I, like any insane person would have done, began to categorize them into several Archetypes, 5 of which i will display now.

The Running Archetypes
A study by Charles Brock
1. Fat Woman With Dog
The first person one sees on a running path is always a fat woman. With a dog. They seem to congregate around the beginning of paths and never stray father than the middle. Pink of face and heavy of step, these woman are oft found with comically large water bottles and are always in some sort of pink exercise attire, most likely bought at the same store. Why they have the dog is a mystery to me. It’s not like they are taking a stroll down MLK blvd or the DMZ between the two Koreas. What use is a dog? The dogs themselves are seldom terrifying, or even worrisome. Their stature could best be described as bite-sized. I began to think that every obese woman just naturally brought a dog everywhere they went, be it walking on a path, McDonald’s, surgery or any number of other activities. But then I became aware of some fat women heading towards me with no dogs at all. This puzzled me for quite some time, because i seemed to remember that these women used to have dogs. Where could they have gone? And then I realized that the main difference between obese women with and without dogs wasn’t something tangible, it was merely a matter of time. For you see, they headed down the trail with their furry friends in tow, yet they returned with nothing but full(er) bellies. They had been eaten!
2. The Inexplicable Children
The inexplicable children are possibly the most baffling archetype of all. They are simply kids, wandering about on the running trail for no reason whatsoever, and doing nothing apart from being bothersome. If someone tripped over a child they could seriously injure themselves! These kids are just wandering about with no supervision whatsoever, getting in everyone’s way. I mean, who fucking does that?? Who lets their kids wander around a running path by a busy road?? If I were a child molester, my job (hobby?) would have been made laughably easy by these inept parents. They would take to being kidnapped like daisies to a plucking…
Moreover, who are these children? Where did they come from? Where are their parents? Why are they galavanting about on a running path? The answer to these questions, however, lie in the same place as the answers to the questions of Lost: nowhere.
“You mean you actually watched the whole thing? LOL!”
3. Bike Guy
The second most feared archetype in the outdoor fitness world, this guy doesn’t give a damn about anyone or anything except biking and pissing people off. He will run you down as if you were the little kid in gladiator and not even think twice about it, and there is no Russel Crowe to exact revenge for you (probably). For some reason he prefers to bike on paths too narrow to pass obese walking dog ladies, or even regular runners/strollers/squirrels/anything. And yet he does pass…with a vengeance. Most often when bikes are coming up on you, you hear the clank of metal or the bike chain or something, but not when this asshole approaches. When this guy comes up on you, you’ll only know it by a whoosh of air to your left, an unexplainable bike which has just appeared 20 meters in front of you and is receding at a breakneck speed, and a vague feeling that you should be dead but have somehow narrowly avoided your fate. Since I didn’t have my scanner with me I couldn’t get an accurate reading when a bike guy passed by me today, but his power level must have been somewhere in the range of 9000!
But there was no way that could be right…
4. Out of Place Couple
Most people come outside to exercise, but not these guys. Normally a middle aged husband and wife, these people may not be burning the calories, but they like to pretend that they are. They dress up in sporting paraphernalia and have water bottles, so they areexercising, right? They often wander side to side on the path in unpredictable patterns that can be hazardous to other trail users.
5. The Silver Bullet
The most feared man in the running world, the silver bullet is indeed a force to be reckoned with. He is faster than many runners will ever be in their prime, and the dude is 90 something years old! Like the bike guy, the only thing keeping the silver bullet alive is the constant movement and endorphin rush of running, and run he does. Faster than the dreaded Cassowary, the silver bullet can even reach speeds fast enough to travel back in time! Who could make it so that you were never born. Or he could be your father. Perhaps he is everyone’s father. Who can know except for him? Some even attribute near magical powers to him, akin to the force. Be afraid.

“Skateboarding on my sidewalk, you young rascals? FEEL MY RAGE!”

Sports Club: The Thunderdome


At my camp, the children are allowed to participate in clubs.  These clubs are chosen for the morning and afternoon separately on a weekly basis.  There are many good clubs, but the best is morning Sports Club.  Morning Sports Club is the perfect blending of fun for the campers, who compete against one another in games, and counselors, who coach teams, make trades and scream futilely at first graders who still don’t know which direction to run around the bases.  At the beginning of every week the children are forced by CJ, the man in charge of Sports Club onto different teams and then to choose a country that their team will represent, much to that country’s chagrin.  Countries are normally chosen by obscurity; the more obscure the better.  Albania, for instance, was a much lauded choice.

Since this is the last week of camp, us coaches had a draft where we got to choose 3 players and since I am a WINNER I got first pick.  Naturally I picked Carl, the best kid there and continued choosing in that manner untill i had a fully loaded awesome team of victory.

Pictured: My team

All the other coaches chose in a similar fashion.  Well… most of the other coaches, at least.  My friend Arthur, who was in Sports Club merely to substitute for another coach, Benjiman, decided that it would be far more amusing to choose a horrible team instead of a good one.  It wasn’t his team, after all.

“Hey charles, who are the worst/dumbest kids in your camp group?  ‘Cause Ineed them on my team.”  He asked under his breath as he sidled up to me. I told him.  He picked them, and created the single worst team to ever compete in sports club.

Pictured: Arthur's Team

To add insult to injury, Arthur made sure that his team sat down and was quiet first so that he could choose his first opponent.  Naturally, he chose me and my super team, laughing all the while.  And so we headed off to the big gym to play soccer.

“We should sit here,” said Arthur, pointing to a spot behind one of the goals.  “You guys will be coming this way, so we will get to see all of the good shots if we sit behind my goal.”  I nodded my head greedily.  The spectacle would indeed be… delicious.  We pulled our chairs over and awaited the start eagerly.

Nothing happened.

“Um… go.” Arthur shouted, and thus a game that will surely be recorded in the annals of camp history and retold for generations to come began.  My team, of course, immediately stole the ball from Arthur’s team and went down the field to score, thanks to a rousing display from Carl.

“Ha HA!” i shouted in triumph.  Arthur nodded approvingly and we both had a good laugh.  We looked over to the far side of the gym where Timmy, one of Arthur’s more stupid team members, was wandering about aimlessly, talking to the colored squares on the basketball court.  Ocassionally he would fall on the ground and roll.  We laughed even harder

“I say!” I said, “This match has proven to be quite the distraction from an otherwise boring monday!”

“Quite so!” chortled arthur as he took out a bag of cheetos to share with me.  I normally dont eat cheetos.  Something about them creeps me out.  Maybe it’s the putrid orange color or the way they stain your hands but hey, it was a special occasion after all.  We dug in.

While we were laughing and eating and laughing some more the ball was steadily making it’s way toward my side of the pitch, but I wasn’t worried.  I had cleverly placed one of the oldest and most powerful kids at camp, Buca, in goal and held no doubts that he would successfully defend it.  One of his foolish opponents took a feeble shot at goal, which was promptly scooped up by a derisively laughing Buca and then thrown down the field.  And that’s when it all went to hell.

The ball soared right to the feet of a puny player from the other team who flailed at it wildly.  One of his spasmodic hits struck true and the ball plowed through our goal.  The gym  was as silent as death, apart from the sound of a bag of cheetos and two jaws dropping to the floor.

Pictured: Me and arthur....if we were aliens....

“Arthur…what just happened?” I asked, quivering with fear as i rose from my seat and took a few steps forward.

“A goal!” he laughed at me.  I spun on him angrily

“What?  There’s no way that can be right!”

If you get this you rock

And yet it was right.  What happened next could only be described as a total rout.  The up till then disheartened and defeated team of stupids rallied with a vengeance, scoring goal after goal.  Granted, most of these goals were due to my campers not being soccer players and messing up.  Teddy, one of my players, for instance was going to block a ball, but miscalculated the angle and ended up passing it perfectly to an enemy standing right in front of an undefended goal.  He scored.  Robert accidentally passed the ball to a stupid standing right in front of an undefended goal.  He scored.  Billy did a bad header and passed the ball to a opponent standing… you guessed it… right in fucking front of the goal.  He scored.

Arthur continued to laugh his ass off.  I, however, had clamped my mouth into a terrible grimace of anger mixed with revulsion, sprinkled with a little bit of hate and topped off with a cool serving of despair.

It looked somewhat like this

I shouted.  I screamed.  I ran up and down the pitch throwing chairs and children about like the incredible hulk rampaging in a daycare.  I banged my head against the wall.  I prayed.  It was all for naught, for Arthur’s team was still in the lead.  He stayed there too, all the while sitting in his chair, laughing and laughing and laughing as the world crumbled about me, heedless of my protest.

It turns out winning at sports club mattered a lot more to me than i had previously thought.  I assumed that this is because whenever i play sports, i lose.  It’s a bad habit I’ve never been able to shake.  Even though I am incapable of winning,  I can live vicariously through my campers winning at a sports league.  I won last week.  But as the game ended in a 6-4 victory for the cast of the replacements, I clearly say the writing on the wall.  I was doomed.

But such is the fate of those who dare enter the gauntlet of…

SPORTS CLUB

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