So we are off on another soccer adventure. The news of my lovely adult recreational team is much brighter this week, speaking solely in terms of the team. We won, though I must admit that we were able to substitute up to five players at a time, while the opposing team had no subs.
We played the team from Sweetwater today, and I'll never know why they don't bring enough players. The one time I remember playing in Sweetwater, they had subs. But out of three years that I've played, we've been there once.
They can be a physical team. They can also be the kind of team that bitches about the physical game played against them, even when you are repaying their jabs in kind.
I'll know tomorrow about the usual round of aches, but I have new stuff to bitch about today.
There is the bruise on my thigh from a kick, a little high if you ask me, but I'm not the ref. I pulled some muscle in the opposite thigh as well. I also landed hard on that leg doing a slide tackle. Generally, a slide tackle involves jumping with both feet at the ball to force your opponent to at least stop and chase after the ball. It's a desperation move that one uses as a last resort. Instead of both feet this particular time, one foot stuck in the ground so that as I hit the ground, I landed on that foot. Snapping your foot up to your ass with such force will end up putting stress on your knee. I'm pretty sure that I didn't do any real damage, but it still feels a little unpleasant.
That's my story for now. We got home from the game with just enough time for Momma to touch up her makeup, change into work pants and take off. I can't take a shower unless the boys are inside, and one more beautiful day here means I want them out in it as long as they can. All that to say that, almost three hours after the game, I'm still filthy. I want a shower, and I don't really feel I can relax until them. I'm still in soccer shorts, dirty socks, dried sweat, dead grass that crept under the shinguards and dirt. My face feels gritty if I rub it, so I try not to.
But the pizza is out of the oven. It's finally just dark enough and the boys are just hungry enough that it's time for everyone to be inside. My shower can't be more than about 20 minutes away, so I am off. I told my crappy story, and now . . .ass washin'!