9 posts tagged “futball”
Hit in the face... again. Playing soccer... again. At least
this time the assailant did me the courtesy of being a fellow
female.
We were racing for a long pass to the corner (me on defense, her on offense), and I caught her elbow on my right cheekbone. I bellowed reflexively, and then fought a short but nearly irresistible impulse to smash her face into the Plexiglas. She made it 800 times harder to resist said urge by saying in a sweet, teeny voice, "Sorry. That was an accident." Tee-hee.
First of all, isn't it supposed to be the defender who makes egregious fouls (or accidents, whatever) when the pressure is on goal? Secondly, WTF is your elbow doing at the level of my cheek? And in conclusion... where was my call, ref?!
Total bollocks. After the game, I asked a couple of girls on my team how it looked:
T: It's puffy... just a little bit puffy... and it's got a bit of color.
E: Color? Like blush?
M: Like purple blush."
It's not so bad, really. I'm a little swollen, and a little bruised, but I don't think we're going to get Shiner #3
out of it. Not that I'm complaining. This is why I can't
play for at least a week and a half before my wedding. I don't
want to be a black-eyed bride.
... as my Limerick-born cousin Nora Mulqueen would say. And I am one.
I played indoor soccer last night without my brace for the first time since my injury. I realized that I hadn't put it on just as the game started, and I thought to myself, "Oh... I sprained it months ago, and I've played on it for weeks. It'll be fine." Then the teeny voice in my head which I mostly try to ignore these days said, "You're totally going to get injured now. You just jinxed yourself. Put your f'in brace on." But I didn't listen, mostly pretending that I didn't hear.
So... I played indoor soccer last night without my brace for the first time since my injury, and consequently re-injured my ankle for the first time since my injury. It wasn't trauma-induced, either. We were setting up a goal kick, and I was just standing there catching my breath. I shifted my weight from my right foot to my left and it just went out on me. And I fell down. And it hurt. And I proceeded to hobble off the field and cry like a little baby.
Proper eejyut.
There's no swelling or bruising today, and I can bear weight on it... but it's tender and a bit on the dodgy side.
My punishment? Instead of buying fabulous books with my $25 Amazon gift certificate, I had to buy resistance bands and 4 rolls of medical tape. Boo.
The aforementioned are the reasons I've been mysteriously absent of late. Indulge my delusions, and let me believe that you've missed me.
Frankenankle - I sprained my ankle at my indoor game on Thursday evening. It became alarmingly swollen that night, and the next day phased through putrid shades of purple and yellow. Hence, the nickname.
How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form?
I'm hard-pressed to explain why an ankle injury stripped me of my desire to be bloggy, but I don't make the rules.
Wedding - I'm still having one. In three short months, in fact. And it ain't plannin' itself. So I plan, and I fret, and I fuss... in a decidedly Elaina way. The Elaina version of fretting and fussing includes apologizing to the lady at the bridal boutique for hating all the wedding gowns and explaining to the florist (with great difficulty) what is meant by "muted, prudelike flowers".
Cyclons - And my love affair with sci-fi continues to blossom. Richard just bought Season 1 of Battlestar Galactica, and we've watched about 10 hours worth in the past 3 days. And I'd rather be watching it right now than finishing this sentence. *sigh*
... is the soccer game I'm about to go play at 11:25pm. I'm getting too old for these late-night indoor games.
After months of playing soccer like a wet dish cloth, I've scored three goals in my last three games. Tonight marked the first-ever right-footed goal of my entire, not-so-illustrious soccer career. This is both impressive and perplexing, given that I'm not a leftie. Probably the same as everything else... I do better when I don't overthink it.
In any event, I'm glad that my mojo returned. I was tempted to retire early.
Oh, Lord. I went out and played an hour-long pickup game this
afternoon in blazing California sunshine. My slapdash sunblock
application resulted in a freckly sort of tan only on my upper lip. I look like I have a misstache now.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
I got my first ever black eye on August 19th of this year:
Shiner
I've waited and waited, and my day has finally arrived. Like all wannabe tough girls, I've always wanted something to show for my scrappiness. Something cool, something tough, something to wear as a badge of my pugnacity. Something, I dare say, just like a black eye.
Tonight, courtesy of Julio (aka already-injured-half-my-team-in-past-games, much-too-large-and-cocky-and-reckless-to-play-coed anyway Julio), my wish came true. He was making a break for goal, and I was sprinting up behind him. He gestured wildly and cracked me right in my eye. Well, not actually in my eye... more on my eye socket / cheek bone area.
Quite to my satisfaction, I yelled at him thoroughly and got him thrown out for half the game.
Now I'm sitting on my couch looking and feeling quite tough (albeit in a very unattractive G.I. Jane kind of way).
Apparently black eyes get easier to acquire once you've had some practice. During the second half of my indoor game this evening, one of those impossibly fast and surprisingly short Chinese forwards whacked me in the eye on his way to the goal. He apologized immediately (in stark contrast to the other babboon's ass who gave me my last black eye), but somehow getting hit in the face makes me most disagreeable and slow to forgive. I stomped off the field in a huff, clutching my profusely-watering eye.
In an unexpected stroke of luck, the bruise is entirely hidden in the crease of my eyelid. Finally, my enormous eye pouches are serving a useful purpose!
It starts so innocently. Someone at work casually mentions a "co-ed team" in a "fun league" that plays "once a week". You point out that you haven't played soccer seriously since high school, but are assured that the whole thing is very laid back.
Next thing you know, you're brought in as a guest by someone who's on 2 of your 3 outdoor teams, playing against one or two someones who are on your other outdoor team. In fact, as look around you find you've either played with or against 90% of the people out on the field at some point in the past few weeks.
You're trying to take it easy because two of your teams are playing against each other tomorrow and you want to be useful to one of them. You also have 3 games left to go this week. You're finding it difficult to remain unscathed, however, because it's a moderately rough "fun game" and the referee whom you see once or twice a week and secretly suspect is homeless isn't making any calls.
This, ladies and gentlmen, is the dark incestuous world of co-ed recreational soccer.
*A post transferred from my CK blog
I've waited and waited, and my day has finally arrived. Like all wannabe tough girls, I've always wanted something to show for my scrappiness. Something cool, something brutelike, something to wear as a badge of my pugnacity. Something, I dare say, just like a black eye.
Tonight, courtesy of Julio (aka already-injured-half-my-team-in-past-games, much-too-large-and-cocky-and-reckless-to-play-coed anyway Julio), my wish came true. He was making a break for goal, and I was sprinting up behind him. He gestured wildly and cracked me right in my eye. Well, not actually in my eye... more on my eye socket / cheek bone area.
Quite to my satisfaction, I yelled at him thoroughly and got him thrown out for half the game.
Now I'm sitting on my couch looking and feeling quite tough (albeit in a very unattractive G.I. Jane kind of way).
