September 07, 2011
Originally published September 23, 2003
I watched a titanic little-league football game tonight that ended in a 0-to-0 final score. Thank Bejus that they don't believe in overtime at my son's age. They would be playing until sometime next week.
Quinton wears number 30, which was MY number all through junior high and high school. He picked that number all by himself, and I am very proud that he did, but I have to admit that my son is no football player. He thinks he's still on the soccer field. He likes to dance around and run, but he DOES NOT like to hit anybody. I don't care what tall tales he spewed before. I watched him in action tonight, and my boy does not want to ACTUALLY HAVE CONTACT WITH ANYONE on the football field.
That's not a virtue for a football player. You simply have to go kamikaze sometimes, and I saw kids Quinton's age doing exactly that today. But Quinton never did.
I believe that it is his mama's doing. She never wanted him to play football anyway, and she probably warns him every day not to get hurt when he goes to practice. You can't have a pussy telling a boy how to play football. What can a pussy tell him about the game?
Well, she can't teach him to play football, but she can convince him to stick with SOCCER the rest of his life.
My aching ass.
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