Singing Karaoke Doesn't Make You a Singer; Playing Soccer Doesn't Make You a Soccer Player

The leaves, at least the ones still hanging from tree limbs, were now several shades of red, yellow, and brown...the air was noticeably brisker. There was no mistaking that summer had evolved in to fall and fall was well on it's way towards winter. That's when a decision fueled by alcohol consumption landed me on the roster of an over 35 indoor soccer squad. Turns out the beers I drank that night conveniently caused me to forget a few key factors that I probably should have considered before making my rash decision:

1) I have not played soccer on any level in over 20 years
2) That during the "storied" athletic career of my youth I amassed exactly zero championship trophies.
3) AND most importantly, as the photo below clearly shows, I was not destined to ever be good at sports.


How many touchdowns do you think I'm going to hit
today, Mommy and Daddy?

 I convince myself, however, that not only will our team be pretty good but I'll probably have some serious soccer skills developed over time and maybe I can finally capture the elusive championship that has eluded me for so many years. Sixteen games in and I'm not close to either goal. (See how I did that? How I incorporated that soccer term there? It's called awesome writing, nerds). Our team is a depressing 1-12-2 during those first 15 games and I have 1 goal while directly being at fault for approximately 40 of the ones scored against us.

The new season started last night and again, even though I have NO data to back me up, I predict that we are going to have a good season. In fact all the data suggests that I should simply accept the fact that nothing is going to change.

Game 16 starts like the 15 that preceded it. Our team plays tight D, makes the occasional run at a goal attempt of our own, and has confidence that we can win. This will usually last about 10 minutes before the wheels begin to fall off.

Minute 11 hits

1-0 the other team (always the other team)

Then Minute 12

2-0 bad guys...the nightmare begins

Aaaand then around minute 15

3-0  Team flopping jerks who beg for every call whenever
there is any sort of contact..ugh, should I fake an injury?

And make no mistake about it, these goals are not the goalie's fault. He is making every save that's not given up by defensive lapses.

He's all over the place

I even see a few upside down saves!!

Of course I may also be laying down on my back due to exhaustion (or simply giving up) and looking back towards our goal upside down.

Our team stays strong and we continue to play with some sense of purpose. We still feel like we can win this game. Finally, a glimmer of hope arises in the form of:

3-1!!! Team Little Engine That Could is on the board!



We score!!! Of course I neither scored it nor was a part of the play in any way, but nonetheless we are on the board and at half we're only down 2 so we still have a chance.

Approximately 100% of our losses have started this way.  We're down, but close. And our best field player (is that a term used in soccer when discussing someone who isn't a goalie? If it isn't let's pretend it is) tells us very specifically how we should play the 2nd half. Play tighter defense, when the man you are defending passes run towards the goal because that's where he is going, and do not give up any give and go goal opportunities. We'll create runs by playing good Defense. If you see a run developing, go with it but make sure you get back on defense afterwards.

'Sounds good genuine soccer player. I swear to God I will do all these things!' I think as we gear up to play the second half.

Of course even the best laid plans are usually doomed to fail when dealing with group of non athletic jerks who are clearly out of gas within 30 seconds of the start of the 2nd half.

Minute 1

4-1...this is gonna get ugly real quick I bet

Minute 3

5-1...urge to cry, because there is still 22 more minutes
to play, rising

Minute 4

5-1...hmmm, I wonder what Butters the cat is doing right now

At this point any semblance of organized soccer play is not being displayed by our team at all. There are 2-3 field players still playing hard and our goalie is still making sick saves.

(God)

(how I freaking)

(hate these guys!)

In fact he is making even more spectacular saves thanks in part to the rest of the field players who aren't doing much good at this point. We basically look like a bunch of idiot peeps out there running around with out any real sense of purpose or direction...just running around until something or someone tells us to stop.

oh, I'm going to go over here...now I'm going to go this way
oooh, look at that over there, I should check that out.

The games goes on and more goals by the opposition are scored. And while our fearless goalie exhibits a calm demeanor towards his teammates, deep down I know that his soccer heart and his soccer soul are filling up with Ren Hoek-like murderous rage.

You eediots! I will keel you all!

And really, no can fault the poor guy. After every game the other team will always say something to the effect of "The score should have been more like 30-1 instead of X to 1."
(were X could equal 5,6,7,8,9,10,11, or 12)

Mercifully game 16 comes to a close, a 7-1 loss....and this morning when I saw our goalie (we be co-workers) I told him that I had a good feeling about next week's game.

Ahhh, the eternal denial of the optimistic mind... Making judgements based on reasoning and hard data is boring...ask my sister in law - she's married to a civil engineer.

Danny's Believe It or Not...Chapter The First

Stealing ideas is fun! I'm totally ripping off that dude Ripley...he is probably dead anyways and if  he is he won't care. I just did a Wikipedia check and it's confirmed. So here are 2 stories. They may be true...they may be not. If you actually make any comments in the actual comments section of this blog I'll invite you to a party that I'll throw...complete with a pinata, Busch Pounders, not many girls, and LOTS of cat toys.

Summer Loving, Had Me a Blast
 It's the summer of 1999 and approximately 24 of us have rented a two bedroom shack down the shore. This place was small. I couldn't begin to guess the square footage but I would assume it was under 1000. Is that a not a lot? I honestly have no clue.  All you really need to know is if that it was on the second floor, it probably slept 4 comfortably, and we did not have central air.

I actually did not have anything to do with the renting of the place. I also gave no money to help pay for the rent. I was looking to save money so I could move out of ma's house (at age 25, what what!). I wasn't planning on going down every weekend, but all my friends were down there so what was I going to do? I did, however, bring down lots of beer down every weekend. In my mind that equaled things out....I'm quite certain it did not.


So one night a bunch of us are at the house, it's kind of late (say around 10 pm), and for some reason 5-7 of us are in one of the bedrooms (probably due to space issues with this apartment) and the light in that room didn't work so it was kind of dark in the room but we could still see since the lights were on in the living room. I can't stress enough how small this place was.

 One of the guys on the one bed...he's kind of laying down, smoking a cigarette, while we all are just drinking and making jokes that probably aren't as funny as we think they are. I'm sitting on the other bed when, in my mind, the following "brilliant" idea forms - 'you should jump on the bed and pretend to have your way with him."

"But you need to really sell it to be funny, so you need to pull your shorts down too."

So I put the plan in to action...and I get in to it. I'm making a ton of noise, the bed is next to the window and my head somehow gets stuck in to the blinds, but I keep going with it. What can I say, I'm commited to my "comedic art".

I'm not sure how long this went on for...and I'm not actually sure when it became funny to anyone in the room but I know for a fact that at one point it did. Why? Because all of a sudden it's much brighter in the room...I look behind me and there are two cops standing there, one of them pointing a flashlight directly on the bed.

(ugh, I don't get paid enough to deal with this crap)

Evidently I was making so much noise the cops heard it from the street and came upstairs and in to our apartment to see what was going on. As I got up from the bed, and began to pull my shorts up, I told the cops "it's cool, I was only fooling. See, I didn't pull my boxers down."

According to reports by my brother the older cop, the one with the flashlight, was very salty about the situation. He said the other cop, the younger guy, was a lot less annoyed. In fact he seemed to amused by the situation.

Hi guys. Looks like you're having a kick ass time!

Thankfully my brother was able to diffuse the situation and no citations were given. He always has been more sensible than I and this wasn't the first time he would save me from certain doom....it would not be the last either.

It was the only time that summer we had any issues with the cops.

How a Nickname is Born
What happens when a perfect storm of drinking, idiocy, and laziness happens? A new nickname is born.

It was a typical weekend evening for me and my crew. Translation - a lot of dudes, no girls, and no real plan for the night...so it wasn't unusual to go from bar to bar looking for something fun.

On this particular night, we find out some of our friends (guy friends of course, no girls for us!) are at a bar called Union Jack's so we jump in our ride and make our way over there.


Yes, this is the second time I used a Revenge of the Nerds picture for this blog.

As we make our way to Union Jack's we decide that we'd rather go somewhere else instead. Union Jacks is kind of small and if it's remotely packed it'll be nearly impossible to hit on chicks, ummm, I mean hit up bartenders for drinks. As we roll up to Union Jack's we notice that it in fact is packed. Two of ours friends decide to head in to tell the other group in the bar of our plan to head to elsewhere. The rest of us get out of the car, because it was summer and it's no fun sitting in a parked car when it's hot out, to wait for them to return. At this point I decide on two things - I want to sit and I want to have a smoke.

Ironically it's the safer of these two options that almost cripples me. For you see, evidently at times, I can be like a cat. Cats love elevation. They love to hang out on maybe a windowsill, perhaps the top of a telivision, or even a fridge.

I bet I could climb the Catskill Mountains
because I got mad CAT skills! (get it??)

Why do cats do this? Some say it's because it gives them a better vantage point of their surroundings. Others say it's instinctual for them as a way to help avoid predators. The important thing to remember, though, is that I am not a cat. So it's not necessary for me to find the highest point to enjoy my smoke. But I decide to search for higher ground anyway and start to climb the side of a closed dumpster because - hey it'll be fun to sit up a little higher plus those metal doors of the dumpster will be able to hold me.

So up I climb, so there I sit, so there I go to light my....

I make a ton of noise when my body hits the bottom of that empty dumpster. As I lay on my back I struggle to get up...much like a turtle who is turned over. In my mind panic sets in as I think to myself "oh my god, if a rat crawl across my face right now, I am going to FREAK the !#$%^ out!"

Thankfully no such thing happens and as I jump to my feet, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened, I hear the chorus of uncontrollable laughter coming from my friends. Thankfully, I also hear someone opening the side door of the dumpster. It's my friend, and current hero, Duane!

Duane is kind enough to help me out of my predicament....which is being stuck in a dumpster...at age 24. Evidently those metal doors are actually plastic and not built to hold that much weight. Who knew??

Anyway that night a new nickname, with variations to it, was born  - Dumpster Dan (aka Trashcan Dan...people will also shorten it to either just Dumpster or Trashcan...I'll answer to any of them).

Other facts about me and dumpster - I've made out behind one and I had my first smoke behind one.