“Hey Maida-score a goal.” A declaration of statement (challenge?) rather than any signs of excitement. Joey is alerted to my presence. “Score two goals,” for that matter, I challenge. I wander out of the Edir Nelson field complex. I had hoped to be able to hear the cars on I94 stream by in the rain-a whooshing sound I could hear at times if the wind was right from my spot in Middlebrook. Britt confirmed the whoosh with me-at least that’s what she told me she heard. Had to be able to call her out on that one next time I saw her, even though she was playing at the time. Perhaps Norwegians have an advanced sense of hearing.
Just previous I had gotten up to restart the heat. Or reactivate the Red Bull the “Wiiings” team member had given me-Alli?-I shook her hand-seemed cute-those girls wear a lot of makeups though-forgot to write her name down for storitized purposes. I walked into the Augsburg Ice Arena. Behold, a new sight. “That doesn’t often happen anymore,” thinking to myself, still pissed I forgot that girl’s name. [Deliberately or coincidentally?] The arena itself wasn’t new- I had played on it one Sunday morning there last spring with Mierk whose uncle wanted us to fill in the roster. “Got our assed hands to us,” as Grins would say. Glad it wasn’t a checking league.
These guys though-not sure if they would check if given the opportunity. Blue vs. Blue Dark-Okontoe- a Christian hockey competition? This exists? The back of their jersey’s were embroidered with Col. 3:17. Haven’t looked at that one in a while-fill me in- a stretch for a good motivator or not? A quick prayer before the game with the officiating crew (“Save travels to all those in transit tonight-Amen”), with the game clock stopped religiously at 22:00. Four fans (disciples?) look on.
The puck is dropped. Halftime for the Saints and Auggies-fifteen minutes?! Not sure if I’ll stay. I’m sitting on the bleachers around the home team’s 40 yard line. That sounds wrong, a bad hybrid. No other way to put it. Closer to the Auggie’s boring brown and reddish bench than the Saints. Going forward with it: Some lights behind me in the back of the bleachers in the “suites” of the complex. Probably double for hockey. A player whiffs on the ball-a Saint’s mid-not Joey-this still happens in DIII soccer, I guess. Good pressure now from Blu. They are regrouping—a good boot from the defense. Icing without the whistle. The Saints continue regrouping in midfield. I can already tell Maids is not afraid to call for the ball. Good aggressive soccer player with speed-closing speed at that.
“One of the few (only) DIII soccer games I will be attending in my life,” I think. Better get it right the first time. Brings me back to the baseball guys-the first older brothers I think and the majority of them had. Most of our siblings were two years or so younger. A ball flies into the stands-Augsburg is really trying some crisper passing now.
Maida is able to dribble the ball away from the opposing mid after he catches and stymies the gap. Impressive. Augsburg thinks so too-subbing now (a feeble airhorn)- #9 Ahmad… Don’t really catch the last name. His appearance causes the feeble student section to rise up. “Let’s go Augsburg –let’s get it back. Silliness- Augsburg’s defense have just scored on themselves. “Own goal in the 19th minute.”
Maybe it was just the firetruck driving by that distracted the Auggie defender. A blinded defensemen-sirens wail-someone’s dying somewhere-and the Saints are up 1-0. Catholic power, bitch!
“Think Augsburg just scored on themselves-really,” I note. Confirmed by the announcer. Joey was close on another scoring chance. Corner kick for the Saints. Another missed scoring chance. The futility and fluidity of soccer. The passes Maida is serving up are good-the coach’s praise is audible across the pitch-but his forwards have nowhere to go in the middle with his feeds. Everything is being pushed out. A yellow card after a CSS player lands a good kick to an Auggie in the shins. Stops the kid dead in his tracks and he flips forward onto the ground. “Assessed to #28 Cody….” I guess that’s what happens when you are playing the ball and not the body. “That’s my shit right here, cuz” a fan comments, referring to the blanket underneath him. Typical poor liberal arts college customer service-leaving the bleachers soaking wet.
Play stops at 32:02. A down Auggie-this time it looked like a clean play to me as the CSS forward broke on a loose ball up the middle. The ball, goalie, CSS, formed and an Auggie defender all mustered up at the 18 metre box and the Auggie player stayed down for a minute-maybe. No medicinal aid here. The player lays on the pitch, alone. The goalie, his nearest teammate, gives him room. Air? Boos-audible for the first time tonight-echo around.
I only want the Saints to win for two reasons. I’m 1/3 impartial observer by my math. The other two lie in a vested interest in an old friend and his success-he did lock me down for this-could have been getting drunk- $1.50 Natural ice pitcher special- and I owe some of my childhood development to the mapled woods behind CSS. So go Saints.
Pose a question to myself early on: “What do I really want to capture here?” I’ve already got the basics. Maids is left mid. Blu/CSS vs Whi/AUGS. CSS keeper in GRN. Its 36:55, a bad offsides call issued. Capturing the overworked soccer player? No, been done. Poetry on the light drizzle (“humid almost”) says the man in the opposing urinal. A father of an Auggie lamenting the team’s lack of success this season: only losing two seniors, the core had returned. Expectations were higher.
Free press for Joey. Good passing and good hustle. [Make time for your friends. They are an investment yielding dividends.] Don’t like my style? Change your reality or mine for me. Free press might stop.
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