I don't know what that means. Since my honeymoon's officially over, my wife has surreptitiously begun the inevitable course of action that all wives eventually take (or so I've heard): distancing herself from me. This means she rarely comes out to support me in my sporting endeavors anymore, and as a result, the internet is left sadly devoid of action-packed videos of Team Awesome bustin' heads. Instead, you get a photo that I snapped of my teammates in between matches, simultaneously milling about and buttering up the ref. We've always got our eyes on the prize.
Unfortunately, we took our eyes off of it just long enough to lose our first match of the night this week. This damn Green Team. Thankfully, we've learned to like them (or at least I have), so any losses we incur at their expense aren't nearly as painful as they once were. But they still hurt. We gave 'em a pretty good run for a little while, but they pulled ahead mid-match and there was no turning back.
It didn't help that we were without Mike, our resident tall dude/intimidator/target. With him out of the mix this week, it seemed many eyes were focused on yours truly. Or maybe I just sucked really bad this week. Either way, I had a lot of opposing players ganging up on me, giving me the ol' "let's both bean him at the same time" routine. Annoyingly, it worked quite a few times, especially in our first match. I was on the sidelines much more than I wanted to be. Part of my problem is my over-eagerness (I have a tendency to rush the mid-line and just start firing), and part of my problem is just not catching balls that I should. Or, trying to catch balls that I shouldn't. What can I say? I go for the big plays, and look quite stupid when I fail at them. It's the story of my life.
Our second match was much better, mostly because we won. We played a team that looked slightly familiar, and though they seemed nice enough, they were spazzes of the highest order, which made the entire affair a free-for-all of head shots and errant tosses. (Coming from their side.) Though I don't know if "head shots" is even the proper term. They would have been head shots had any of us been on one another's shoulders, standing on stilts, or if Manute Bol had been subbing on our team, which I keep bugging him to do. Come on, Manute, you owe me one.
Anyway, I think a few people may have taken shots to the noggin, but I also knocked the wind out of a couple of their more petite gals with my rifle-like cannon of an arm, so we'll call it tit for tat. (Insert your own joke about me beaning one of the girls in the boob here.) It's always odd playing against a team that's so out of control. In a way, it's good, because they leave themselves so open to being hit that it's not really difficult to knock them out. But, their throws are so inconsistent and their bodily motions are so jerky and awkward – you just don't know where they're coming from. I usually just try to pick off the people in the back who think they're safe. Here's the thing, though: they're not.
We have moved snugly into third place, which ain't a bad place to be, because we've already played two of the three top teams (two teams are tied for second), and the last third of our schedule isn't looking as rough a the first two were. Famous last words, I know.
Standings are here. We're already down to the last two weeks. Oh, how the time flies when your thoughts are filled with shattering capillaries.














