Me and International Football Game™

Well, folks.  That’s another one for the books.  Yesterday, July 4, 2012, will forever be remembered as “That one time when Cole’s wasn’t open and there wasn’t an open mic, because Cole was having a party, or whatever.” 

Lots of people met out in the woods for a 102 degree Christmas Party, hosted by Coleman Brice for staff and friends of Cole’s.  There was much to drink and eat.  We set things on fire, and used the fire to cook food.  There was plenty of beer and more ice.  Everyone was there. Sorry you missed it.

After several hours of sedate drinking and munching, somebody got the idea of having vigorous exercise in the European style.  That’s when Your Pal Foz, along with Patrick and Larry and bunch of other persons took to the pitch to play a bracing match of International Football Game™. 

You will remember that game from the time you went to an Irish bar at 7 in the morning and fell asleep while everyone else drank Guinness Bloody Marys.  There was something on the TV.  You don’t remember.  It ended in a tie, and later all of your fiends were out of the skulls with excitement that Portugal had a point.  You had always assumed that Portugal, with its rich heritage of seafood and navigation, would merit a point in any case.  However, this morning, through your boozy 11-in-the-morning hangover, you learned to appreciate that Portugal earned a point by not scoring any goals. 

Anyway, we played that game for a while.  It was a100 degrees out! Don’t worry.  Your Pal Foz insisted on playing the position of Shade Cover.  It was my role in this game to make sure that whenever the ball rolled into the area where there was shade and a cool breeze, I would kick it out to the area where it was sunny and hot.  In that way, the ball was kept warm, while Your Pal remained as cool and sedate as soccer permits.

Sadly, soccer did not permit me to remain too sedate.  On more occasions than I care to remember I had to run, and that never ends well.  By the time I got home to my hot-box apartment to enjoy the local patriotic display of fireworks and gunplay my feet were killing me.  Thighs and calves weren’t bad at all, but feet and ankles barked all night long. 

I called Patrick and asked what caused this.  Patrick is a social worker and anti-AIDS activist, so anytime I have any symptoms I ask Patrick, “It is AIDS?”  So I called Patrick, and said, “Hey, my feet hurt from playing soccer.  Is it AIDS?” He said “No.  AIDS is a blood-born pathogen typically communicated through sexual activity or IV drug use.  Did you do any of that at the Christmas Party?”  I said “No.  I just played soccer. Did you see me use needle-drugs or have unprotected sex at the Christmas in July party?”  He said “No.” 

So I don’t have AIDS – or at least I don’t have AIDS because of soccer.  Happy Independence Day!