Monday, October 15, 2007

Forgive and forget, and move the hell on

Some people just can't stand a little shove in the back, a minute shoulder charge, or a small knock on the shin without blowing up an arsenal of vulgarities at you. Sissy boys. Fucking sissy fuckheads. I notice this trait among almost all malay mats in street soccer courts. Their rule number one? "Don't no one come near me" They expect people to play polite like english gentlemen with their pinkies as high as their asses. Touch them, and you can expect one of the following:
1. A ball whacked in your direction
2. A brutal tackle from the back, front, side, or even from high above.
It just sucks playing with them. Soccer, or any other sport, cannot be regarded as a sport if no physical contact is allowed. Captain Ball does not differ either.

So, at just now's running cca, we played captain's ball. Played in my usual competitive self. I like to win. It's an ego thing. To know that you're better than someone else. It just gives me a sense of purpose in this world, albeit temporarily. But I don't mind losing if the stakes are not high. In this case, the stakes were high. Up for grabs was a card. An 'escape from physical torture by the cruel and sadistic coach' card.

I gave Mr. I-wear-a-yellow-shirt-that-makes-me-look-like-a-retarded-bumblebee a slight shove in the back while he was on the ball. He turned around,
"Eh kanina why you push me?! This is the third time already! You fucking chibye! Blah Blah Blah Yada Yada in fucking indian slang"
"Eh what liddat also cannot?! You weak or what push a bit also wanna bitch about it?" I said.
More vulgarities followed.
All talk, no action. I could see that he was scared. Not of me, but of something else, probably himself. It's the minute movements that give it away. His feet shuffling back when you rebut with your finger raised. The twitching eyes. It just gave it away. All talk, no action from this guy.
I wanted to murder the bugger. I wanted to do everything in my power, without breaking the rules, to make him hurt. I wanted to see him squeel in pain.

Whistle blew. End of game. We won 4-3. Me and Mr. Bumblebee approached each other, arms ready. We shook hands. Smiled, and exchanged a few kind words. There was some talk of an 'apology', but it was quickly brushed off by a whimsical 'nah, it's nothing to worry about'. All went well after that.

I guess that's the beauty of games and sports. Whatever happens in the game, stays in the game. Never let it venture outside the boundaries of the sport. Forgive and forget, and move the hell on. Don't hold grudges. That was the one thing that I learnt through sports. I really hate Tiara for leaving me for another guy. I wanted to murder her. I wanted to do everything in my power to make her hurt. I wanted to see her squeel in pain. But if relationships are ever like a sport (a very complicated one nonetheless), then the one and only thing to do is to forgive and forget, and move the hell on. Be professional about it. It's useless to hold grudges. It'll kill you.

Hell, that was a long rant..
we should play soccer again.
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