Don’t Be A Dick

Played a good game of soccer on Sunday. Would have been a great game, but for one guy on the other team. One guy, who rather screwed up what would have been an otherwise pleasant competition for everyone.

First contact: I am in goal. I block a hard shot but the ball rebounds from my chest and out of my arms. I collect it as I collapse on it. As I’m getting up, punk says, “You better catch that first time out or I’m gonna score all day.”

I get up, I don’t comment. He’s a dick, that’s clear.

Second time: Their wing fires a cross that is just a bit off. It goes out, rebounds off my thermos and re-enters the field, where it bounces from my leg and out again.

“Corner!” dick shouts.

“Yeah right,” I respond.

“Sure looked like it. I mean, I could hardly tell the difference between your the uprights and your white-ass legs.”

His comment is among the most racist things anyone has ever said to me while out of uniform.  So now I know we’re dealing with a racist dick.

I stuff a couple more shots.

He takes a dive when one of our defenders wins a challenge. He whines to the refs.

A whiny racist dick.

He gets tangled up with one of our women, loses and fouls the shit out of her, taking her out of the game with a sprained ankle. No card from the ref.

Ah, a whiny, racist, hyper-competitive dick.

A few minutes later and he tangles with another of our ladies, loses again, takes a dive and shoots his mouth off at the refs.

On the next play, he fouls our ball handler so badly that everyone shouts some variation of  “Oh!”

He gets up and shouts “Fuck you, guys!” and goes on to rant about being taken out three times. The refs come together and confer, and give the screaming whiny racist hyper-competitive dick a yellow card, sending him off for a bit to cool off.

He comes back in the second half, and now he’s screaming invective at his own team-mates in two languages. It gets to the point where they are all hanging their heads each time he opens his pie-hole.

Ah! He’s a bi-lingual screaming whiny racist hyper-competitive dick.

Now, in the mean-time we’d scored four goals against them, so his team was already feeling down, but to have him calling them all sorts of names while himself failing to do even the slightest bit of good for the team must have been exceptionally frustrating.

I don’t even know what to call that. Petulant, perhaps?

We win. I get my second clean sheet of the season. I am late coming off the field as I had to collect my kit. As I was late, I go among the opposition to shake hands and congratulate them.

I leave the bi-lingual screaming whiny racist hyper-competitive dick for last.

I extend my hand to shake, he raises a fist for a fist-bump, I suppose. I grip and shake it, saying, “Sorry, I must be too white for that.”

Petty, I know. I hope nobody but him thought me a dick.

Don’t be a dick.