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Andrew Rueter Dec 2018
Sports fans love dichotomies
Brady or Montana?
James or Jordan?
The NHL is aware of this
And possesses two generational players
Alexander Ovechkin and Sydney Crosby
Ovechkin plays for the Washington Capitals
And Crosby plays for the Pittsburgh Penguins
One of the most notable team rivalries in sports
So the NHL asks fans to pick a side for marketing purposes
Ovechkin is sold as strength while Crosby is sold as finesse
Which would be a reasonable way to advertise their league
But like every sports league they are dealing with safety concerns
And the NHL is trying to escape the ignorant assumption
That hockey revolves around brutality and is of a primitive nature
So they don’t want to highlight the sports’ physicality
During this delicate and uncertain time
So more often than not Crosby is favored over Ovechkin
Through officiating, commentating, administrating and marketing
Which implicitly sells Crosby over Ovechkin
To the lowest common denominator
Who are interested in those kind of dichotomies

Since the Capitals are the highest profile team
That plays especially physical
The NHL feels the need to treat them with particular austerity
To show they are serious about safety
But this results in massively inconsistent actions by the league

Tom Wilson is one of the Capitals’ best players and their best checker
He was suspended for 20 games for a slightly late hit
He was in proper checking form
Shoulder down and leading, feet planted on the ice
But made incidental contact with Oskar Sundqvist’s head
Giving Sundqvist a concussion so the NHL suspended Wilson
Meanwhile...
Tom Wilson is attacked from behind by Ryan Reaves
On a very ***** hit that had no athletic function or basis in hockey
Launching himself at the back of Wilson’s head on a cheap shot
Giving Wilson a concussion
Reaves was very proud of himself
Selling autographed pictures of an injured Tom Wilson
And the NHL had nothing to say

Tom Wilson received a 20 game suspension
Losing hundreds of thousands of dollars
For an overzealous check
But when he is maliciously attacked with the intent to injure
There is no suspension handed down

A wise man once said
“An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere”
And I agree
So I can’t stand seeing someone treated with a blatant bias
If it’s on Capitol Hill or in the Capitals’ stadium
And don’t want to live in a world where that’s acceptable

If I could say something to Tom Wilson
I’d say thank you for handling the situation with grace
And not to pay too much attention
To the biased elite or the mindless masses
Because all they try to do is dip you in molasses
They’re not going to protect you on the ice
That’s something you must do on your own
And there’s a lot of people who’ll try to give themselves importance
By eliminating those of higher value
You just have to be able to take their hits
And hit back harder than they ever could
Akela Santana Oct 2014
Take me back to June 12th, the day we first hung out together, drinking beers and ***** shots, singing karaoke to Green Day, Michael Jackson and the out of place Lady Gaga at our favorite bar called Villains.

Take me back to all those days we'd hang out at Milk Coffee Bar and laugh at horrible things like the Columbine Shootings or the 9/11 attacks and *** smokes off our mutual friend Jean; drinking beers and listening to horrible local indie bands play their horrible, airplane sound/ white noise, indie music.

Take me back to "the perfect 90's couple".

Take me back to the first time I kissed you by accident, causing the caterpillars in my stomach to induce metamorphosis, letting the butterflies to spread their wings for the first time.

Take me back to the first time we slept together, with no ***. You caressing my back, me slipping into a peaceful slumber to the sound of your heart beating, a sound I've never heard before.

Take me back to July 10th, the day we told each other we liked the other and I talked you into asking me out.

Take me back to the time you said I was worth it.

Take me back to the nights we'd stay up till 4 in the morning talking about nothing in particular or talking about everything and anything that came into our heads.

Take me back to the day we were on my front porch and I said "I love you, you're funny" and you replied "I love you too".

Take me back to the first time we had ***, making love, and you made fun of my blushing and called it cute.

Take me back to your birthday party I can barely remember because I drank so much and you ended up taking care of me and checking my pulse to make sure I was okay.

Take me back to our first official date at Bubi's where I dressed up for you for the first time and was so nervous I could've ****** myself.

Take me back to the talks we would have about moving in together, or when I was sad that you didn't want kids and I did so you said "I might hate children but I would consider having children with you".

Take me back to the Loop where I showed you I could be stupid and dance like a fool.

Take me back to the Cards Against Humanity game where I showed you I can be a bad *** girl and make you laugh at my dumbassery.

Take me back to Korey's end off summer party where I got to watch you fail at the NHL game and record your cute silliness  when you actually scored.

Take me back to when we started to drift apart because you had to go back to University to start the semester, where I should've suggested staying over for weekends even if you had to study.

Take me back to when I got depressed and said "I have no reason to live" and made you think you weren't good enough for me to stay, even though that was far from the truth. You were my only reason.

Take me back to when you needed some space and time to think.

Don't take me back to when you broke up with me.

Take me back to when you wanted to give it another shot.

But don't take me back to when you decided to break up with me again.

**It's been years since then, and all I can say is that, I loved you. I'm glad we could've dated, cause you showed me what love was, even though we didn't last, and for that I am grateful. Thank you, Nektarios.
Something I had to write. This Is about my ex boyfriend Nick.

I just want him to be happy......
Alyssa Nov 2013
i found myself alone in my living room at ungodly hours of the night watching tv shows about politics and listening to poetry at the same time and trying not to say the wrong thing to tip off my friends that i want to **** myself because hey if i tell them then i can't do it and that's my problem. but then i started wonder why they're called ungodly hours. is it because god doesn't save anyone during these times? or did he just never save in the first place?

i found myself when i did not need to find myself in a higher power to find peace. how can you love someone else if you can't love yourself first? i spent an entire year researching and experimenting ways to "enlighten" myself (and i use that word lightly) and i think i finally found the way but when i introduced the idea of Buddhist meditation and chanting mantras of self healing and finding peace to my parents, my father told me i was tearing this family apart and "why can't you be normal?" and "this is not what our family believes in." and "what's wrong with the catholic church?" What's wrong with the catholic church is that i feel like a lesbian drug addict who needs massive amounts of alcohol to keep from killing herself whenever the priest looks at me, as if he can smell the gay on me like a dog who can sniff out a cancerous disease. What's wrong with the catholic church is that i feel like i'm stepping inside a political headquarters rather than praying to a god to help me not feel guilty about doing bad things and perhaps hoping he'll send something good my way even though i don't deserve it and i'm probably not going to heaven anyway because the bible told me that if i make love to another woman then i'm going to find a gathering of NHL hockey goalies in front of the pearly gates to keep me out. but my question is why people are so concerned with the sexuality of people that they aren't sleeping with, this was not the technical form of *** so i wasn't breaking two rules in one stone but i just "chose" the wrong sin. but hey, the devil said he's down to hang out with me as long as i don't mind the heat.

i found myself in the bed of a girl who always smelled like coconuts and had no respect except for herself and for me. she made me feel like i was at home even though i was miles away and didn't speak the language that well. i wanted to carve poems into the bones of her spine, she would never be able to see them but she would have the knowledge that they existed because her skin did. her existence ultimately created a contradiction for me, do i fall in love with a girl who could never love me back or am i able to stick to what my parents believe in but they'll never be happy with me anyway? i had to pick the lesser evils of the two, and she could never be evil to me. she could grab me by the throat, tell me to beg for mercy and i could reach out to shake death's hand and i would still want to kiss the fingertips the were wrapped around my neck. she could throw me down the flight of stairs and i'd still stare at her all the way down because if i were to die i want her to be the last thing i see. she could rip off my fingers at the knuckles and tie them around the christmas tree like the lights we use every year and i would still find ways to trace her body even more gently than before. she cannot cause harm to me as long as she is still within plane distance. as long as i don't have to give my life to see her again then i will always find myself in her. and even when we are dead and buried in the ground, i will swim to you like a mermaid of the soil just to be next to your bones.

i found myself when i started to get into fist fights with a god who forgot about me. i found myself when i started to call out death's bluffs, and death talked a lot of **** for a guy who couldn't follow through with anything. i found myself in the drugs and alcohol and my sudden stoppage of my use. i found myself in my yearning for death and drugs and alcohol but i found myself in my ability to say no because they only worsen my state of mind. And you only worsen me.
this is one of my favourite poems i've ever written and it's currently 2 am on the dot
Zhivagos Muse Mar 2016
With Easter approaching it made me think of a little girl I used to babysit
Her father was one of the Russian hockey players here in Detroit
I'm not really sure of what they believed about God
but they didn't attend church at that time.

While her father was away, playing hockey in Germany
due to a lock out in the NHL
and her mother was out of town,
I found myself alone with her on Easter weekend.
I knew I wanted to attend services, so just before bed one night
I approached the subject of God with her.

She was young, probably 7 or 8 at the time,
so initially she was afraid.
I think she said something like if God came to her front door
she would get her Dad & he wouldn't let him in.
Her Dad was a fairly robust defensemen, so God would surely
no better than to mess with him lol.
I went on to explain as best as I could that God was her friend.
Of course we also discussed how we can't see him
and what Heaven is,
and who knows what really went through that pretty little head of hers,
but she did listen intently.

We went to church, I was able to even get her in a dress,
a true miracle in itself as she was quite the tomboy back then,
She didn't say a great deal, and no doubt at such a young age
she had little if any real understanding,
But now she is a young woman,
a believer in Christ, living an amazing life,
an encourager,
strong like her father,
and I can't help but hope a little
that those tiny seeds I planted so many years ago
may have helped shape her into the person she is today.

A few years back she shared with me on facebook
a little poem I had given her before they moved out of state.
The poem was worn & tattered
but to know that she had held onto it after some 15 years
is one of the greatest gifts she could have ever given me.
I may never have children of my own,
Not always an easy thing to accept,
But I do thank God for the time I was given
in helping to raise such a beautiful girl.
Harold r Hunt Sr Jul 2014
The letter puzzle.
You find these days you have a puzzle if you need help.
You have the FBI, CIA, NSA, HHS, DEA.
You have DSS NAACP NBA NFL NBA NHL
If you don't have a book to see what each one stands for.
You're *******.
Elena Smith Nov 2015
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Tracking products with sos buttons are a fantastic option when it arrives round to retaining them protected and acquiring reassurance for by yourself. They were looked down upon as being women of loose ethical values, excellent football coaches are difficult to locate. Quit being an alexander ovechkin. From *** wee all the way up to the nhl Fitflop Malaysia Sale, over the years. I didn't see you complaining when every non political blog had their say about . And that seems to be the basis for all republican platforms and agendas Fitflops Malaysia. Is it . Possible that you will always be able to work out a win win condition Cheap Fitflop Malaysia. Is it possible you will be able to resolve conflict with this approach.

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Albero Centrale Apr 2014
I can see myself a NHL hockey player
I can see me haveing millions of fans
I can see me scoreing the game winning goal


We will all see me as a superstar
We will all see a huge smile on my face when I win the Stanley cup
We will all hear the crowd chanting my name


You feel like a god at the end of the day for giving that kid your autograph
You feel completed when your coach tells you great game kid
You feel amazed at the end of the day for who you are
Andrew Rueter Apr 2022
May 5, 2021 Madison Square Garden
Washington Capitals vs. New York Rangers
there is a tense atmosphere after a fight
between these two teams in the game prior
the Rangers are looking for revenge
against the Capitals and the NHL
and are only interested in fighting
but there is a quieter storyline developing as well:
TJ Oshie returning to the Capitals lineup
after being out for a handful of games
while grieving the loss of his father
so nothing was expected from him except getting reacquainted
with the game his father coached him to play
between baseball, football, basketball, and golf
and pow wowing with their native Ojibwe tribe
while living with NHL forward Henry Boucha
to the point TJ called him coach instead of dad.

With all the history and backstories
the actual game had to start at some point
and it started with three fights in the first second
there would be more fighting throughout the game
TJ Oshie had never been too interested in fighting
he was interested in playing hockey and that's what he did
in a game where the other team was trying to
teach the league a lesson
by attacking the integrity of the sport
TJ Oshie taught a lesson
by maintaining his own integrity
by playing the game his father taught him to play
instead of playing into the negativity and violence around him.

The first period had six fights and even more penalties but no goals
the game had become a sideshow to the sideshow
but Oshie came out of the intermission determined nonetheless
scoring a goal in the first twelve seconds of the second period
it was clear he was thinking of his father as he wiped his face
some of his teammates offered their own brands of support
and then he went to the faceoff circle for play to resume
but had clearly angered the Rangers
who would challenge him to a fight
that Oshie would turn down
to the boos and jeers of a rabid New York audience
but that decision paid off
when Oshie scored the second goal of the game
midway through the second period
and although this lacked the emotion of the first goal
it was a productive way for Oshie to pay tribute while playing.

By the third period things had calmed down
enough people had been thrown out of the game
that both sides didn't want to push their luck
and were on considerably better behavior
and seemed like they were just waiting for the game to end
but TJ Oshie's legs had been moving all night
and they continued moving
pumping through pain and loss
scoring one more goal wasn't going to bring anybody back
but this wasn't about resurrection
nor was this about scoring
this was about being
somebody who puts in maximum effort
and one more goal came as a result
creating Oshie's fourth career hat trick (he has five now)
and as a couple lonely hats fluttered to the ice
Oshie was embraced by his team
congratulating his accomplishment
admiring his resiliency and capability
before returning to their spots on the bench or ice
leaving Oshie alone on the bench
putting his head down
to silently reflect
on Henry Boucha
on the Ojibwe tribe
and on the game he played tonight
and the way he played it
and the coach who gave him all of those things.
Lucas Nov 2015
Stress is Noise


Silence
the sun finally creeps into my room long abandoned
spilling light on organized chaos
a bed, haphazardly made
a desk - blanketed in overused office supplies and crumpled ideas
cold coffee saturating the air with its once savory aroma
a room, the perfect picture of absolute tranquility
still the only time spent here is to prepare for the next moment

We work.
and that includes more than the hours clocked in at a man’s vocation;
the time traded away for money we spend on skin-deep tchotchkes
that only last until they collect dust or become it
the whirr of machines, pounding of hammers, and gossip from the break room across the hall
all adding to the cacophony already pummeling our ears

There’s the time we spend at home,
grinding out tomorrow’s report
or having a fleeting moment of rest corrupted when we catch up with old friends
or read a book we’ve been dying to finish
or beat that last level on the newest video game
or fret about the meeting you dread
like a sunburn from head to toe
the pain doesn’t go away by tanning yourself
we work to solve the symptoms, but only progress the disease
muffling the hopeful silence with white noise

There’s team you’ve committed to
where practices are every day making you run faster, jump higher, create chemistry, score goals, play in pressure, and force expectations you can’t possibly meet.
which could be relieving that pent up stress - or maybe just siphoning gas from the already
empty tank
winning games has become more important than the teamwork sports inspire
Cheering and encouragement only adding to the babbel surrounding us

And now there’s media
like a leech it ***** any time we have left
twitter, facebook, insta, snapchat, pinterest, tumblr, youtube, buzzfeed, CNN, BBC, MSN, F-o-x,  NFL, NBA, MLB, NHL, NCAA - *** we haven’t even talked about cell phones
We’re surrounded by sound that not even a black hole could drown out
And yet we still somehow wonder why stress and depression are through the roof

Where are the thinkers and dreamers?
The ones that don’t skirt sideways at oppression
Or flee at the face of failure
I’ll tell ya, they’re pleasantly passing papers
and monotonously beating deadlines
and staying in their lane
and building castles so large it takes days to walk every corridor
What happened to those,
who don’t worry about the size of their paycheck
or getting in the expensive neighborhoods where
every car costs enough to buy Washington
and our futures are more stable than ever
• Because in reality your future is an edge of a knife
that will sever through hard work
like the superficial paper success builds its skyscrapers out of

I wonder, what would happen if we turned all that yelling — all that white noise — into silence
…..
…..
…..
It’s weird, isn’t it



Can you for once hear the clock ticking?


When’s the last time the only sound you heard was your breathing
We’ve gotten so caught up in living that we’ve forgotten how to live
We’ve forgotten about the rest
that makes the next chord much more powerful

Nowadays rest in peace comes once in a lifetime
and the work we do means no more than that slip of paper you get at the end of the month
when did we stop learning for the sake of ourselves
and stop working to better the world
and stop playing sports solely for their enjoyment
and stop taking time just hear the beauty of silence
stop learning for grades
stop working for things
stop chasing the wind
stop and smell the roses
stop
This is a Spoken Word I wrote for my communications class... It's hard to express without speaking, but here's an attempt
The coach signaled timeout and called the team to the sidelines.  There were eight minutes left in the biggest game of their lives, and they would be playing for three minutes with a severe disadvantage.  They had committed a succession of penalties within a span of less than 60 seconds, and they would now be playing without three men on the field.  In lacrosse this is referred to as ‘Man Down.’  

Usually it’s only ‘One Man Down,’ or at the most, ‘Two Men Down,’ but few watching that day had ever seen a team go ‘Three Men Down.’  This meant that their star goalie T.J. Braxton was only going to have three defenders in front of him instead of the usual six.

T.J. had been playing great, but he now had to play for two minutes with three men missing in front of him and then the third minute still missing one. It was going to seem like an eternity.  The coach looked over at T.J. and he was standing off to the side by himself not wanting to either look or talk to anyone during the intermission.  The coach understood this behavior because he had been a goalie himself and decided to leave T.J. alone — totally immersed within his own thoughts.

As they did the cheer to break the huddle, it was for their goalie …”1, 2, 3, Go T.J.”  What would happen now brought more pressure than any goalie should ever have to withstand.  Even going just ‘One Man Down’ would in many cases result in a goal for the other team.  Going ‘Two Men Down’ almost ensures the other team a goal, and anything beyond that just puts your goalie at the mercy of the shooters on the other team.

    And Tonight There Would Be No Mercy To Be Found

T.J. already had 18 saves up to this point with only half a quarter left to play in regulation. Saves are when a goalie either blocks or deflects an offensive shot from the other team. He had only let in three goals all game, and the score was tied at 3-3.  

Pennhurst was a powerful public school with large and fast athletes.  They had not been playing lacrosse as long as T.J.’s private (all-boys) school, Haverland Academy, but their natural athletic ability and inner toughness were making up for any experience lost.  

T.J. would have to defend his goal missing three men in front of him for two minutes and then missing one man for the next sixty seconds.  It was his team’s possession coming out of the timeout, and it was all they could do being so shorthanded to even get the ball across the mid-field line.  The coach’s tactic was not to shoot the ball now but to stall and to try and take as much time off the clock as they could until they could get more players back on the field.  T.J. stood rock solid in the center of the ‘crease’ in front of his goal and looked squarely at the goalie at the other end of the field. The ‘crease’ was the large circle surrounding the goal that no offensive player from the other team could enter. He seemed to not be following the ball and his coach wondered what was going on inside his head.

Playing goalie is 80% mental, and he was hoping his star goalie wasn’t going to have a melt down when his team needed him the most.  T.J. would normally be very active inside his own goal shouting instructions to the defensemen in front of him and trying to best position them for the oncoming attack.    

               Something ‘Seemed’ Different Tonight

T.J. had entered a new zone, one that he had never been in before, and one that only he could understand.  As Haverland’s lead attackman charged the opposing goal, the ball fell out of his stick. It was immediately picked up by the opposing goalie and ‘cleared’ to a midfielder standing outside and to his left.  The midfielder made one more pass to an attackman, and the ball was coming T.J.’s way with only three defenders in front of him to help stop the charge. The ball was again passed to one of their senior captains and their strongest midfielder.  

He juked left as he faked a pass and then as he cradled the ball wildly, he headed straight toward T.J. in the goal.  When he got within fifteen feet of the goal he stopped, set his feet, and with a violent and twisting motion fired an overhand shot across his right shoulder at the ground two feet in front of where T.J. now stood.

T.J. was now eighteen and a half and had been playing goalie since he was seven years old.  He had seen and defended almost every kind of shot and from every angle in those eleven years. He had just never had to do it before with almost no defense in front of him.  As the shot left the midfielders stick, T.J. reacted.  He took two steps forward and was able to scoop the ball out of the air at ankle height before it was able to bounce off the ground. Bounce shots were more difficult to save, and his accumulated instinct and experience allowed him to get this one and at least for now keep the score tied at 3-3.

T.J. ran behind his own goal toward the end line. With the ball in his stick he was trying to take time off the clock.  Only one opposing player chased him, and he was able to do a 180-degree spin, avoid that player, and run back out in front of his goal.  He then cleared the ball, the entire length of the field, to a midfielder standing in the far left corner.  T.J.’s team had the ball within thirty feet of the opposing goal with only two minutes left to run in penalty time.

T.J.’s offense decided it was time to step up and play big.  They managed to take a full minute off the clock with uncanny passing until the referee finally called stalling and gave the ball back to the other side.

As the ball came back in T.J’s direction, two of his penalized players retook the field.  They were now playing with only a ‘one man down’ disadvantage and for only sixty more seconds.

The opposing team set up in a perimeter in front of his goal passing the ball from man to man and then behind T.J.’s goal in an attempt to unbalance a still weakened defense.  As the ball went behind the net, T.J. rotated inside the crease never taking his eye off the ball.  He thought they were setting him up for something sneaky because his fundamental blocking skills on normal shots were so strong. More than anything he didn’t want to give up a cheap goal, and he wouldn’t have to wait long to find out that his suspicions had been correct.

As they passed the ball back and forth behind his goal, an attackman turned and tried to lob the ball over the back of the goal, and T.J.’s stick, to an opposing midfielder who was charging the front of the goal from about twenty-five-feet away.  They were hoping to catch T.J. mesmerized in what was going on behind the net and then reverse field and go in the one direction no one ever expected — over the back of the goal.  

It didn’t work!  As the ball left the midfielders stick, T.J. jumped high in the air and intercepted the pass in the shooting strings of his goalie stick.  He then spun around and ran directly to the out of bounds line to his right. It was beyond the defensive box, and he stood there waiting for someone to challenge him.  He was again trying to take precious seconds off the clock to get his team back to full strength. Although a goalie, T.J. was the fastest player on his team and that speed was like money in the bank to a team that was struggling and in trouble with time running out.

He managed to get the penalty down to twenty two seconds before he finally dished the ball off to another long stick defender and then quickly moved back in front of his goal.  That defensemen got across midfield just before another penalty would have occurred for not advancing the ball.  With only seventeen seconds left on the penalty, the offense passed the ball to the four corners looking for a man who was ‘hot’ (open) who could take the shot and finally break the tie.  With only three seconds left in the penalty their best attackman, John Erasmus, took the ball in his stick and with his left hand fired a side angle shot at the right side of the goal.  It was a great shot, but their goalie made a heroic save. He was also a senior and had transferred into Pennhurst two years ago from a Lacrosse powerhouse school in northern Maryland.

With both teams now at full strength, the ball went back and forth for the final five minutes with very few shots taken at either end.  The ones that were taken were weak and from great distance, and both goalies easily picked them up and started the ball going the other way.  Each shot was critical now because the game was tied with time running out.  Possession was more important than losing the ball to the other team by taking a poor shot.  As the lights shone brightly high above the scoreboard, time ran out in regulation.  The game would now go to sudden death overtime, and it would become about the strength of the face-off men and how hot each goalie was going to be.

    It Was Now About The Face-Off Man And The Goalies

In sudden death, the first team to score wins!  No second chances here it’s do or die time, and everything is amped up to an entirely new level.  Many times, the winner of the face off at midfield wins the game because everything is geared towards that one shot, and the pressure on the opposing goalie is tremendous.  Unless the goalie can isolate himself in a ‘zone of invincibility,’ the chances of blocking a shot in overtime due to a lost face off are not very good.  Just like in the NFL, where the coin toss often determines the winner in overtime, the face-off is like that coin toss only with skill and not luck determining the winner.  T.J. thought back to all the coaches and mentors that had brought him to where he was standing tonight.  They were all somewhere up in the stands, and they were all living and dying with him tonight in the goal.

      T.J. Decided That Tonight It Would Be About Life

The Captains met at the middle of the field as the referee explained the rules of sudden death.  All who were listening thought that the term was aptly named.  They shook hands again and ran back to the huddles on their respective sidelines.  Both coaches gave their overtime strategies to their teams, and they did one more cheer before retaking the field.  Both face off men walked slowly toward each other at the center mid-field line and stared each other directly in the eye.  

The physical disparity between the two players at mid-field was huge.  Haverland’s best face off man, George Arle, was 5’6’’ tall and 160 lbs. Pennhurst’s face off man, B.J. Radford, had been an All-State quarterback on the football team and was 6’3’’ and 225 lbs.  Although Lacrosse was not his primary sport,  he had played it for the last four years and by anyone’s account he was a ‘stud player.’  The skill in taking face offs is unlike any other in Lacrosse.  It’s more similar to recovering a fumble in football or picking up a loose five-dollar bill dropped on the floor in Penn Station in New York.  It’s uncontrolled mayhem with the skill to do it only evident to those who have been there. And it’s those players who know painfully well what it takes to win the fight for the ball.

Although T.J.’s face off man George had had a good season, he always struggled against players that were that much bigger than him and usually lost the ball.  The ref. positioned the ball between the two boys sticks who were both crouched down and ready at mid-field.  The whistle blew, and George lost the ball as B.J. picked it up and charged right over George’s left shoulder.  He was headed in a straight line right toward T.J. who was standing fixed and ready in front of his goal.  B.J. passed the ball to a midfielder who kept it only a second before passing it to an attackman who was off to the right of the goal.  The attackman looked to his left and faked a pass to his right.  He then spun around and with all his might fired a bounce shot on an angle from the right facing side of Haverland’s goal.  

T.J. stepped forward, scooped the ball up on the first bounce, and in one fluid motion flipped the ball out to a defenseman on the left perimeter. This player cradled it inside his long stick as he took off down the sideline and across midfield.  The defenseman made a pass to a middie on the extreme other side of the field who then passed to an attackman. This man ran around behind the net and came out on the other side in front of the goal, shot the ball, but it went wide right.  The other team was closest to the ball when it went out of bounds, so it was Pennhurst’s possession, and it was coming back T.J.’s way.

Their goalie cleared the ball left to a long stick defenseman, who in turn made a long pass directly to an attackman, and the ball was once again in the oppositions stick less than thirty feet from the goal T.J. was defending.  This attackman had no intention of passing.  He put his head down and charged straight ahead toward T.J.  As his coach was screaming at him to pass, and it the midst of five defensive players, he fired off a shot.  It came at a side angle, and, with all of the players surrounding the shooter, it was hard for T.J. to see the ball come off the kid’s stick.  

When T.J. finally did see the ball, it had passed the head of his stick, and he was just able to get a piece of the ball with the bottom of his shaft. It was just enough to deflect the ball upwards and over the goal and into the chain link fence fifty feet behind the crease.  On instinct alone, T.J. ran after the ball and being closest to it when it went out of bounds, he picked it up in his stick and slowly walked forward. This gave his midfielders time to transition back up to the other end of the field.

T.J. was living on borrowed time.  Making one save in overtime was huge, but making two, and one with only the shaft of his stick to save it all, was stretching the limits of whatever luck the team had left.  T.J. easily passed the ball to an unguarded defenseman who ‘walked’ the ball up-field and then tossed it to a midfielder just in front of the offensive box.  

The offensive box is the restrained and shorter ‘boxed-out’ area right in front of the goalie and where most shots are taken, and most goals are scored. The midfielder made a pass to his left to an attackman, who tried to make a long looping pass across the face of the box, but it was intercepted by one of the oppositions long stick middies and passed quickly to another midfielder as it transitioned back again towards T.J. This time the ball was coming straight at T.J., and it had taken less than five seconds to get there.  His team was not set yet and this charge could be the end of it all.

T.J.’s team had been caught napping in an uncharacteristic moment of uncertainty.  Pennhurst’s top midfielder again had the ball, and he was charging at T.J. who had only two players set and not the normal six in front of him to play defense.

Surprisingly to T.J., this player then made a pass to the extreme right corner and that attackman ran behind T.J.’s goal giving his defense more time to reset.  This player then made a pass to the left side, and it was once again in the stick of their best midfielder, Matt Makritis.  Midfielders, or Middies, as they’re often called are many times the best athletes on the team.  They have to play both offense and defense and run the entire length of the field while their shift is on. Makritis was a high school All-American, and he was charging at full speed toward the left front facing side of T.J.’s goal.

                       T.J. Was An All-American Too!

T.J. was also an All-American and had recently been on the front cover of ‘Inside Lacrosse Magazine’ and featured as the #1 player coming out of High School Lacrosse that year.  He thought to himself that all of that press would be meaningless if he allowed this shot to go in.  The opposing midfielder continued toward the crease unguarded, got within ten feet of the goal, and fired point blank at T.J.  No fancy bounce shots or behind the back this time.  This shot was straight at T.J.’s head, and from less than ten feet away. T.J. caught the ball in the fat part of his goalie sticks net.  It didn’t stay there though.  The power of the shot caused it to come out of his stick, in what is referred to as a rebound, as it rolled ten or twelve feet out in front of the goal.

A second midfielder then picked up the ball, and not lifting it from the ground, fired a shot right back at T.J. This was more like a golf shot than a lacrosse shot, and T.J. struggled to see from which direction the ball was coming.  As the ball came back at T.J. at a severe angle, headed toward the left backside of the net, he stretched his body out like a goalie in the NHL.  Doing a full split in front of the net, he was able to get a piece of the ball with his right cleat and deflect the ball off to the left side of the goal. As the ball rolled harmlessly toward the far side of the endline, the referee blew his whistle.  The first three-minute overtime period had ended.

    They Had Survived Sudden Death For Three Minutes

Both teams huddled tightly with their coaches and trainers.  This time though, T.J. didn’t leave the crease at all.  He was leaning against the goal with his back turned to the field. It was almost as if he was talking to someone you couldn’t see and totally immersed in a world of his own.  There are several times in a man’s life that define and underline not only who he is, but who he will then become.  This was one of those times for T.J.

                                 And He Knew It

Both teams wearily took the field.  The pressure of an extremely tight game, and then surviving one overtime period, had taken its toll.  As the face-off men bent low and readied for the ball, T.J.’s back was still facing the field.  When he heard the whistle blow he spun around and it was like someone twice his 6’2’’ size was playing goalie.  He seemed to fill the entire net with his presence and there was an ‘aura’ coming from him that surrounded the entire defensive end of the field.

Once again, George lost the face off to the All-State quarterback and star midfielder, B.J. Radford.  This time however, the look on B.J.’s face was different.  Although fairly new to Lacrosse, inside his chest beat the heart of a champion.  He almost stepped on George as he picked up the ball and headed straight over the mid-field line and directly at T.J.  This senior captain had no intention of passing, and he was going to ‘ice’ the game for his teammates and fans.  B.J. was not known as a great shooter but more for his defensive skills. He was a great athlete though, and this charge was not to be taken lightly by anyone on the defensive end of the field.  

                 B.J. Knew This Was His Moment

Without stopping or setting his feet, he raised his stick above his head and shot the ball toward the right corner of the net at over ninety miles an hour.  T.J. saw this one all the way and caught the ball in his stick.  He then ran out of the goal and passed B.J. who was still coming his way as he charged past him and headed straight down the field.  T.J. was out of the defensive box and headed toward the mid-field line.  He was looking at nothing in front of him except the opposing goalie who was now staring at him with an incredulous look on his face inside the opposing crease.

Everyone there that night had their mouth’s open in awe.  No one expected the goalie to ever make the final break, and no one watching had ever seen a goalie possessed with such speed.  The other team was in awe too and just kept watching him run. They were all guarding open men who they were sure T.J. would eventually pass the ball to.

                                  He Didn’t Pass

When he crossed the midfield line, the fans went wild and stood up.  One of his midfielders had the presence of mind to stay back behind the midfield line so that an offsides wouldn’t be called.  In Lacrosse, you always need at least three men back plus the goalie in the defensive end.  Once T.J. crossed midfield, one of the midfielders had to stay back.

T.J. approached the offensive box in front of their goalie with only one thing on his mind.  He had been acutely watching this kid all day and he had noticed one thing.  This was a fundamentally sound and ‘play up’ goalie and one would who would rise to the occasion when the heat was on.  He had transferred into Pennhurst only two years ago and based on his great skill, he had gotten them this far.  He had one weakness though that T.J. had observed — he couldn’t handle the off-speed shots, especially over his left shoulder.

The left shoulder is opposite the goalie stick’s head if you’re right handed. In his case, the only weakness that T.J. had seen,
other than his struggle with off-speed shots, were those directed high up and left.  Like a changeup in baseball, the off-speed shot often confused the goalie’s timing and could cause him to over or under react at just the right time.  T.J. continued to charge the goal.

By this time, two defensemen from Pennhurst were running from both sides to get to T.J. before he could shoot, but his speed was too much.  As he approached the crease from the right side, he raised his stick above his head.  He threw his lower right elbow at the goalie as if executing a shot.  His stick-head never moved, but the goalie bit on the fake.  He waved the head of his stick high right and then easily lobbed the ball over the Pennhurst goalie’s left shoulder.  The referee blew the whistle — the game was over —and T.J.’s team had finally won.

The other goalie dropped to his knees and then put both hands on the ground in front of him.  T.J. went over and picked him up saying: “You may have lost on the scoreboard tonight, but you never gave up. I’m proud to have played against you.”

Haverland had just won the State Championship, and most watching said it was the greatest goalie performance at any level that they had ever seen.  T.J. was voted ‘Most Valuable Player’ of the game. In the fall, he would be off to a top 10 Lacrosse University where he would major in Criminal Justice and take his goalie skills to an even higher level.

T.J.’s coach told him after the game that you can play lacrosse for your entire lifetime and never be able to play or recreate what you just did.  His future college coach, who had been in the stands watching, came down on the field and put his arm around T.J. after the game and told him the same thing.  He went on to say: “T.J., I had my whole speech ready before you went into overtime.  I thought I might have to come down here and tell you that although you lost — you lost really well.

   T.J. Did Not Want To Believe That Losing Well Was Really Possible!

“You had made all those heroic saves throughout the game for your team, and if you had to lose, it would have been a great way to do it.  The only problem with my prepared speech is that you didn’t lose. As I watched you in the goal with your back turned to the field as the second overtime period started, I said to my assistant coach Dave, who’s over talking to your folks, that our new and future goalie is in a zone that few can ever get to.  He will not be scored on again tonight.  Tonight, and for however long this game lasts — he is truly invincible. And I don’t believe I’ve ever used that word to describe a player before.”

Many years passed and one day T.J got an email from his old high school coach.  The coach told him that once again his school, Haverland, would be playing for the State Championship and he wanted to run his pre-game speech by T.J. before his boys took the field.  It was short and to the point.  What he wanted to tell the boys was: “It wouldn’t be the number of players on the field but who those players were and what was coming from inside their hearts that would make all the difference.”  He then went on to tell the story of T.J. in the State Championship Game that took place over ten years before.  

Some of the boys had heard the story, but all were in awe listening to the emotion and passion in their coach’s voice as he retold the story again.  It was like replaying that game with the current Haverland players and right before the most important game that most of them would ever play.  

Haverland won the State Championship again that day and many of the boys said that it was the pre-game speech about T.J. and his team’s overtime victory that fueled their desire and commitment to make it happen.  It was also a close game, and with two minutes to go the score was again tied. Five times during the game they had gone ‘one-man’ down but had only allowed one goal to be scored during those five uneven possessions by the other team.  Haverland was then able to strip the ball from their opponent twice in the final two minutes and convert both into scores — ending the game at 7-5.

Along a lonely hallway in the back of Haverland’s new athletic center hangs a plaque with the story of that night so many years ago.  But to T.J., and all the members of that legendary team, the thing that hangs highest — is their refusal to lose.

The possibility of being invincible would stay inside T.J. and all who were there to watch him play that night. He learned that at the end of the streak where luck ends, sometimes you have to enter that zone …

                                 And Just ‘Will It’ To Happen.
i like watching youtube
but not shows that i hate
people tried to convince me to get netflix
to make my life so good
so now i am sharing it with my mum
and i gave her the money
i watched shows like
good witch
*** education
baby
heartland
the ranch
one day at a time
fuller house
shameless
greenleaf
dear white people
mr iglesias
and a movie titled night school
and many many more
netflix is very good
the shows are great
and it gets me away from the crap
on free to air television and for sport i have kayo
where i can watch
Indian premier league cricket
AFL
NRL
BBL and WBBL CRICKET women and men
Aleague soccer
NFL
NHL
rugby union
baseball
basketball NBA NBL
you see i get good use out of netflix and kayo
and way cheaper than FOXTEL
i am a cool adult, man
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.i know: oh wow... a purple thing i know to be a plum... i like the curiosity mould.. it sometimes leaves me in an unrest... of being woken, to stage a caricature.. to be bereft... how i wake, with being grafted the "innocent" fake of mistakes...

and the last...
     **** it, this medium eats my words
like some stalin...
whatever i might write, or subsequently read..
being neurotic about spelling
mistakes...
well..
          if they're enforced via
censoring...
        nice to write, whatever "requires"
being written...
whatever... nice to know you mr. stalin...
even life as a coalminer wasn't
as difficult back when it was
                supposed to be "difficult".

   why does my maine **** cat
intrude on me, i said to him:
i have 6 candles...
  lit up... i'm trying to conjure
a demigod,
the man who brought down
the thread of Thor's thunder...
i mean:
ever concise yourself
to peer into a candle,
compared to peering into a samsung tablet,

who brought down fire from the gods?
prometheus...
but who brought down the staff
of thor, electricity,
to fellow men?
who came,
with the immediate gift
and curse of electricity,
and the modern plague
of insomnia?
              why does "my" maine ****
cat want to spend these
nights with me?

michael faraday...
that's hardly a name, worth the status
of a, prometheus...
but the source of
illumination is so different,
a candle, scented,
can embody a room with
a human presence,
feline, or canine...
    but this, this,
             seemingly phosphorescent
source of light?
            how will man ever dream,
if plagued by insomnia....
            who is the demigod
who brought down
to settle, the hammer of thor?
electricity?
          
   the cat continues to persist...
         maine **** cats are
almost akin to bloodhound dogs...
they are, very often,
overtly clinging companions...
no, wait... **** it, so be it...
maine **** cats are as clingy
as bloodhounds or basset hounds...
when they spend too much
time alone,
they moan, complain,
meow with 30+ variations,
bark and howl with
a sentenced worth
a breeding of a wolf with
a ******* chihuahua...

but that's beside the point,
i have a clingy cat...
african h'americans over-represented
in the NBA? and...
under represented in the NHL?
sort of equal in the NFL?

what was that movie?
white men can't jump...
    wesley snipes and woody harrelson...
oh sure... white men can, jump...
  only a white man could have
figured "this" out:
               **** Fosbury...
the fosbury flop...
            white boys started jumping...
sure... black boy javier sotomayor,
blah blah...
   but who was it, who said:
flop my way, and you'll jump higher?
****... why do i think that
the most ****** aspect of a woman's
body is her hands?
jerking off... i can also hold a
basketball with one hand...
          how do you think my "crown and jewels"
looks like in the same hand?
like it ought to be fiddled with and by
a high-school girl...
          to not "hurt" my ego...
    ****** up ****...
         and that's directly translated into:
only the best golfers come from
the sort equated to eunuchs
or men with testicular cancer affecting
"but" one of their *******?!
    
**** on me: i thought that cats were
not supposed to be clingy?
these maine ***** are like basset hounds!
their continual need of reassurance
via the supply of staged company?
it's bugging me,
i like it, don't get me wrong...

   but i still don't have the name
of the demigod who came down from
the place of the gods,
with hammer of thor,
who, akin to prometheus,
came down with a light
that made the skin sizzle...
who came with a source of light,
that, made, the skin numbed with pain...

i need a name,
   michael faraday is not enough...
prometheus brought down fire...
who brought down thor's hammer,
who brought down zeus' lighting rod?

   given, the modern day plague
of insomnia?
   hmm! Insomnius!
     the deity of the:
half-awake and the half-dreaming...
the miracle birth of
Thanatos copulating with Hypnos...
born of the ****...
               the demigod,
or those, who wish, above all else,
to return to the womb of Nyx...
and become unshackled from
the genesis of conception
of the abominal copulation
between Thanatos and Hypnos.

p.s. yes... maine **** is a cat breed.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
is America still trying to
be relevant, culturally
within the confines of Europe
by exporting their last resort,
no longer poem song or painting
resorting to staging
its dumbest sport outcast
that's füßball at Wembley
when, sure as **** I'd rather
watch baseball like any ***
over the complexity of
grr... cricket...
      call me a ****- and don
me in a toga and I'll sing
you, a ******* canary song...
to ensure: one touch,
fifteen minutes of advertising...
and they said that fans of metal
music were a butcher's sweetbits
worth of cranium jelly...
con con, con cuss 'ushion...
bet doll on the ramming buck...
origins of baseball,
palant... schlagbalz...
even ******* regenmensch
collected the world series cards...
not in the land famed for
rug, grub and by the by of rugged
botox injected into *******...
    pucker lips weeding out
the prince charming ******
to a hideous wart oozing lips...
            desperation comes
at Wembley... in the form
of cultural exhaustion...
        came the song, then came the sports...
NHL on Loch Ness...
baseball toyed with at the Oval...
but... is this an actual sport
or one of those boardgames 3D
where you paint the figurines,
warhammer, over complicating
throwing dice?
    gambling and striptease...
            and the most beautiful words
she said to me was:
   i have STD check regurarly...
i don't mind wearing the rubber...
late in his life socrates wondered
why be ****** to a married life
with an ever-demanding wife...
to cite Plato: what man visited
a *******, we will look at him
with an ackward gaze...
                 likewise...
   i'm surprised he managed to
listen to the nagging of xanthippe...
     aquam sordidam anima mea mundus.
PMc Oct 2018
Here I sit in our two-hundred channel first world
where expedient social media
has brought together friends from twenty - thirty - fourty years ago

Instant social messaging has precluded
mass rallies both lawful and not - started instantly,
NHL riots schemed just minutes ahead of scheduled network programming,
photos of an infant barely ten breaths old
available to grandma’s inbox as quickly as one can “press number sign”.

High definition of high frequency high turn-over television networks
for food, cartoons, comedy, westerns, classics, country music
and all day ****

Meanwhile here in the now unaptly named “City of Champions”
every screen on every television
in every bar, pub or club tonight
they’re watching the
World Championships
of
Poker.
Edmonton Canada - or any other city.  I was in three pubs that night and wanted to watch whatever was on the television, just to pass time.  Inevitably, EVERY pub had the World Series of Poker.  To me (not just me) the WPT is as ludicrous as television wrestling.  From pub to pub I though -- there MUST be something else on.  A re-run of Seinfeld or Coronation Street would have been worthwhile.  I could run but not hide.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.nothing is going to fix this,
sure sure,
  you can either make a zukofsky
out of it, or an ezra pound...
no point of comparison beyond
these two,
you might as well forget
homer...
          because, that sort of ****...
needs to mature.


and i am out of place,
    i'm in england,
but i'm juxtaposing the feral
lands of eastern europe
where women have
a choice...
      either comply,
or be subjected to social
stigma,
       much akin to any small
community...
the old men ask the young
men: where's your girlfriend?!
the young men reply:
she's independent...
  there's absolutely zilch
i can do about that...
     i hardly think this
"concern" has been brewing
in my mind...
ever watch a blonde
    court-side
           at an NBA match?
well...
thanks to b.t.
   (british telecommunications)
i can't tune in into the premier
league matches...
       but if there's a sport
i enjoy... that's over across the "pond"
it's basketball...
well considering h'america is
more of an idea of a country
than anything currently available
that's organic...
   NHL and NBA...
          and when it comes
to baseball... n'ah...
   the lunacy of cricket beats it...
oh and for sure
   NFL can't compete with
rugby...
        i never understood
the "logic" of a one-throw
game policy,
    must feel like *******
into a ****
  with one ***** (runner)
able to squeeze past
the melee...
hawkeye to blade runner...
throw... catch...
touchdown...
  but the interruptions:
too many to count, put me off...
but a blonde court-side
at a basketball game...
    now there's looking
star-struck, there's looking
aghast,
there's daniel's *****
and there's the goliath...
   oh the jaw doesn't need
to drop...
   the eyes are already glittering...
well i'm also hardly
a didldo model...
   what would that look, like?
thank god the crazed monotheist
priest didn't get to me,
i knew the *******
was supposed to fulfill
some sort of function...
never thought it was
to, sit down on a toilet,
take a ****, take a ****,
and then ******* to some
                        fine art...
          well i had to write something!
this is only the interlude
piece of the "puzzle"
before i get really into it,
  before i drink enough to dumb
down and spew doodles...
and the whole itchy fingers
"thing"...
           so i made myself
the promise - write within
the time limit of a reader's capacity
to read it in reverse...
never revise...
    keep to the grammar and spelling...
and when i heard
that bukowski made frequent
spelling mistakes...
then...
         i sort of lost my respect
for him...
             it's not like i sit and,
  "ponder"... scheme...
                    as long as the punctuation
works...
then the "necessary" CAPITAL
lettering is... gone with the wind...
        then again...
just drinking,
    and... what? relaxing akin
to the will styron "conundrum"...
well...
   at least know when i hit
the mega-snooze button
                    and quasi-black-out...
which implies:
       pulled-pork and roast
tatties and some red cabbage
with chilli and coriander just did
their bit...
               as in:
          when it comes to poetics...
thinking is overrated...
and i know that the mainstream
has ****** "hurt feelings"...
but with this sort of ****...
you have to feel more
   and think, less...
              it's not mahjong solitaire
we're talking about,
it's the integrity of language...
sure...
   it's not a stephen king novel...
but like i said two days prior
to someone:
   i lack the imagination
to embrace a future...
              nope... can't see it...
not on a personal scrutiny
of wants...
                  there's only now...
and it's hardly a scenario
of "living in the past"...
sure, i "live" in the past
only because i don't think i did
anything wrong...
   unlike most people...
i like to remember the good
i've done, however pea sized puny...
and i don't have a problem
with that...
   but... "apparently"
a lot of people are so ashamed
of their past that the only thing
they're looking forward to is
a snippet of a future just
before their death...
                i like the past...
not because i live in it,
but because i have, lived in it...
   and that's one sure way
to converse with an Alzheimer's
condition...
         akin to:
last time i checked,
she picked out the engagement ring
herself...
  and she herself,
gave it back to me...
      and then all manner of crazy
**** happened...
'matt, matt! i'm hearing voices!
matt! matt! i'm pregnant!'
like i didn't visit her
after the break-up
and find her sleeping with her ex-,
so now, what?
                   i really want
to be that bitter spare-cog in
the machine of time...
                          i do...
   but something compels me to spew...
sure, drinking,
the "curse"...
          but for all the sedatives
in pharma-land...
    at least this one gives
me a sense of sanity, and focus...
  i'll cook the dog's *******
worth of a curry and a fox
   will come near my garden door...
and then i'll feed him
some left-over food,
bones, groats...
sauce yadda yadda...
       and i'll leave him like that
for a week...
   which gives me great satisfaction...
because it reminds me
of myself as a child,
    the only child...
       with an alsatian shepherd
for a sister
and a dobermann for a brother...
    ****... i still remember that
bitche's name... Bel-la...
   and she was beautiful...
   i'd go walking with my now now
dementia riddled grandfather
into the strawberry fields and
the forest and climb trees...
   and she'd be barking running
insane rounds around the tree
worried for me...
       (verbatim, not my words,
my grandfathers)...
                     and that's how it ends...
autobiographic...
  imagine asking someone
to pay you for this sort of crap...
esp. when they can't relate
to it...
                    but there's this...
and then...
  there's the tabloid press...
                          again: your choice...
personally?
   i can't stomach tabloid
spew...
              as much as i can't stomach
the lovelustre idealists...
i once loved...
          once...
                    once was enough...
after that once...
a sober reality kicks in...
                  and, lucky or unlucky
for me...
        i thankfully don't
have, what's necessary to compete /
provide...
          if there is a god...
i pray: thank you,
       for kicking me out
            from the hierarchy games...
literally: i'm out,
with as much, or little,
               as this little doodle shows;
finally!
    i get to do my pontius pilate
pose -
   not because i didn't try...
i did try...
                 not because i didn't care...
once upon a time...
    imagine that...
ending a book rather than
beginning one with:
                 once upon a time.

— The End —