Life–as we all know–sucks, but as all have those special memories that makes our miserable reality bearable–the kind of memories that lifts you up and slaps a smile on your face! The glorious highlights when you tasted from the fruit of greatness and left the mundane in your wake! These are your personal hall of fame memories–the stories you incessantly recant in your drunken, nostalgic stupor, driving your friends insane!
I’m a frequent visitor of my personal hall of fame. If I need a quick pick-me-up, a stroll down memory lane can do wonders. Having recently taken inventory of my greatest hits, I’ve come to realize that I’m probably not the best person that ever lived. The highlights of my life are usually stupid, violent, unlikely or a fantastical combination of all of the above. I’ve been known to crack myself up for no apparent reason to the outside observer, and it’s usually about something really fucked up that I really shouldn’t tell people about. So, naturally, here we are!
You know that feeling you get when you make a one-in-a-million goal shot playing soccer? The crowd roars, your team mates hoist you up in the air and carry you around like golden luggage, singing your praise–all that. Well, that was somebody else! My personal hall of fame goal shot was met with absolutely zero applause, a touch of shock and horror, and just a hint of murder and mayhem, because I can’t do anything normal.
My personal hall of fame goal shot was met with absolutely zero applause, a touch of shock and horror, and just a hint of murder and mayhem, because I can’t do anything normal.
With the exception of martial arts, I’ve never been a fan of sports–ballgames least of all. I enjoyed playing, as a kid, but–to this day–watching soccer games on TV bores me to tears! I don’t get the appeal of watching grown men chasing balls on a lawn, and I’ve never understood the pleasure fans derive from living vicariously through the victories of “their” team. Is life really this dull for you people? Clearly, I’m not a sports guy!
I don’t get the appeal of watching grown men chasing balls on a lawn, and I’ve never understood the pleasure fans derive from living vicariously through the victories of “their” team.
I was about seventeen years old at the time of this incident, visiting my aunt way out in the country, and I got roped into playing a game of soccer with my cousin and a bunch of his hillbilly friends. We went to the local elementary school to use their shitty, gravel soccer field. School was out for the day, so we had the field all to ourselves.
In the middle of our game, I noticed a woman walking a toddler down the road next to the field. I was at center midfield when someone passed me the ball. The other team’s defense figured they had me boxed in, so their idiot goalkeeper came running out to midfield, leaving the goal wide open. I weaseled my way past them with a mad dribble and lined the ball up for a solid power shot! Just as I kicked the ball, the aforementioned toddler came running into the field from behind the goal, right into the path of the ball!
As I mentioned, I wasn’t one for sports, but–unfortunately for that little kid–I did a lot of martial arts, biking and weight training. I only mention this so you’ll properly understand me when I tell you that my legs were fucking powerful–and I put everything I had into that shot! The ball traveled straight and hard from midfield, past the eighteen yard line and smashed that poor child square in the face! You should have seen this shit! His little, toddler head snapped back like a broken twig as the ball bounced off his exploding face and sent his lifeless body sailing backwards into the goal! I’ll never forget that terrible, hollow sound it made… or the silence that followed. You could hear people gulping from the other end of the field.
The ball traveled straight and hard from midfield, past the eighteen yard line and smashed that poor child square in the face!
The kid’s mom came running into the field in a fit of panic, and all the country bumpkins started pointing at me. At that moment, I thought for sure I was going to prison for murder! I saw my whole life flashing before my eyes, and waved goodbye to all good things. It was very dramatic.
A mere moment later, the kid drew breath and squealed like a pig! “Phew!” The worst thing that could’ve happened at this point was brain damage, and brain damaged people can still be productive members of the janitorial service, right? This shit could have gone a whole other way! Thankfully, the toddler survived, so this memory gets to take it’s place among my greatest hits (pun intended)! This is by far coolest damned thing I’ve achieved in my entire life! We may have different priorities, though.
Thankfully, the toddler survived, so this memory gets to take it’s place among my greatest hits (pun intended)!
What happened next is entirely beyond my understanding. Almost immediately after picking up her broken, bruised and bleeding rag-doll of a child, mother-of-the-year starts tearing into the poor, little, bastard! I was expecting her to attack me ferociously, with teeth and fingernails, but she didn’t give a good goddamn about me, she just kept yelling at her kid and shaking him, as if he didn’t already have whiplash! “That’s what you get for playing with the big kids,” she told him.
To absolutely nobody’s surprise, I was the first one to start laughing. We could hear the kid squealing a mile down the road after they walked off. I’ll never forget this bizarre incident. I crack myself up every time I think about it. I’m probably a terrible person, but who the hell cares?