Scribbs = Footballa'

Yes, I am a foot-baller, but we will get to that in a minute - after we discuss another footballa'. The guy wearing Armani on the left is Ronaldo - not the overweight Brazilian Ronaldo, but the 19 year-old, Portuguese, teen heart-throb, throwing down mad funk Ronaldo. The girl on his right is some hot model. All of this brings me to my most recent football success - one complete with Ronaldo-like funk.

Now, as I have mentioned before in a mess of introspection, I've recently taken up soccer. It's not entirely fair to say "taken up", as I did play rec soccer as a kid nearly a decade, but seeing as I was unquestionably the worst kid on every team (aside from the mentally handicapped kid on my 5th and 6th grade teams), I think it's fair to say that I'm starting from scratch. My motivation for such a foolish undertaking can seen here, but that aside, I'm really getting into it.

Thus motivated, and getting ever better at juggling, I went to the park with JZ for a little kick-around the other day. She played soccer at her crazy athletic high school, and though skirtedly admits that she played a speed and aggression game, not exactly a skill one, talks the talk pretty big about having played soccer competitively and this and that - all of which was meant to intimidate yours truly. Well, I wanted to see what she had. We kicked it around a bit, tried some juggling, made some passes, pretty rudimentary stuff. Then, I decided it was time for a little one on one. I drive - slow, controlled, alert. Deek left...deek right...back left...he's free! Incredible! "FOUL!" Wha? "You just through me off the ball with your arm! Foul. My turn." Well, yes, there was some contact, but what is this girls' soccer? Anyway, I played the good sport, said it didn't count, and lined up for defense. She comes in, step-over, another step-over, step-back-over. Oh, come on. Finally she makes her move, tries to go between the legs, I read it perfectly, blocked, ball bounces back, hits her leg, back to me, right shin, her, left foot, ball squirts free, she chases, gets there, I'm right on her.."Hahahahaha! I won!" Wha? You won? But I'm still here! And even if you do say you got by, look how messy it was? "I won, haha. See?" (a little dance ensues) Wow. Now it's on. There I was, with the ball, ready to go, the pressure on. My pride, my honor, my very manhood on the line. The pressure was intense. I go. Come in slow, pick up speed, quick jog, right foot steps over, right foot brings it back with the outside, heading hard right, , left foot comes in to bring it harder right, she bites, but no! No wait! Left foot doesn't make contact! It steps in front! Ball is hidden protected by the left leg! Right foot sweeps in finds the ball just behind the left leg, bring it under back to the LEFT! She's committed to the right, I sprint left, and I'm gone! Long gone! No contact, no chance! So clean! Incredible! How does the most reliable sweeper on the team look now? That's what I thought! No one can handle the funk from Scribbs!

A moment of joy, of athletic brilliance, of true artistry. I reveled.

Then, she tried to steal it from me. She said she didn't try. She said she wasn't REALLY playing. She said I had no skills! Bitch please. Don't take this from me. I beat someone, fair and square, and it wasn't even the retarded kid. I mean, look, my moment of brilliance might not qualify me to be Ronaldo, skinny or fat, but can't I at least have the small victory which I deserve? You know I love you JZ, but this time, I'm taking my moment, and I'm going to continue to revel, because there is no other term for what I threw down on that field, on that day, other than mad, mad, funk - brilliant, creative, and beautiful. Best thing in life: JZ. Fine. But the NEXT best thing in life: smokin' JZ with true footballa' skills. Hot damn.