PLEASE, SOMEONE TELL ME I'M NOT THE JACKASS OF THIS TALE!

So, me and The Coolness played in our first game of the season this Sunday past. As The Daughter had no games, she came along, too.

We play with two refs, one on each sideline (more or less, they move a bit infield but not across the half.) I did not recognize either ref, which was reason to be cautious.

We knew the team we were up against, having played them before on several occasions. We've usually ended each game on nearly-even footing, which lends a sense of accomplishment if we come out on top.

They have an excellent stopper, a bald guy who plays hard every play of the game. He's a bit rough, but that's not entirely undesirable at your central defense, given that the refs are there to call the game and keep everyone safe.

Bald Guy leveled a few of our players, some were on fifty-fifty balls, and therefore pardonable, but others were not. While not carding offenses, there should have been a free kick or two in there.

Despite this skilled player's best efforts, we kept the ball in their end most of the first half, opening the scoring in the last few minutes. After we re-set, they came charging up and spent the next few minutes right in front of me.

They got a shot off.

As I dove for it one of my players deflected the ball into the dirt, moving it from my stretching hand to under my torso. A clapped my arm to my side, but the ball rolled under me. I landed, hard, on my left shoulder. The point hurt less than the fall, but it still wounded pride. I got up, did the walk of shame into my net, and retrieved the ball. Play resumed for a minute before the whistle blew.

I commented to my team about the forcefield that seemed to accompany Bald Guy around the field, knocking people over. I got a few chuckles.

When I went back on the field, The Daughter was shooting at the goal with a bearded man wearing a baseball cap and what I presumed were his two children. Seeing us coming, they moved off the field, leaving a thermos at the edge of the box. I picked it up and called out to them. The daughter came over and took the thermos from me and ran off. They set up an impromptu field behind my goal, started playing.

My game resumed.

They were pressing pretty hard, but we were doing well.

One of the impromptu game's balls rolled onto the field while our play was at the other end, I heel-kicked the ball back to them, making no comment, hearing no apologies.

Some moments passed in play. I collected a save and booted the ball up field. One of our players, one of our fastest players, got under it and skinned it off his head to prevent the midfielder behind him getting a piece of it. He turned to give chase, and took a few strides when Bald Guy, knowing it was a goal scoring break, came in from the side and slammed Fast Player. Bald Guy went down, but Fast Player had seen him coming and managed to keep his feet under him.

The far side ref blew his whistle and called Fast Player for the foul.

"WHAT!?" I bellowed, outraged. I shouldn't have, but I did. It was so very clear to me that the call was  incorrect and only served to punish the person who'd kept his feet that I just lost it.  It should be noted that I am capable of stopping traffic with a shout. I have actually done so, on multiple occasions. I know I was loud.

I shouted it again before becoming aware of the ref on my side of the field, who was blowing his whistle and calling out to me.

I bellowed something more about a horrible call and, "Come on!" just as I realized he was telling me not to say another word. I said a few more things.  I let my base instinct to argue get the better of me and was duly given a yellow card.

I deserved it. Entirely. The far side ref made a shit call. I should have left it at that.

I did not.

Play resumed. The ball was back and forth across the center line and there were a number of shots, all of which I managed to save.

The ball was coming across the half when another loose ball from behind rolled onto the field. I jogged up and booted the ball to the left, clearing it off the field. There's a hill that rises almost immediately from the edge of the field, and acts as an automated ball-return.

"Dude, I was behind you." I hear Bearded Cap shout at me.

"You got the ball back, right?" I say, still watching the play.

"You didn't have to kick it up there, the ball wasn't even down at this end," Bearded Cap says. He's wrong on so many levels I don't know what to say.

"Playing here," I say, wanting him to stop distracting me. The game ball is around midfield still.

"The ball was down at the other end," he repeats.

"Not your call to make," I say, "you are not playing."

"You got a swollen head," he shouts.

"Wha- No! That's right, my head is quite large, PHYSICALLY!" I say as I turn to face the man and remove my baseball cap. Who the fuck is this guy, interrupting my game with his bullshit?

The ref blows his whistle, comes rushing across the field. FUCK! I think. He's gonna throw me out.

The ref, though, is a good one: he charges past me and tell Bearded Cap to take a hike.

As he walks back to his sideline, I say, "Thank you. I've never had that kind of shit happen before."

"I saw it all," says the ref. Then tells me, "Careful, you're on a yellow."

I bite my tongue. He has a point. Had he not known what was going down, I might have been thrown out.

The game ended in a hotly-contested draw at one to one.

As I'm walking off, the ref comes over and says, "The guy is still here."

I nod.

"Let's please act like adults."

At which point he lost me. "I was with you up till that, sir. I don't need to be told such things."

Probably thinking I was an ass, he began to walk away.

"Hey, ref, you made very good calls today," I said, meaning it. He had done a great job.

Just don't ask me about the other ref.

So, the game is over, I walk off, take a seat, start to get out of my boots. All the sudden, Bearded Cap is standing over me. "I just wanted to say: you didn't have to kick the ball, the game was in the other half."

"And I heard you the first time." I say, standing up. No way am I going to let this nutbag get into position to whack me, if that happens to be his intent. "You really shouldn't be saying anything to me just now."

"You shouldn't have."

FUCK, REALLY? "Were you playing?"

"No."

"Then it's not your call to make."

"It's just a rec league, man."

"Yup, one you're not playing in, so you're not the one making those calls."

"I hope you get picked up by the pros, they'll recognize your intensity," he says, walking away.

"Rrriiight, I'm the one arguing with the guy who was minding his own business, trying to change after a tight game. Yeah, that's the way this all went down."

He joins a woman from the team we just played and the two children who'd been playing with him in the backfield. This is when I first realize that his wife or significant other was playing in the game, on the field, against me.

Now, won't someone please tell me I'm not the jackass of this story?

Oh, and for those of you who know me, you'd have been terribly surprised by the distinct lack of profanity I used in the above encounters. I was quite proud of that, at least.

My Gorilla

So... I left off last time with a teaser about my gorilla.  Here is that tale:

A youth I'll calll Jackass decided prodding my gorilla with a stick is a good idea.  He's one seriously demented fool.  The Jackass, not my gorilla.  He's a gorilla.  My gorilla.

A slight digresion into backstory, if you will allow it:

I first met Jackass picking up the pieces after he'd been shot.  He's the kind of Jackass that requires a tattoo indicating he's 100% his ethnicity on the back of his neck, like the label on a cheap shirt.  Gotta know what you think you are, right?

Seems that, while he is not hispanic, he rolls with the Nortenos of the Mission District.  Some Sureno decided to end some Nortenos, and caught Jackass instead.  Jackass took one in the ass, running from his assailant.   He's the type of jackass who can't concieve of reasons why all sorts of bad things happen to him.   

So.  By now he's been in this court a great number of times.  First because he threw some litter on the ground right in front of my old partner, who gave him a ticket.  To cut this relatively long backstory short, the Jackass gets found guilty, can't get his shit togother to pay it, so he keeps coming back to court.  Every time he gets my attention, acting the fool in court, then talking back and behaving as if he's the victim.Of course he is also racking up other tickets, and still can't pay them.

Jackass is not helped in that his name is very easy to remember, and rolls off my tongue with minimal hesitation. That and his sibling is a cab driver, and also makes appearances.  The brother isn't a jackass, however.

In comes Jackass.  My Gorilla sits up, hard and fast.  It knows Jackass is present, and starts snarling.

Jackass is with another young male of his ethnicity, though this one doesn't feel the need to label himself. I have seen Jackass' companion before, and never had any trouble out of him. I check the court calendar for Jackass.  He's not on it.  Good.  Means I can bounce him, if I have to.

A very attractive young woman comes in and takes a seat next to Jackass.

I am giving the rules of the court, and Jackass starts trying to chat Attractive Girl up. I see Attractive Girl shake her head and lean as far away from Jackass as she can.

He says something more.  She shakes her head more forcefully and points at the sign above me indicating that people should not talk in court.

He sneers and says something more. 

She gets up and moves away from him. He opens his mouth, eyes watering he's staring so hard at Attractive Girl's rear.

I feel the need for another digression, this time on the ettiquette of checking someone out and then trying to chat them up:

Look once. Store the image.  Leave off unless you get a return glance indicating mutual interest.   Be sure.

Don't fucking linger, don't stare, especially if they do not look back at you or do slook back at you and try and indicate their displeasure.  Don't fucking make the person you are appreciating feel uncomfortable, as that might preclude them from dressing as attractively or otherwise sharing their beauty with those that know how to appreciate without creeping out.

Further, don't you dare try to make small talk after the person you think attractive has already given you clear indication that they don't want to fucking talk to you.  Especially if they've said as much to you.

"Mr Jackass, be silent," I bark.

"I wasn't sayin' nothin'," Jackass says, his eyes finally leaving the young woman and settling on me before racing away.  He's seen my Gorilla before, knows it is at the door, beating his chest.

"No? Then why did the young lady get up and leave after telling you she didn't want to converse?"

"Aww man," he says, like I'm some fucking school teacher and he my student.

Gorilla settles back.  There's just no competition here.

"I see you have no matter before the court.  You may leave now," I say.

"But I didn't doo nothin'" he says, sounding less mature than my six year old.

"And you've been here often enough you should know better.  Leave."

He does as ordered, but can't resist giving Attractive Girl a wink as he passes her.  She shakes her head again, clearly discomfited.

My Gorilla flies at the cage, arms extended, fingers grasping for Jackass' neck.  Jackass leaves the courtroom proper. 

My Gorilla snorts, goes to start picking his ass. Several minutes pass in relative quiet.  Court starts.

BAM!  Something is hit in the hallway, followed by a great deal of mouth-noises.  I walk out, knowing it's Jackass.  He's gone. 

"Was that a little guy with a shaved head?" I ask of a gentlman waiting for his later court session.

"The one that came out cursing the police and shouting?" the man says, mildly interested.

I smile. This is my kind of guy, "Indeed, yes."

"Yes, that would be the fellow.  He went downstairs."

"Thank you," I reply.  I return to the courtroom.

The 5:30 court session runs over into the 6:30.  I go out to make an announcement for those that are being made to wait.  Jackass is there among them.

The announcement goes like this, "Those of you here for six thirty, we are not quite ready for you, as we are dealing with the 5:30 matters.  I will be making an announcement to bring everyone scheduled for 6:30 in at the same time when we are ready.  Historically, this is a few minutes past 6:30."

Another gentleman asks me, quite politely, what time he could expect to be done. I replied that I didn't know, exactly, but I had never been in court past nine.

Jackass surges forward, "So when will the five-thirty people be done?"

The monumental stupidity of the question made some who didn't know the court system, me, or presumably, Mr Jackass, chuckle and snort.

I blinked, "Clearly, when they are done, Mr Jackass.  Further: Mr Jackass, don't hit the walls or make disruptive noises in the hall, or I will remove you from the building."

"My bad," he replies, completely unrepentant.

"Indeed it is. No one else out here is acting like a child but you." There are children present who, presumably, were behaving as children do, but their presense only served to impress on everyone else the breadth and depth of Jackass' asshattery.

"Man, why you always so annoying me?"

"I don't know how to respond to that, Mr Jackass. That having been said, you have no matter before the court, and you are doing your friend no favors by repeatedly disrupting the processes of the court. Feel free to be annoying somewhere else."

More titters.

My Gorilla huffed, disappointed.  Sometimes the Jackass gets himself in a mess, and my Gorilla needn't do a damn thing:

The ride

This morning's ride was an experience:

The fog had visibility down to about 100 feet in some places, and slowly creeped inside my protective gear and robbed me of any warmth.

A moron in a minivan keeps whipping past me like he's preparing for Daytona, then getting caught at the next light. He does this three or four times before I pull up, put the bike in neutral next to him and flip my visor up, looking at his vehicle and shaking my head.

The driver rolls down his window, asks, "What?"

"Just looking for the race-car stickers. Those kids in back getting paid to be on your race team, bub?" I reply.

He gets crosseyed once he figures out what I said, and what it means. I motor away while he tries to formulate a response.

Jackass.