You're giving me a red card for that....?

A lot has happened since starting the blog: a partnership with West Ham United International Academy, two trips to London, the first regional camp in Indiana and the Hammers continuing to teeter on the brink of the championship abyss. Of course, the F.A. will never allow West Ham to be relegated - nor will the Metropolitan Police, the Major of London or, as a matter of fact, the Queen. West Ham being relegated means there could be two events next season that eclipse all imaginable disasters. Two games for the Irons against Millwall. So, in the name of national security, the Hammers will not go down. Ahh, I hear you say. Maybe Millwall will be promoted. That event is also protected by the Queen et al. It would be like the moment in Raiders of the Lost Ark when the Nazis open the big box and get more than they bargained for. I mean the very worse stuff from the Bible. Like Superman 3 when he goes all black and bad but without the ‘don’t worry ‘cos Christopher Reeve always finds a way to defeat evil’ ending kind of ending. For me, it’ll be an eternity of watching a double whammy of ‘The Notebook’ followed by “Pretty Woman’. Only digesting yourself from your inside would set you free.

OK - can't remember if I've included this before - and as I keep mentioning the 'Partnership'

Sorry. I was trying to say I read some old blogs and reminded myself of promises I made to you. One was about me and football misconduct. Not a tremendously shocking story, yet worthy of mention. I am not exactly the ‘Roy Keane’ of football. Neither Wayne Rooney, who without a career in soccer, would probably be fighting every night down at the local. Not me. I’ve stood uselessly with a tenner in my hand at the pub for hours waiting to be served. But I did have a thought inspired by recent events in Japan. And it’s this. The relationship between the number of yellow / red (or blue - thanks Dave Howard) cards I have received in my life and the dates I received them is not linear. It’s exponential.


How does Japan conjure that up? The Richter Scale. You see it’s not a linear scale, so, an earthquake of magnitude, say 10, is not twice as bad as one at 5. 5 is pretty tricky. It shakes the shelves and wakes you up at 3am. A ten splits the earth in half and all the runny yellow hot stuff comes out. We then require Bruce Willis, wearing a white vest, no shoes, sporting bloody bruises and a ‘I’m leaving my badge in the desk drawer’ kinda attitude to jump inside some crazy machine NASA made, drill / fly / hover into the middle of the earth, plant some kind of magnetic-super-fusion explody thing and save the planet. Oh, he has a nutty scientist who is really a robot, a handsome but overly militaristic pilot (who breaks out a hand weapon at some point to the total surprise of the crew), a buddy who is a recovering alcoholic and a really hot chick. At some point the ‘machine’ will get hot - thus forcing the crew to sweat and take lots of clothes off. Then someone will have to swim under water (for the kind of length of time that makes watchers suffocate) to press a button that is important. Oh, that would be the ‘now scantily clad’ hot chick. The mad scientist tries to kill everyone - but gives them too much time while mono-logging about his dysfunctional childhood - and thus fails to kill anyone. The buddy sacrifices himself to jump in and get something important from the really hot stuff. he dies. The scientist dies. The pilot loses a leg but gains Bruce’s respect. Bruce saves the planet. The hot chick remains hot and yet chiily at the same time and still has lipstick on.

So, 10 on the Ricther scale is bad.

And I spent a very long time playing soccer before getting any kind of card from the ref. But once it started it kind of grew on me. Here is the truth - with very approximate time periods identified.

Creation of the Earth. Not much soccer. Only Bruce can survive such temperatures.
1982. I pick up a yellow card for kicking the ball away. I am horrified and no longer pure.
1995. Red card. And it wasn’t my fault. The ref sent both us off - he was kicking - I was diving.
2001. Said a rude word to the ref with respect to how bad his decision was. Yellow. Upset.
2004. Arrived in the USA and was introduced to the ‘blue card’ - off for 2 mins if naughty.
2007. Received a blue card. Apparently local people in Indiana haven’t heard of tackling.
2009. Said a very bad word while youngsters present. Deal with Dave Howard to card me if repeated.
2010. Earn a number of ‘blues’ from Matt after generally bad tackles, especially man in German shirt.
2010 - Sept. Blue. Dave. I’m sorry but they fouled me. Got nothing. Mouth. Emailed apology
 2010 - Nov. Blue. Matt. Didn’t have a problem but Matt seemed to give me one. Bad language.
 2011 - Walked off field after trying to help a guy about to cream me and conceding a free kick.
 Current - In therapy.
To be honest with you, the best one never got picked up by a ref. I’ll tone the language down a little - and set the scene first. Know that in England, to shout at someone as they are about to shoot etc is not only unheard of but probably an offense for ungentlemanly conduct. Like you cannot shout ‘my ball’ when try to head - you have to call a name. Not so in Indiana. I am running with the ball while being tracked by, who we shall call ‘Larry’. There is a fair amount of tussling going on but I am in and about to shoot. As I am about to strike the ball Larry - shouts MISS right in my ear. I simply stop in my tracks and look at him. Conversation as follows:
Me - ‘what the blazes was that?’
Larry - ‘me shouting at you’
Me - ‘you don’t want to do that again’
(and here comes the worse thing you can say to me as the red mist rises)
Larry - ‘what you gonna do about it?’
Me - ‘I’m gonna break you blazing legs, Larry’

It felt good at the time. Sadly, very poor form. Larry isn’t really a nice fellow, somewhat gregarious and rude. Oh well, Larry deserved it. If my mate Bruce was playing with me he would have broken Larry’s leg there and then, just to get the special code for the magnetic-super-fusion explody thing. Plus he wouldn't just break his leg - he'll kind of stand on it and make the guy scream.  And then we would have looked really cool and saved the planet. To top it off? The hot, yet now ‘slightly wet and chilly’ chick turns out to be Bruce’s daughter and I am quids in.