Mud in your eye

Ugly scenes at practice tonight. During the five-minutes I allot for a scrimmage, I’m doing my best to help my team win. As usual, this involves me running at full speed towards whichever kid has the ball and frightening them into giving it up to me. Surprisingly, most nine and ten year olds get a little nervous when they have a six foot one, 220lb man closing them down while screaming scary noises at the top of his voice. Except for in this instance.

I’m charging towards a kid named Billy out near the corner flag when he does the most brazen thing. He nutmegs me. No, seriously. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t kick the ball away before I get there. He waits and waits and then, at the last second, flicks it through my legs. To add insult to injury, he runs around me and goes away up the field. And I swear some of the other boys are laughing!

I’m so annoyed I extend practice by an extra five minutes. I have to. How else am I to get revenge?  The chance finally comes. Billy is dribbling with the ball and doesn’t hear me coming. I wait and wait until he’s approaching the muddiest area of midfield, then I sprint up behind him, and execute the most brilliant trip. He goes face-first into the mud. As he lies there caked in the brown stuff, I stand over him and shout “Nutmegged!”