The sulfurous smoke burns our lungs as we crawl through the belly of the beast...

There are certain things that happen in peoples lives that are remembered. Some are individually personal. Some are highlights, such as graduations, marriages, divorces, births of children or grandchildren. Some are turning points in a person live: first jobs, loss of virginity, prison (hopefully not at the same time).

Then, there are the events in your life that happen and everyone asked the question: Where were you when ____ happened? What were you doing when ____ happened? Usually, these are reserved for world wide events like wars, assassinations, discoveries. Well, an event happened that will forever be remembered in the annals of history. They will tell tales around campfires and war songs will be sung in remembrance of this time.

This last Sunday, Riverside, short sided and long in years, did something that many would consider impossible. With eight old and creaky field players we tied McSpankin (McCrappy? MacEstrogen? I can't remember) one to one. We even accomplished this with me in goal in the second half. This is a team of never was, twenty-something, hair product, I wish I could have been a better player when I was younger; we are going to run all over these old men.

Yes, the wind was with us and by this time they were discouraged and disoriented by the beatings that they were getting every time they touched the ball, but still, it was me in goal. The last time I was in the pipes, I was eight years old and gave up seven goals.

Let me tell you, these guys suck. Our wall of defense was stout and lashed out many a crushing tackle. The few who ran up front were all the opponents could handle. Skip, continuing in his role as mastermind, walked the sideline, spewed politically incorrect racial comments, and drank beer.

Every one of the McUseless team has no reason to play soccer much less to exist. Any self respecting organism that had this much embarrassment heaped on them would go, lemming like, off a cliff. They should do this so that their seed would not ever be able to be spread and weaken the human gene pool. Oh well, once again we have met the challenge of another inappropriate foe.

Enough talk of the useless.

Let's talk about those great warriors that were present. Those men of Riverside, who drank beer in victory and woke with soreness in the joints the next morning, will be forever embedded in history. This time of great rejoicing with chests swelling in pride in every retelling of the exploit.

But what of those who were absent? Those whose lives are lessened because the can only make an excuse for not even seeing the feats of great men? Will they, like those who claim to be present at events like Woodstock and Gettysburg, feel the need to place themselves present at this event in their own mind? Or will the wither away in the truth.

Is just being a part of Riverside enough? Is it enough to walk among the shadows of the immortals without basking in the warmth of their greatness? What will you answer your offspring when you are old and grey and sit on your lap at story time and they ask you? "Grandpa, were you there when Riverside did this?" "Well, no I thought that it was more important to be shoveling shit in Arkansas." I hope you can live with yourselves.

Speaking for those who were present (with your permission), let me say this to those of you who were somewhere else. We are tired of carrying you to greatness. You owe us beer.

Lonnie James,
Gaffer