He did what?

So recently I put up a post called Rundom Thoughts wherein I posted some random thoughts and I guess some dickwad decided that posting random thoughts was his thing and that I was stealing his bit, even though Rundom Thoughts is a much cooler name than Randumbery and my post was way funnier. Personally, I think a lot of blogs post random thought type of posts and I think that the aforementioned toolbag is way outta’ line here because you can’t call dibs on being the only blogger that gets to post random thoughty type posts, plus I bet someone else was doing it before he was.

Anyway this schmuck then went and commenced nothing less than an ACT OF WAR against this fine upstanding site that uses only completely original ideas and never ever uses ideas from other blogs when he posted a running celebrities post which is totally MY THING! It’s not like some lame Randumbery post that no one really likes anyway, it’s my signature post. Well, do you think that I am going to take this lying down? Hell and No!

But enough about my petty confrontations with other bloggers, I’m sure I’ll take action in due course. Right now though, I’d like to tell you all about how I’ve been coaching my son’s colt’s soccer team. Here’s a picture of me with the team just so you know I’m not making this up.

Fake smiles because they’re not really having fun.
My son colt ended up being the leading scorer with 17 goals in a 7 game season. Unfortunately this wasn’t quite up to my standards and so, this one time... [insert witty, but borderline child abuse story here.]

A group of my friends* decided that all our kids should be on a soccer team together, the league said that there was room for a team but there was no coach so we’d have to provide our own coach. Guess who got the honor of ‘volunteering’ to be coach? The handsome runner who grew up in England playing soccer and charming the young lasses, that’s who.

At the first practice I screamed at the kids until I was red in the face, we** ran suicides, we ran the bleachers, we did up-downs and we didn’t get to touch a soccer ball until we had proved that we were willing to sacrifice for the good of the coach’s win-loss record. If I was going to be miserable then I wasn’t going to be the only one. I even had to publicly humiliate the shy, taciturn (+4 word score) little girl in pigtails because she kept asking to use the potty. Not on my time, sweetie! Many of the parents appreciated what I was doing, I could tell from the aghast looks on their faces that they were as disgusted as I was by the complete lack of ball skills that any of these 5 year olds possessed. What is this the Special Olympics? (Boom goes the Presidential insult!)

At the end of the season I think we all grew a little; I grew a little more cynical and the kids grew a little more fearful, which is a useful emotion for them to possess.

Also, I want to mention that I really hate llamas. Man, are those creatures annoying.

* I use the word ‘friends’ here loosely because real friends wouldn’t pressure you into coaching their talentless, inept kids. Real friends would also buy the coach a parting gift after a 6-1 season. I’m just sayin’.

** When I say ‘we’ I mean that in the sense that I issued the orders and they did the drills. I didn’t do the drills with them because I wasn’t the two-left-footed moron that couldn’t follow simple instructions to bend the ball into the top corner of the goal! Gah! How am I supposed to work with these saps?