There is something maddening about playing cul-de-sac soccer with Mad Dog. He brings out the competitive fire in everyone, even former social workers like me. Sure, I have no problem letting T.Puzzle score a goal on me here and there, but I would sooner give up wine and chocolate than let Mad Dog score a goal. I can’t stand it.
I’m not the only one he affects this way. We had friends over yesterday for our usual Saturday cul-de-sac soccer rumble, and they felt the same way about him. He’s out for blood. You rest or take your eyes off him for a moment and he attacks. Soon, you lose track of yourself entirely. You start kicking the ball as hard as you can, sacrificing your body in ways you no longer thought your middle-aged body can handle (and in reality, really can’t) and fire off shots that sometimes hit your own off-spring in injurious ways (sorry, T.Puzzle, hope your face is better).
I dare you. Play one game against him and logic will leave you.
You also will have the time of your life (please don’t tell him I said that).