During the recently concluded Mechatrix '05, one of my friends from COEP wanted to name his aero-modelling contraption Fucka. His request was promptly turned down by the host of the event who claimed that there were many "respected" (*rolls eyes*) professors from the Mechanical Dept. present, and such a name was therefore totally unacceptable.
Makes one wonder though - what would they have done if there had been a Thai entrant who spelt his name - Phukkah !?
Saturday was "Rose and Chocolate Day" college and it's totally ruined my life. It's destroyed my faith in everything I believed in, and to make things worse, resulted in me having to buy dinner tomorrow night for a girl I am not the least bit interested in. In fact anything but interested. Sure, she's not bad looking and many other guys might actually be envying this situation, but the truth I don't give a tiny rat's arse about her. Waste money on a dinner for that bitch?? Sheeshh!!!
And it gets worse - she's chosen the most freakingly expensive restaurant in the country. It's almost like she wants me to repent for something I've done to her in the past. And she's pure vegetarian. I swear, if she doesn't allow me to order the chicken - I'm gonna up and leave.
On a whole different matter, I'm planning to start a rock band. And be the drummer, of course. So now all I'm looking for are people who can perform the following roles -
*Lead Vocalist
*Lead Guitarist
*Bass Guitarist
*Rhythm Guitarist
All interested parties should contact me as soon as possible!!
Disclaimer - The following story is not an original but was taken from a mail I received. However I do not have the mail with me, so I have reproduced it in my own words as best as I could.
He was 20 and terminally ill. They said he had only weeks to live, maybe just days. Every morning, he gave thanks to the Lord for the sight of another sunrise. It could just be his last.
No use remaining cooped up in bed, the doctors told him. He was in a great deal of pain, and the soporific pain-killers kept him somnolent for a large part of the day. However, he started to go for a stroll in the park every evening. The sights he saw were the same as he'd seen a hundred times before; but they seemed so different.
One evening as he was returning from the park, he happened to glance into a music store he was passing. There his eyes fell upon the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He entered.
Her sparkling eyes met his wonder-filled ones. Her luscious lips parted into the semblance of a smile. He hurried away to the racks of CD's and lost himself in them. He spent a half hour searching though the CD's and then picked one up at random.
He walked over to the counter. There were those eyes again.
"How can I help you?" - Kind.
"I'd like to buy this CD, please." - Timid.
"Sure thing." - Friendly.
She took the CD, disappeared into the recesses of the store and returned a minute later holding the parcel in her hand. He paid and left, too shy to do anything more.
He got home and placed the CD in his drawer. Unopened. He thought of her. Why hadn't he said something? Why hadn't he asked her out? It wasn't like him at all. He could think of little else for the rest of the night. The next morning he made up his mind. He was going to ask her out that evening. Come what may.
He went for his routine stroll and on the way back stopped at the store again. One look at those eyes though, and his courage melted away. He disappeared amidst the racks again.
The script followed the previous day's - he selected a CD, handed it to her, she packed it, took his cash, gave him the receipt, he left. Failed again. Was it the smile? Were it the eyes? He didn't know.
He placed this CD on top of the old one in the drawer. Again unopened. He wanted to tell her he liked her. Tell her he wanted to ask her out. But something had stopped him. Was he scared? He didn't know. "Tomorrow evening fer sure," he thought.
Three weeks passed. The same play was staged every day without fail. The same actors, the same script. Nothing changed. The pile of CD's in his drawer grew steadily. There they lay - all new and unopened.
Finally the day arrived. One moring, he failed to wake up. It had happened. There would be no more sunrises for him; no more strolls, no more beautiful sales-girls and no more chances to ask them out. No oppurtunity to tell someone he loved her.
The day after the funeral, his Mom was cleaning up his room. She opened the drawer and found the stack of CD's lying inside. All new; none opened. She tore the plastic of the top one and opened it. There was a note inside. She read it and opened the second case. Another note. She opened all of them. Every one had a note; every note said the same thing -
"Hey! I really like you. Would you like to maybe go out sometime? Please let me know if you do.
Love,
Kathy."
I got my results yesterday. My cousin was down from Toronto during these exams and I had feared she would have a catastroprohic effect on my grades. But to my utmost surprise, I managed to pull off a distinction. Not bad. Except for the 40 in TCS. For a paper that I felt deserved no less than 96. And people who probably didn't even know the full form of TCS were coming out with much more marks than that. It's a travesty of justice, I tell you. I feel cheated. But then I realize that my paper was probably so amazingly mind-blowing, that the poor retarded imbecile correcting it couldn't even understand it, and so I somehow manage to derive some solace from that fact.
Another interesting observation is that those who studied from the Jigars beat those who studied from the local textbooks who in turn beat those who studied from reference books.
Moral of the story
- the education system here has gone to the dogs
- run to the nearest bookstore and purchase a copy of the Jigar Series for every subject in the upcoming semester
- burn any copy of any reference book that you possess and slap a certain Head of Dept. as well as a certain balding professor who insist on students using only reference books
- do not write Nobel Prize winning papers for your University exam, AND
- ALWAYS have a (hot!?) female cousin around when studying for your exams!!
On the eve of yet another V-Day, I write this with mixed feelings. The gloom - of not having that special someone here with me - fighting a winning battle with the hope that I might yet find one. Disgust at all those who go around trying to impose their own lop-sided ideals on others. Especially those who do so by means of force. A happy feeling when I see couples together. Listening to their hearts. Hearts abroached by Cupid's arrow, letting the love flow out. Like honey on a Summer's Day.
Tomorrow is going to bring out the usual herd of wannabe Romeos in college. Oily hair, slicked back. Tight jeans, with a comb in the rear pocket. Card or rose in hand. Lines all rehearsed. Mustering up the courage. How can it be so hard? She's only human, you know. And girls, how about going up to that guy you always dream about for a change. Why does it always have to be the guy who should do the approaching?
Personally, I would never hit on a girl on this Day. It's much to cliché. Talk about unoriginal. But then again, should a golden oppurtunity arise - it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. I suppose we'll know for sure tomorrow.
I believe the opinions of most people about V-Day are far too narrow minded. As pointed out by C. S. Lewis in his book - there are four kinds of love. Not one, four! Affection, Friendship, Eros and Charity. And V-Day relates equally to all. Not just Eros, as supposed by most, or even Friendship; but all four. Go wish your Mom a Happy Valentine's Day. Or your Grandpa. Or the old lady you pass on the street. Or the teller at the bank. Or the attendant at the gas station as you fill up your car. Or even the urchin or the road. He may not know what it means, but it will make his day. And of course it goes with out saying, if a beautiful member of the opposite sex were to pass by. You may not receive anything back in return. No more than the warm feeling inside. But it's worth it. And it holds even if he/she isn't exactly beautiful.
Telling someone you love them is the greatest thing in the world. "I love you!" Three powerful words. Words that mean so much. The three most beautiful words in the world. Everyone loves it when someone tells them they love them. So don't hesitate. Don't think twice. Don't ponder. Go out there and say it. You never know when you may get a chance again. Life's too unpredictable. A drunk driver, a high tension wire, anything could change it all. Or maybe just nature taking it's course. A heart that stops beating in its sleep. Nothing is forever.
Well, those mixed feelings aren't so mixed any more...
How can memories be so painful?
Even the pleasant ones.
Overcome by nostalgia,
I sit here alone,
Weighed down by the memories
Of a time gone by.
My solitude now,
Only serves to exacerbate
The pain I feel,
As I remember the times
We had together.
How did time pass so quickly?
Where did it fly off to?
I wish
You never had to go away,
Never had to leave.
I wish
I could have come with you.
Anything to spare me
The fiery hell I must now brave,
In the hope of seeing you again.
- Arnold D'Souza
A look at the face was enough,
The eyes of a lost child
Losing soon the will to live,
Fast replaced by the wish for death.
The unshaven countenance matched
By the inhuman laugh.
More of an animal, less of a man,
All that was missing was the gun.
Or maybe instead that one reason to live,
To cling to a life gone so terribly wrong.
But not a single showed itself,
There was no Savior in sight.
And scary as the image seemed,
There was something even worse.
For it was not at a person that I looked,
But a shiny, cruel mirror!
- Arnold D'Souza
Is a longer life,
A better life?
Is it just
The years that count?
Can a person
Living less
Enjoy that
Shorter life more?
What's the point
In dying old,
If old age
Is a pain?
Is it not better
That one live less,
And yet
A lot more gain?
- Arnold D'Souza
Think Goa, and one's mind immediately switches to the five B's - beaches, babes, bikinis, boobs and booze!! Or maybe the four S's - surf, sand, sun and sex!! (It's an unpardonable offense to omit Sorpotel, but...!?) However, what Goa is probably less renowned for is its weddings. And by Goan wedding, I don't just mean a wedding of two Goans (which is amazing, in any case), but more specifically, one held in Goa. I haven’t been to Goa for a year now, so here are memories from my last trip – for a wedding.
The bride, Desiree, was my cousin and an NRI living in London. She'd only been to India once before, quite some time back. The groom, Lee, was British and was making his first trip to India. What surprised me was the fact that even though most of the guests were from the United Kingdom, they still decided to hold the wedding in Goa. Financially, it turned to be almost the same, even inclusive of the costs of flying down. The entire entourage was staying at the Taj Holiday Village, and the reception was held at the same. (Damn these exchange rates!!)
I left from Poona the day I received my results. My family couldn't make it for some reason or the other so I was alone. I couldn't sleep for most of the night in the bus because I was too excited. Next morning, when I reached, I checked into my hotel, which wasn't quite as posh as the Taj Village. I happened to notice a rather large number of couples strolling around arm in arm or sitting in some corner and making out. "Sickos! Get a room!” I thought to myself. Only to realize later that the place I was staying at was also hosting some sort of marriage counseling convention.
That evening was the "Roas". A typically Goan pre-wedding night-tradition. It was to be held at the Bambolim Beach Resort (yeah, you guessed it - another 5 star establishment!) I had borrowed a motorbike from my Mom's friend (since he was in Bombay at the time) and enjoyed the pleasant ride down to the seashore and BBR. There I got my first surprise of the trip. All the Brits were in kurtas and I was in a Versace shirt and cargos!! They had forgotten to inform me of the dress code!
"Screw it!" I thought, and wafted over to wish the couple. I wished Desiree and Lee, and then BAM! Second surprise - the guy I thought was Lee, was actually Adam, the best man! By now I had turned redder than a sun burnt albino. After finally managing to locate Lee, I headed straight to the bar, knocked down a vodka and tonic, filled up a vodka and orange juice and decided it was time to mingle.
The first people I met were Arnold, my second-cousin from Toronto, and Mrs. Smith, Lee's Mom. Just as I was catching up on the latest with Arnold, it was time for the formalities to begin. They lasted all of about 10 minutes. A few words from one of the older ladies explaining the significance to the whole ceremony to the Poms followed by the ceremonial blessing of the bride with (coconut) milk and finally a (damned good, if I may add) speech from Adam, the best man. Then it was back to the dance floor again. Or the bar if you preferred.
The evening was pure bliss. Got to meet a lot of new people - Martin and Heidi (Lee's sis), Ian and Fran, Peter and Anna, Franz (Des' bro), Ronnie, Jappi (short for Japhinder), Aruna, Aviva... to name a few. And of course all the relatives, most of whom I'd never seen before. The party was on the beach so that made it even better. Imagine a bar on a beach - can anything beat that?
I remember I didn't have dinner that night. The booze and the starters filled me to such an extent that I headed straight for the desert later.
I was also pleasantly surprised by how friendly everyone was - since I was meeting them for the first time. Anyone seeing us then would have been forgiven for thinking that we had known each other forever. I really miss that in most people I meet normally in day-to-day life. It's really hard to talk to strangers sometimes.
We also sang a remixed variation of Bohemian Rhapsody in which we had changed the lyrics to suit the occasion. And I think it got a better response than the songs played by the band itself!! Finally at about 2 in the morning I got back on my trusty ol' bike and headed back to the hotel room - drunk, tired, sleepy.
The next morning I was up rather late and since the wedding wasn't until the next day, I decided to pay my old friend Tino a visit. Or rather my Dad's old friend. Or to be even more precise, my Dad's ex-room-mate, from his early working days, in the '70's.
Now Tino Gasper is one the guys I have the most respect for. Simply because the guy knows how to enjoy life. He's the only one of my Dad's old friend circle who didn't get married. Now he lives in this shack in Goa - rather he lives just outside the shack, and is an artist by profession. He has a huge workshop and an expansive estate surrounding it all. He mainly prepares stained windows, sculptors, pottery, paintings and other such stuff. He's also an exceptional writer. No corporate tensions, no project deadlines, nothing. That's the life. He smokes like a chimney and drinks like a fish. One man I truly admire.
Tino normally has a paying guest or two living with him - mostly in relation with something 'artsy'. This time there was this French artist couple - Guy and Melissa - who were staying with him. As soon as I arrive, he offers me a drink - feni. I'm not surprised because that's the way things are in Goa. Personally speaking, I'm not very fond of feni (it smells rotten, and in fact that's exactly what it is), but like I said - this is Goa. You simply don't decline a feni offer. I'd get to the scotch later.
That evening, post a nice afternoon siesta, Guy, Melissa and I decide it's time to hit the surf. So we head to the nearest beach. It's a virgin beach and there were only about a dozen others present at the time. Mel decides to do a half-Monty and there never was a more beautiful sight. I had the greatest trouble keeping my eyes up when speaking to her after that. I'm just glad Guy was too busy swimming to notice what was happening on shore. But then again - they're French - he probably wouldn't even have minded!
That night it was party time again. We decided to go to Tito's for a few drinks before heading out to Club Cabana for the real party. I found out that my Pommie Pals had gone wind surfing in the afternoon and water-skiing too. At Rs 1300 an hour!
We got to Tito's by about 9.50 pm. The place was pretty empty but starting to fill up. At about 11 pm we moved on down the road to Mambo's. Party Central. The place was rocking. Everyone grabbed a drink and headed straight for the floor.
After a while, perspiration streaming down in rivulets, we decided it was time to pay Club Cabana a visit. That's when the real fun started. We were traveling in two cars - a Qualis and a Gypsy. And both got lost. Separately. Desperate calls on the cell phone were of little help since it was about 12.30 and neither car really knew where they actually were. We finally decided to call it a night and headed back to the hotel.
The next morning, I was up late again. Somehow it's impossible to get up on time when you're on holiday. I head in to town to have lunch and have a dekko around before coming in for the customary afternoon siesta. At 3.30 pm I'm awake again and head into the shower, since I have to be at the church by 4.30. It turns out to be of little use, and five minutes after I step out I'm drenched in sweat again. I throw on my suit, which only makes it hotter, and head off for St. Lawrence's Church, Candolim.
Now, I've seen a fair number of churches in my time, and this one would definitely be the most scenically located. It's set on a hilltop with the ocean in the background. The only problem is I have some trouble finding the place and am about 10 minutes late for the mass. The priest was Father Tom, their Parish Priest in London, who'd flown down for the wedding along with them. After Mass, there was a massive picture taking session. The view was just too good. And with the sun setting in the background - pure heaven!
We then all headed to the Taj Village for the reception. We entered and the first thing we located was - you guessed it, the bar! I think we must each have sculled about three drinks even before the bridal couple arrived. And the appetizers were the most delicious I've ever tasted. It was going to be a fun night.
And indeed it was. The dancing, especially the slow dancing which I love because I can't jive to save my life; the drinks - vodka and orange juice, scotch on the rocks, or just rum and coke; and the food, although I didn't touch it and went straight for the dessert again! Mrs. Smith was on fire on the dance floor, and I remember asking Lee how his Mom could have that much energy and whether he had slipped something into her drink maybe! She’s a dear old lady though. Very lovable and sweet. Almost to a fault. She'd keep buying these things at 5-6 times the price just because she didn't have the heart to bargain with the sad-eyed vendors. I tried to convince her that bargaining is a necessity in India and that they quote their starting price absurdly high since they anticipate some bargaining, but I don't think I managed to drive home the point.
Mr. Bill Smith, Lee's Dad is a character too. I liked his speech at the end of the wedding, and it's not hard to see where Lee gets his handsome, rugged looks from.
We sang California Dreaming onstage and Adam sang a pretty good rendition of Wonderful Tonight. He also gave me one of his special cigars and that's when I resolved never to touch a cigarette again. Somehow it just isn't the same.
By about one o'clock, most of the guests had left and it was time to wind up. Now for most weddings this would signal the end. But this was Goa. We packed the bridal couple off in their room and headed back to the bar. Here we proceeded to make ourselves a couple of 'party packs'. For the uninformed amongst you, I shall explain. A 'party pack' is when you take a 2-litre bottle of say coke, remove some of the coke and put liquor in it. So we prepared a vodka-tonic and a rum-coke 'party pack' and piled into the cars. I pity the dudes driving the two cars because the rest of us sure had fun. I ended up in the Qualis - vodka-tonic. And boy, was it good!
We reached Mambo's but the place wasn't quite as happening as the previous night. We sat down for a few more drinks nevertheless, and enjoyed the trance music. At about half past three, we finally decided to head back. I got dropped off at my hotel on the way and was asleep in about five minutes. But not before sending a text message to all those unfortunate friends of mine back in Poona for whom it had been just another routine Saturday night.
The next day, Sunday, I got up at about 2 in the afternoon. I returned the mobike I was using and headed off to the Bus Station. By 6.30 I was snoozing in the bus and the next morning I was back in this accursed city Poona. With memories of one of the best holidays in my life!
Here's the way I see things for me in the future -
- Now I'm 20. For 10 years, I enjoy a bachelor's life filled with Bacchanalian revelry, alcohol, women, the works. I make my way over to New York where I work in this big well-paying firm. I buy myself a Porsche and use it to impress the ladies. I work days and party nights.
- At 30, I get married. I give up all the vices. For the next 10 years, I'm the perfect husband and model father. I've married the only daughter of a rich business tycoon, who dies soon after. I work hard to consolidate his empire and do pretty well at it. We have two sons and a daughter. In that order.
- At 40, I start to drink and smoke a little again. I spend more time on the golf course and less in the Executive Suite at my company. I throw big parties for all my Executive buddies, with cigars and brandy afterwards. The figure's still there thanks to the long hours put in at the gym. And so is my wife's. I'm still faithful to her and a pretty decent father to my kids. However, things are starting to go downhill.
- By 50, my marriage is ruined. My wife leaves me for another man. Less affluent but therefore, with more time to spend with her. I take enough money with me and head for the Caribbean along with a shapely 25-yr-old blonde waitress. We remain together for a year before I give her up. I then spend the rest of my life lying on the beach, sipping rum by day and laying bronze skinned Cayman natives by night. This last phase of my life is arguably the most enjoyable. Meanwhile, my daughter gets married to the son of a rival business tycoon. They're happy for a while but it doesn't quite work out. My sons fight over the empire I have left behind and in the fracas it gets taken over by a third party. The elder son, drifts along and finds himself in the Caribbean quite like his old Pa, where he spends the rest of his days as a beach bum. The younger son goes to South America and becomes a powerful drug-lord in Colombia.
- At 60, the booze finally gets to me and my liver gives in. I'm found dead one morning by the lovely lass I was sleeping with that night. She steals whatever she can and makes a run for a new life elsewhere.
Why is it that my college...
- Has staff that are so insolent, they would make a Russian KGB Assassin seem polite and pleasant.
- Has six-day weeks and daily hours that would make a Camp 201 in Siberia seem like a vacation.
- Has ridiculous rules like one that necessitates students removing footwear before entering Computer Labs, but staff may stroll in as they please.
- Probihit three-fourths and sleeveless vests for guys but allow girls to attire themselves in the same.
- Has a library that is despicably managed and library staff that derive perverse pleasure from speaking languages you don't understand.
- Has a Canteen that does not serve non-vegetarian food.
- Prohibits kissing/making out on campus and heavily "frowns upon" couple slow-dancing at the Gathering.
- Believes that the Music Concert during the Gathering should consist of no more than 2 English songs, neither of which may be Rock.
- Imposes enough assignments on students to ensure that they themselves turn into sadistic beasts.
- Does not conduct elections for Class President, General Secretary etc.
- Does not have a week's holiday for Spring Break.
- Has a severe paucity of parking space which thus ensures that the already puny sized ground is always filled with vehicles, leaving little space for any sporting activity.
- Has no locker rooms/showers or similar facilities for the students.
- Does not give the top sportsmen/women the same respect that the top academic students receive.
Why is it that my country...
- Believes in expectorating here, there and everywhere as the ubiquitous vile red stains bear mute testimony to.
- Believes in corruption to such a degree that little work can be ellicited from anyone without a pay-off.
- Treats women as identity-less objects that must be passed from father to husband through the ceremony of marriage.
- Adopts an inferior outlook towards women which has now resulted in many of them holding a similar opinion of themselves.
- Believes in parents choosing a spouse for their children, very often on the basis of caste, social status, and (horror of horrors!) horoscope.
- Believes in the "caste-system" instead of equal rights for every one.
- Does not offer any government assistance for medical aid, social security, unemployed citizens, etc.
- Has an absurdly low level of literacy, and even those who are literate have intelligence but lack sense.
- Has a population that is already over the moon and still growing at a rapid rate.
- Has roads that are little safer than a minefield and drivers with no more road-sense than uni-celled amoeba.
- A movie industry that spurns out rubbish in a colorful and musical guise.
- Has made prostitution and pornography illegal.
- Has more languages than the Tower of Babel.
- Has a climate that for most part will kill you, one drop of sweat at a time.
Any answers???
Read the following puns - some are really good. My favorites include 2, 4, 7, 9 and 10 (which is devilishly tricky!!)
1. A vulture boards an airplane, carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess looks at him and says, "I'm sorry, sir, only one carrion allowed per passenger."
2. Two fish swim into a concrete wall. The one turns to the other and says, "Dam!"
3. Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft. Unsurprisingly it sank, proving once again that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.
4. Two hydrogen atoms meet. One says "I've lost my electron." The other says "Are you sure?" The first replies "Yes, I'm positive."
5. Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused Novocain during a root canal? His goal: transcend dental medication.
6. A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse. "But why?" they asked, as they moved off. "Because", he said, "I can't stand chess-nuts boasting in an open foyer."
7. A woman has twins and gives them up for adoption. One of them goes to a family in Egypt and is named "Ahmal." The other goes to a family in Spain; they name him "Juan." Years later, Juan sends a picture of himself to his birth mother. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of Ahmal. Her husband responds, "They're twins! If you've seen Juan, you've seen Ahmal."
8. These friars were behind on their belfry payments, so they opened up a small florist shop to raise funds. Since everyone liked to buy flowers from the men of God, a rival florist across town thought the competition was unfair. He asked the good fathers to close down, but they would not. He went back and begged the friars to close. They ignored him. So, the rival florist hired Hugh MacTaggart, the roughest and most vicious thug in town to "persuade" them to close. Hugh beat up the friars and trashed their store, saying he'd be back if they didn't close up shop. Terrified, they did so, thereby proving that only Hugh can prevent florist friars.
9. Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him .(Oh, man, this is so bad, it's good).A super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.
10. And finally, there was the person who posted ten different puns on his blog with the hope that at least one of the puns would make you laugh.
No pun in ten did????
If you could have someone killed whom would it be? Or if the thought of somone being killed is too ghastly, then let me rephrase the question - if you could have prevented any one individual from ever having existed, who would it be?
Now to the girl (let's call her M) story - I really want to tell her I like her and ask her out. BUT everyone tells me that she comes from a rather "traditional / orthodox" family and to approach her in this way would at best lead to a rejection and at worst invite trouble. They suggest a more subtle approach. Like getting into the basketball team (shes on the girls team), getting her into my committee for the Gathering (or conversely, getting myself into her committee) etc. Then after getting well acquainted with her, ask her out, very casually. And then take things nice and slow.
The problem with this whole idea is that, firstly, I don't really like the whole "subtle approach" thing (I'm more of a "if you like something, then say so" kind of a bloke). And more importantly, she has already caught me throwing more than a few glances in her direction, and wouldn't have to possess the mental faculty of Mr Holmes to deduce the truth behind them. Now, should I suddenly approach her with some casual point, it would just be too weird. Awkward, actually. So I'm in a massive dilemma and any suggestions / advice would be much appreciated. Quite like a cool beer on a hot summer's day. Either way, I'm going to have to do something soon. Can't afford to wait much longer.
Our soccer team lost today, yet another first round defeat. Yours truly was making his first appearnce after a year away from the sport. The villianous right ankle managed to hold up, but with all the defeats and injuries, I think should probably retire for good. Soccer just isn't my game. The match itself, made up in excitement what it lacked in class. The result could have gone either way, though in the end one would have to agree that 2-1 probably was as fair as it could have been. After an eventful but goalless first half, the opponents were awarded a penalty midway through the second. Seconds later it was 1-0. With time running down, we managed to knock in a rather fortunate goal, which came off a deflection of a defender. 1-1 and game on. However, with mere seconds to go, a defensive error on our part gave rise to one of the most powerful strikes in the tournament so far. Bottom right corner before our keeper knew what was coming at him. 2-1 and it was all over but the singing and the dancing. The fat lady started warming up and half a minute later gave us a soprano variation of "Waltzing Mathilda"! And what hurt even more than losing was the knowledge that two of the opponents best players were on the bench with injuries!!
