To Wolff, or not to Wolff, that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler on the pitch to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous horseshoes, Or to take arms against a sea of losing And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep, No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and…
Josh Wolff is a good man and coach. However, he’s not the right coach for us at this moment. We need a change. #WolffOut
Welp, gentle reader, El FC won their last match. As in the previous match, my reading of The Colonel was mixed: correct number of goals, but wrong distribution. I’m not worried, though. Although my time back here at the compound is limited, I’m confident that we will become more united in spirit, thought, and voice….
Gentle reader, I am still riding high on the endorphin rush brought about by my return home. The only thing that is keeping me grounded is the deep emptiness within my soul. Losing one’s chickens does that to your natural rhythms. Although I got the number of goals correct, I slightly missed on the distribution…
Gentle reader, I am home. Having spent the last several months deep in augural studies, my schedule has allowed me to return to the compound. You didn’t think I was gone, did you? Oh, gentle reader, I’m akin to a toe fungus: sometimes not visible, but always there. As I was taking a rickshaw from…
Gentle reader, we have made it to the end. The final game of a challenging season. Looking back, this has been a discomforting season: players not playing to their potential, players playing who shouldn’t be playing, players not playing who should be playing, and a coach who is always dead-on in his tactics and man…
Gentle reader, our team is not doing well. We are sliding into oblivion. I think that was the reason my beloved hens traveled across the pond for a short visit to Old Blighty, Albion, the Land of the Rose: England. If you remember, they sent us a telegram whilst visiting Waterley Bottom. When they arrived…
Gentle reader, may I suggest Taylor was talking about us? Have I reached acceptance yet? Not sure, but I and my hens (who, by the by, correctly picked a draw) felt nothing after another craptastic performance. And to top it all off, it seems that our talismanic mass of beauty and talent will probably miss…
Gentle reader, I believe Cicero wrote it best: “O tempora! O mores!” O, the times! O, the customs! Our beloved El FC has been, to be charitable, not reaching its potential. When passers-by see me and my hens as we stroll along one of our fair city’s avenues, I am often asked how I feel…
Gentle reader, Wednesday was a game. It was a game to remember. It was a game to forget. It was Dickensian to its core: good guys, bad guys, evil goings on, everything. It’s nothing to be proud of, but my hens nailed the score. Our dear friend, Phil West, was, concurrently, right and wrong. He…