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 missed the score but nailed that it would be MLSy.
In case you’ve been living under a truck that’s parked in a woefully underutilized stadium that hosts a team with a poor to horrible fan base, there was a glaring error. A ball that clearly, completely, and totally crossed the line was adjudicated to have not done so. A revolutionary use of VAR.
Therefore, in my utter contempt of you, my dear reader, coupled with my own self loathing, allow me to inflict some Weibe upon you.
While I am not a fan of the current coaching situation at our beloved El FC, I am a fan of admin’s reply during the match. Almost reaching classic AS Roma Twitter levels.
Stoicism, despite becoming unnecessarily popular with the local tech bro culture, does teach us a useful lesson in moments like these: no matter how much we want to change past events, that is an impossibility. Rather, we must focus on that which is within our abilities: namely, what can we control in the here and now. Revolutionary, I know.
This talk of Revolution reminds me of a seminal book of my youth: Johnny Tremain. Now fallen out of favor, it’s the tale of a boy who lives in late 18th c. America and becomes witness to, and participant in, the rebellious times.
I sat on the recently constructed verandah at the compound, shaded from the oppressive rays of this unrelenting summer, ruminating about this book and what courage it took for a boy to side against the most powerful nation on earth.
Of course, my mind then turned to our fair lads in green. They’re about to take on the Revolution. Leo is back. Maxi is back. Above all, they have a chip on their shoulders.
This bodes well, I believe, for the match. To check my intuition, I called San Julius to my side. She came, because, as I noted last article, I know my hens and they know me.
I pulled some ethically sourced, grain free, pelleted feed from my pocket and scattered it upon the floor. She ate. She first gobbled up once to the left and then sat down. My heart sunk, wallowing in my anguish. San Julius then winked at me, stood up, at ate twice to the right.
My soul doth magnify the hens.
El FC 2-1 Kraft’s Kids
Louis de Ludovico
Viewing McKalla as his personal empire, Louis lives for the beautiful game. And food. Especially flamingo tongues. A chicken savant.