In the immortal words of Chris Farley:
That was a game. Let’s feel all the emotions again.
And, yes, gentle reader, my hens augured another win. We know what we’re doing.
Not going to lie, I was amped up for several days after the match. I was flying so high for so long that I began to neglect my other duties around the compound. But, when I find myself in times of mental trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom: watch some underappreciated Canadian humour. I couldn’t deny the power of that advice and so turned on one of the greatest sketches.
With my mood sufficiently moderated, I was inspired to listen to some keyboard majesty coupled with the insouciant magnificence of Jim Fucking Morrison.
At some point during this song, Wolfie snuggled up to me. So emotional, so lachrymose, I saw her standing there. I turned to her and poured out my soul. Rivers of emotion flowed like a delicate mountain stream in the Spring, swollen with freshly melted snow. Cold, yet life affirming. I told her how much she, San Julius, and Rodney (RIP) have meant to me as we walk along this trail of life together.
She looked a knowing look at me and pointed to another song that needed to be heard. As befits the season, it’s a haunting one.
We both sat still, feeling Jim’s emotion flowing through us. We didn’t move for minutes. When this moment finally passed, Wolfie gazed at me. I often lock eyes with my hens. It’s how I am able to interpret their actions, their movements, their thoughts.
Fixed upon her eyes, I saw something I’ve never seen before. Sadness, pain, grief. He eyes conveyed one message:
Confused, I asked, “My dear, why are you sorry?”
Wolfie lowered her head, less out of reverence and more out of shame. She took two excruciatingly slow steps to the left and then one timid hop to the right.
This can’t be true. No! I refuse to believe it. This will not be the end of the season. Impossible. Without a doubt, I misread, misinterpreted, misperceived what was before me. Sadly, Wolfie shook her beautifully feathered head, negating my pleas.
I pray to the gods of prognostication that I have read this incorrectly. I pray we continue along this magical run, but the message I’m getting is clear.
El FC 1-2 LAFC
Louis de Ludovico
Viewing McKalla as his personal empire, Louis lives for the beautiful game. And food. Especially flamingo tongues. A chicken savant.