"What’s your angle?" Aaron queried immediately after I accepted his challenge to compose the now thoroughly outdated blog posting about the Hammer’s inaugural defeat on Thursday. My answer, though unspoken at the time, remains unchanged over a long weekend of periodic pondering; I don’t know.
The outcome notwithstanding, there was much to like about the contest, which saw our somewhat understaffed squad pitted against our evenly matched, and better staffed rival, Random Fling. By way of observation, I found them to be far less anal and stodgy on the rules whilst playing with the lead, and as a result, more pleasurable to play against. Indeed, it was difficult not to be inspired by the tireless french braid chick, who continued her relentless running despite playing a double header, and her relentless smiling, undaunted by the accumulation of spattered insects on her teeth and gums.
As was true in our first game against this team, they leapt to an early lead. Owing in part to some key (though far from blameworthy) absences on our team, we were somewhat delayed in staging our comeback. The foundation was laid in the half time huddle, when our slender Lombardi brought forth the well-received suggestion of a zone defense. Ignoring the first half score as an irrelevant number associated with a valuable learning experience, the score in the second half, on the strength of a well-executed* zone, was 5-2 in our favour.
Whether it is my call or not, I award player of the game honours to Marcie, whose insights into the proper role of the mid-wing positions helped me to finally find a niche in the zone where I can genuinely contribute after ten years of relative futility. The Quercizans had best be crisp with their swing passes this week my friends, as I have ten years of incompetence for which to atone. That said, given their meager spirit scores, methinks that they are unlikely to approach foul calls with the same reluctance as Random Fling, so I could once again be setting myself up for failure.
I was reminded of my bride’s inquiry after our first game this year, when she asked "Who’s your Ivan?" She wondered who on our team was capable of standing out at any given moment as the best player on the field, capable of going several games without a drop or a failed throw, and of becoming a blur in pursuit of a floating disk on defense. "Me." I offered feebly, though I felt no shame at joining her in laughing at the notion seconds thereafter.
Not to suggest for a moment that we are better off without that kind of player, but frankly, I think we are better off than the historical Hammer squads that have relied on that type of player. Where some teams rely on Ivanesque peaks to overshadow the valleys of far less able players, I see our team as a relatively flat plateau of ability. I think we showed on Thursday that every one of us can throw well, catch well, and play solid defense. There are no holes in this lineup*. In short, I could scarcely be happier with the team that Aaron has assembled.
That said, in the absence of an Ivan, conditions are occasionally ripe for the proverbial arse to fall right out of the proverbial her, as occurred during the final seventeen minutes of Thursday’s game, which saw the two teams cover every inch of the field, struggling against fatigue and sweaty hands to end what I hope will be the longest point of the season, as two spent swimmers who choke their art. Though we were down by a single point, by the end of that marathon, it hardly mattered to any Hammer on the field whether the game ended in a tie or a loss: they just wanted someone to score. One wonders whether either side would have had it in them to play another point had we tied the game. Unfortunately, we will never know.
Post game honours go to Aimee for her stand against the grievous injustice of charging $7.99 for sweet potato fries, to Becky for ordering a white wine and asking the server to "make it a double", to Maria for integrating us into her incredibly busy social calendar, and for generously nachoing our end of the table, to Chris for leaving his musky scent on so many of the aforementioned nachos, to Tim for making cider, a spinach salad, and the announcement "I gotta pee" look so damned masculine, to Matt, for maintaining a staunch defense of his childhood affection for professional wrestling, rivaled only by the savagery of his defense on the field, to Aaron, for the mysterious, quiet brooding that has induced so many of our opponents to refer to him as "the sexy one", and finally, to Lynn, for losing interest in her freshly ordered second beer at precisely the moment at which I found myself in need of one last sip.
Good work all around Hammers. As always, I can’t wait for Thursday.
*It would be appropriate to credit the Hammers with a 5-1 score, and me with an 0-1 defeat in opening the half with what could well be the most abysmal attempt at playing the deep cover position in the storied history of the 3-3-1 zone.
