28 MINUTES LATER

Twenty-eight minutes.

It took twenty-eight minutes to play the final “point”, which ended sans score, with Coach laying prone on his back with a twisted ankle, being stared down by two armies of swarthy soccer studs and their whistle-happy referees. Somewhere in those 28 minutes there was a contested defensive foul (?!) which led to some confused sideline shouting over the wind, wherein everyone was trying to say the same thing, loudly. Yes, the wind. Obviously it was the wind – blowing our passes and their passes all over the goddamn place, interrupting our admittedly SOLID disc movement for most of the game with a sudden upward gust reminding us who the EFF is in charge (but not quite drowning out the sideline shouting from their shouty sideline coach).

Defense. Last night’s game saw a ton of awesome D. I was kind of distracted by my kids, but I’m pretty sure everyone had a chance to reject SOMETHING. Bender, Tim, Coach, Sally, Chippy, Armsy, Froggy, Greg (etc etc etc) – I’m pretty sure I saw all y’all bat down a few errant passes with authouritae. And our no-brainer zone defense, vocally championed by Colleen, wonderful. I’d have to think that on a less unsettled night, we’d have torn through that team by 10 points.

The Patrick Swayze Memorial She’s Like The Wind Player of the Game goes to Scott/Froggy for several games worth of perfect cuts, and for a near circus rescue catch that, if successful, surely would rival Greg’s two face catches for play of the year. From my side of the field, it almost looked like Scott was trying to reproduce the Ace Ventura rhino birth scene, but y’know, with a frisbee. Great game, dude.

And now – a tangent! This is, I think, the most Cape Breton story I’ve ever heard. Terri was traveling home from a CB funeral yesterday when her Mom lays this one on her: her Great Uncle Neely passed away about a decade ago. At Neely’s funeral, a Great Aunt approached Neely’s son (let’s call him Little John, as a regionally accurate nickname) and said that Neely wasn’t his father, as his Mom was pregnant when they were married with someone else’s child. Let’s call him Big John. Stunned, Little John decided to get in touch with Big John, but Big John denied that he was the father, “impossible, it’s not me”.

Several years pass, and Big John passes away. Still kinda shaken by the thought that Neely wasn’t his Dad, Little John reaches out to Big John’s son. After something of a discussion, Little John sends along his photo. “Holy jeez, you look more like my dad than I do!” was apparently the reaction. Excited that he may have confirmed his lineage, Little John and Big John’s son agree to have their DNA tested, only the tests came back negative, because… BIG JOHN’S SON WAS NOT REALLY BIG JOHN’S SON, because his mother was ALSO pregnant with someone else’s kid before they got married.

Rural. Cape. Breton. Folks.

(As an aside, turns out that DNA tests with Big John’s daughters confirmed that Little John was his son, whereas the actual lineage of the other “son” remains a Nova Scotia mystery).

Kisses,
AA