If You Don't Know Someone's Name, Just Yell "Fortunado"
Mornin' my friends. Another stunningly beautiful New England spr/ummer day. The sun is up an at em early now. By the time my peeps open, yellow beams are streaking in, taunting me get the motor revved.
K and I played our first co-ed soccer game last evening. Every year we grumble about our committment to this team. It's a real hassle to get everything together and make it out to the field by 6pm. The team usually plays the second worst field in America. It's a grass field. But the grass only grows in clumps separated pot-holed plateus of packed dirt. Think of an abondoned filling station: weeds growing through cement cracks. Then pepper the entire thing with goose poo. That's what we're attempting to have a run on.
For the record, the first-worst field is just down the street. It's the same thing but with manhole covers at mid-field.
But by the time we lace up the boots, the grumbling stops. We're ready to play. The team is run by the unofficial mayor of soccer in Connecticut, Fortunado. Everyone who plays the sport in this state knows him.
What an amazing character, what an amazing player. Imported from Italy, he came to the US decades ago. Played at the highest level for US soccer in the late 70s/early 80s. He is probably 15-20 years my senior and built like a Fiat: short, squat, and shiny (no hair). He's carrying about 15 pounds too much. Both knees have been injured and operated on. He probably "sprints" a 12-second 40.
None of that matters. He effortlessly floats through defenders at will. Every time he touches the ball, three opponents are embarrassed, a pleasure to watch.
The team is his extended family. Literally. There's Ralph, his brother. Salvatore, his nephew. Tina, Salvatore's fiance. Fran, his daughter. Fortunado Jr., his son. And yet another Fortunado, his cousin.
A few new players showed up yesterday. One in particular seemed edgy. I can imagine she felt a little intimidated by this family affair. In an effort to ease her nerves, I overheard someone say, "If you don't know someone's name, just yell Fortunado." Ice broken, she looked ready for her debut.
GM
K and I played our first co-ed soccer game last evening. Every year we grumble about our committment to this team. It's a real hassle to get everything together and make it out to the field by 6pm. The team usually plays the second worst field in America. It's a grass field. But the grass only grows in clumps separated pot-holed plateus of packed dirt. Think of an abondoned filling station: weeds growing through cement cracks. Then pepper the entire thing with goose poo. That's what we're attempting to have a run on.
For the record, the first-worst field is just down the street. It's the same thing but with manhole covers at mid-field.
But by the time we lace up the boots, the grumbling stops. We're ready to play. The team is run by the unofficial mayor of soccer in Connecticut, Fortunado. Everyone who plays the sport in this state knows him.
What an amazing character, what an amazing player. Imported from Italy, he came to the US decades ago. Played at the highest level for US soccer in the late 70s/early 80s. He is probably 15-20 years my senior and built like a Fiat: short, squat, and shiny (no hair). He's carrying about 15 pounds too much. Both knees have been injured and operated on. He probably "sprints" a 12-second 40.
None of that matters. He effortlessly floats through defenders at will. Every time he touches the ball, three opponents are embarrassed, a pleasure to watch.
The team is his extended family. Literally. There's Ralph, his brother. Salvatore, his nephew. Tina, Salvatore's fiance. Fran, his daughter. Fortunado Jr., his son. And yet another Fortunado, his cousin.
A few new players showed up yesterday. One in particular seemed edgy. I can imagine she felt a little intimidated by this family affair. In an effort to ease her nerves, I overheard someone say, "If you don't know someone's name, just yell Fortunado." Ice broken, she looked ready for her debut.
GM
posted by Greg Monaco at 6:54 AM
3 Comments:
Greg,
Go blog yourself, you blogging motherblogger.
Okay, don't do that. Actually, you give good blog. I will come back regularly.
Now tell us this: will U.S. soccer have a chance against Italy this weekend? Or is the sport doomed to the Great American Scrap Heap once again?
Please advise.
- A
A,
Thank you for your kind words. Because you requested it, tomorrow morning's blog will be about the US soccer team. I will give my thoughts, and predict the outcome of their match against Italy.
You may be amazed at its accuracy.
In case you don't have access to a computer, here's a short preview: I will be pleasantly surprised if the U.S. wins a game.
More on this tomorrow.
G
OK, we are now changing the name of our expected child to Forunado. I thought the worst field in the world was the home field for Eckerd College. Picture this: Jim DiNoble going out and trying to find the best piece of open land among several acres of ant hills and weeds. He then gets out the chalk and lines the field himself. About a month later when all of the weeds have turned to sand or are overcome by the red ants that he missed with the gas can, he finds another spot of land to build his home turf. The man was dedicated, but we had the absolute worst field in the Sunshine State Conference. By the way, how many f*** shots did you have in the game?
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