RSS SPIRIT

You Hurt My Feelings, Now You Need A Stretcher







Cheap shots are so satisfying, yet so little is spoken of that satisfaction. There is something that simply feels right when you see the ref is not watching and you stick an elbow in the back of that dickweed defender who has been hacking you all game. So memorable is a devasting tackle from the blindside that leaves your opponent twitching and referees reaching for their pockets.

Of course there are two kinds of cheap tackles - the flagrant and the 'get away with it.' The flagrant cheap shot can be recognized by how loud is the collective gasp of appreciation. It is usually done when you are ready to leave the contest in which you are playing for good. Its aim is a bravissmo salvo as you exit stage left. Yes points are awarded for aesthetics. The more excruciating your opponent writhes post-flagrant foul is important. As is the amount of desire the other team displays in wanting to kill you.

"Getting away with it" is an another art altogether. The spectacle of a crime committed but the perpetrator walking away unpunished is also highly coveted. If you can pull this one off you deserve a medal. Try and triangulate yourself between intended victim and the referee. Wait for a suitable diversion, then utilize the old forearm shiver to the spine to send a message.

I got away with it a couple springs back during a co-ed rec-league soccer game. Three of us converged on a bouncing ball. Two bad guys and I. The game had been chippy all the way through, not surprising as it was a championship. Even the girls were cheap shotting, cleats first. So this ball comes bouncing and these guys come hard, they are looking to kill. And all I know is I got my knee up and the next thing I know they are both on the ground and I am still standing, ball safely kicked away. My teammates on the sidelines went nuts. An extremely satisfying cheap shot and the ref did not even whistle me for it. (Of course I ended up with a crabapple sized lump on my shin and walked like a pirate for a week.)

This be but a brief celebration of that often maligned pleasure, the "entrada sans merci." Because what scratches an itch more satisfyingly than taking down face first a wanker who has been bothering you all game with a blindside cutdown that leaves him face first and dazed, hearing only the vague sound of your voice informing him: "What you got to say now bitch?"

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