Slay and Clay

I met the mayor the other night and my fly was open. In my defense I had to make sure that my son wasn't expose himself in public, and apparently I am only able to focus on one zipper per half hour. I'm not sure if he noticed. It is not like the mayor was checking me out. He busied himself with hand out plastic tokens to little kids and posing for pictures. He was at our neighborhood park to present a proclamation celebrating the areas centennial.

While shaking my hand he said, "Nice to see you again."

Of course I have only met him once before about four years ago during the Kerry campaign. I am relatively sure that he does not remember this meeting, so I am not quite sure what he was talking about. During the next 15 minutes or so he stiffly greeted people from the neighborhood. Like a tuxedo vote zombie. Though he was saying all of the right things, it was obvious that he was merely stumbling around groaning, "Vooootes, mooore voootes."

In contrast Rep. Clay was much more comfortable. He shook my hand as well (I'm sure my fly was still open) and proceeded to talk about the neighborhood. Granted, Clay used to live only a few blocks from the park and still had family in the area, but shouldn't the mayor be comfortable anywhere in his city.

Slay was dressed in a tux for some event he had to attend later and thus looked stiffer, but I don't think this was the only problem. I don't want to say that he was to elitist. I am a big fan of elitism, but when you are coming to a neighborhood block party you have to loosen up a little.

I don't know which candidate I would rather have a beer with, but I know who has a better time in the hood. And really I would have appreciated a heads up on the fly situation from either one. My vote will go to anyone that can discreetly tell me that the barn door is open.

So Soccer isn't That Bad

In a massive reversal Dude cried to get back in the game on Saturday. Last weeks debacle with the bullying and name calling that forced Dude to the sidelines in tears fell quickly from his memory. With scabs on both knees that until game time were so excruciatingly painful that he could barely walk, he soldiered onto the field.

During the first portion of the game Dude was positioned defensively, and he performed honorably. As neared the fifty-yard line, or whatever they call it in this facsimile of a sport, he would stumble to a halt as if avoiding some electrified force field. It was obvious however that he wanted to score.

When the coach decided to rest Dude and give some of the other players a chance the raged boiled forth from him in an fusillade of kicks and screams. If he had been inadvertently exposed to gamma radiation at this point he would have most assuredly Hulked out.

As I understand it when a player is penalized in soccer a referee will display a colored card. After the tantrum punted around by Dude a real referee would have let him taste the rainbow. (Thank you to Skittles (c) a proud sponsor of this website.)

Dude's verve, gumption, fight, vigor, and determination impressed the coach, or perhaps he just feared for the lives of the parents watching the game and he was allowed to reenter the game in an offensive position.

During practice the team has been working on passing and during most of the game Dude would pass it to another teammate, but the pass would more often than not be intercepted. However, towards the end of the game he had a breakaway. He maintained a dribble down the field until he was engaged by a band of opposing players.

Dude disappeared into the scrum for what seemed like nearly 5 minutes. He would surely lose the ball, but then out of the pack appears little Dude still kicking the ball. And with one final flip of his foot the ball crossed the goal line.