So Much For The Afterglow

Last Thursday night, I began my third season of co-ed flag football here in Nashville. The format is eight players on the field, three of which need to be females. The field is 80 yards long, you need to move 20 yards for a first down, and every third play is a "gender" play, meaning a female player must be an instrumental part of the play (eg. throwing or catching the ball past the line of scrimmage).

The last two years, we've made it as far as the semi-finals before being run off the field by a much more athletic team. And we've always lost our first game of the year. This year was supposed to be different.

We had an unaucspicious start. We started on defense (I play middle linebacker, and exhibit a very Urlacher-esque nose for the football). They go 3 plays and out, and elect to punt.

The kicker launches the ball into the ionosphere, and upon re-entry it carooms off the chest of our receiving player....and straight into the arms of the headhunter from the other team, who never loses his full-on sprint stride all the way to the endzone.

7-0. Just like that.

The rest of the first half is disasterous. On our 2nd offensive play from scrimmage, the ball bounces high off of one of our girl's hands and is intercepted and returned to the 10 yard-line. The team throws a pass straight down the gut for another touchdown. Fortunately, they miss the extra point.

13-0. Halftime.

I am really not happy at this point. The defense played alright, but our offense was abyssmal. I couldn't understant why on 3rd and short, the entire team ran up and out patterns. The playcalling was not that bad, it's just that nobody was running their proper routes.

No problem--we can come back. And you know what--we almost do.

We get the ball to start the second-half and move steadily down the field, aided by some clutch catching down the sidelines and some ill-timed penalties by the other team (our QB, a guy, got blasted by a female rusher. He still hasn't lived it down). We finally punch the ball into the endzone, but miss the extra point.

13-6. We can do this. And I can help.

Third play on defense, they are looking to go short to one of their girls. I am following the QB's eyes, and pick out his target. I sidestep a screen set by one of their thugs, and stick one hand out to snatch the ball right just as the QB shuffle-passes to their female.

Interception--ball comes back to the offense, along with a big honkin' cup of 'Mo (mentum).

Now the offense is heating up, with the ball at half-field. 10 plays later, we punch it in. And we pick up the extra point.

13-13. Tie ball game. But 'Mo knows only victory. I am not finished yet.

Very first play, the QB rolls left and tosses back across his body right. Just like he'd done 3 or 4 times before. Only this time--I knew it was coming. I snag the ball at its zenith and cruise unfettered 20 yards to paydirt.

Prime Time? I would make you my punk bitch.

Damn I'm good. Urlacher got nuthin' on me. 20-13.

I've now sealed the victory. There are but 2 minutes left, and they have to drive the length of the field to score. Won't happen so long as I am guarding the vast middle. Right?

Wrong. They carve up the sidelines and the deep outs for 1 minute and 50 seconds, just before puncturing the goal-line. To add insult to injury, they go for two and get it.

F*cking hell.

But here's the rest of the story. There can be no more than eight (8) players on the field for your team at a time, right? Well, I show up, and there are--wait for it--sixteen (16) people waiting to play for our team. Oh, and 4 of those were females. That means even if we tried to rotate male players every series, we'd still have 1 or 2 guys who couldn't come in, and would have to wait for another series.

The big reason we lost? Half of the f'ing city of Nashville was on our team, owing to some inexplicable off-season recruiting by our captainette. And they all sucked.

It's just too bad I can't play all the positions at once, you know?