Boston Invite 2008 - day 2

Okay, today was no where near as good as yesterday. I mean, aside from the fact I kept getting plowed into by my defenders yesterday, I didn't have any serious physical problems. I didn't think I was doing particularly better at making sharper cuts and stopping quickly to change directions, but the actions of my defenders said otherwise, as one after another ran into me on the field.

Today, however, I was knocked on my ass from a pivoting thrower who lowered her shoulder into me. Warren and Wade told me to step back, as she was deliberately drawing the foul, which I did, but thought I just made it easier for her to throw all of her throws. I probably should have contested the foul instead of accepting it: if I'm knocked on my ass, I'm pretty sure I didn't initiate that contact. If we had observers, I would have asked for their opinions.

That was, however, the least of my problems today. I woke up with stiff lower back that I couldn't loosen. I knew what was going on. I knew this was a physical manifestation of the frustration I've been having with myself. Knowing this does not make accepting it any easier. I tried to continuing playing, until I ended up dropping two very easy catches that I was WIDE open for, catches I rarely miss.

Eventually, however, my back completely seized on me, making even standing nearly impossible in the waves of pain. I stopped playing and took off my cleats.

And watched from the sidelines as yet another team cheated in a way that COMPLETELY infuriates me didn't help my mood any. Didn't help so much that I actually ended up in a fight with a guy from the other team about their cheating.

"We're not cheating."

"You have four people within three meters of the thrower. How is that not cheating?"

"There's another player in that three meters."

"Which means you get TWO players, not FOUR."

"They're allowed to be there."

"You know you can't have two people within three meters of the thrower right?"

"Yes."

"And your players are within three meters of the thrower, right?"

"Yes."

"And your players know they aren't supposed to be there, right?"

"Yes."

"But they're there anyway, right?"

"That's the way they play."

"So, they know they're not supposed to be there, but they do it anyway. That's the definition of cheating."

"Not if they think it's okay to be there."

"It's still cheating."

"No, it's not."

"How is it not cheating to have four people within three meters, all of whom know that only one person is allowed to be there? It's not like they're 10 feet away, they're like four feet away. The tall guy can touch the thrower!" I cursed here. "That's cheating."

"No, it's not."

How do you argue with blindness? How do you argue with people cheating? Worse, how do you accept a loss to a team that so clearly cheats, and thinks it's okay?

I couldn't. I walked away. I called Kris, waking him up at 7:30 AM, crying because I didn't know how to handle this confrontation, given how upset I was with the moron with whom I just had a screaming match.

To my surprise, the team noticed I was gone. Few people knew why, so I might not have been screaming as loudly as I feared I did.

We lost that game, and the last game of the tournament.