Last Friday night, Mischief descended on Wes' house for the inaugral event of the Shirley-Paul-I'm-gonna-kick-your-ass duodecathalon. The first event was, somewhat appropriately, a DDR dance off. Other events include Being Tall (Paul at 6'+ will probably win that one), Being Short (Paul will lose that one to Shirley's 5'5"), and others that, no doubt, include ro-sham-something.

The winner gets breakfast in bed. Said winner does not have to let the loser into the house. Should said loser wake up said winner before serving breakfast, the attempt doesn't count and the loser has to try again.

I arrived a little late, working on various projects. As I arrived, a ro-sham-eat had just finished up. Wes ran out of the kitchen and came back into the room dragging his dog's kennel. I looked at the crate, one made for the big, big dogs, and declared three people could fit in it.

Wes and several others looked at me like I was insane. Three people in that kennel? No way!

I responded, "Not only can three people fit in there, but if one is one of the small Asian women, the other two could be Tyler and I."

No one believed me.

Tyler was game, and, after taking off his shoes, crawled into the crate. He lay on his back, taking up most of the bottom of the crate. No, no, no way could more than two people fit in the crate, the men called out.

I asked Tyler to move to the back of the crate, and I "tried" to climb in next to him. The trick is, of course, to all great cons is to not quite fit.

Well, if I had truly been trying to con these guys.

When I didn't quite fit in the crate with Tyler, everyone started calling me on my "three people" declaration. I responded quickly by pulling out my wad of cash from my pocket. "I have 60, no, 80! Eighty dollars says I can fit in the crate with Tyler and Shirley or Pei. Eighty dollars."

Both Kevin and Paul immediately offered $20. Easy money they joked. Hand over the money, Kitt.

Silly boys.

I could get four people in that crate for $100.

Tyler unfolded himself from the bottom of the crate, I slid in next to him, and Pei zipped in, pulling the cage door closed behind her.

Easiest $40 ever.

EVAR.

Heh.

That would be me.

When I arrived at track practice tonight, Doyle, Brynne and Warren approached me.

"You just drove here with the top down."

"Yep."

"But you never drive your car with the top down."

"She did last Friday. She had the top down last Friday night."

"She did."

"Yep."

Heh.

So, Mischief is having "Captain Feedback" time. An email is going out to every player to help each of them know where they are on the team. Positions and roles will be defined at this point, until the of the season.

In other words, we're being pigeon-holed, so we better like it.

My favorite part of my email:

Your mental game is the most important factor on whether you will have a good game or a bad game. When you make one play, that gives you the confidence to make another, which gives you the confidence to make another, and so on. Don't be surprised that you can make plays, or that you can shut someone down. You've done it before. Once you display a skill, you own that skill, so we know that you can make plays. I want you to really focus on your mental game at Labor Day and Sectionals, trying to keep a positive attitude the entire time. Think of some of the good sayings from "The Mental Game of Baseball" that really keep you focused, because a focused Kitt is a star player.

I laughed when I read that.

Last season, at Regionals, in a game against CTR, I was marked up against their top woman. The tournament was my first tournament in several weeks, having missed Sectionals with four broken ribs, and I was still having problems breathing deeply.

After some stoppage of play, probably a time out, CTR was at the goal line, setting up an isolation play for the score, with my woman as the iso.

Mano y mano.

And she was their best woman.

Giving her the whole endzone to work with, her teammates moved to the four corners. She went to the middle.

Facing my hips the same directions as hers, fronting her one step, looking back to see both her and the thrower in my peripheral, I let the marker know I was ready, and the disc was tapped in.

I remember hearing Rick Buellesbach's voice. I remember she made four, maybe five cuts. I remember being in front of her the whole way, thinking I might have to layout for this one.

I remember Rick yelling at me to stay with her, she's cutting back to the middle, and scrambling hard back away from the sideline.

And I remember seeing Mark Smith streak in with the poach and catch the disc for the turnover.

We scored that point.

We won the game.

And I had shut down their top woman player.

So, what happens when you discover your mother is reading your site and catching up on all the gossip that's fit to print?

You cringe, and think, "Uh oh, do I need to go back and edit some posts?"

So, then what happens when your mom takes note of her only daughter freezing her ass off in San Franscisco?

Easy, she buys her a sweater.

I now have, "My momma loves me, this I know, 'cause she bought me this yellow!" running through my head.

Curse those elementary school religious diddies!