New America '76: 13. Our Very Own Hemisphere

 

In another time and place, everything is three decades older than it is now.  There is no war.  This is after the revelation of false history and crimes of the past centuries.  The royal killers covered it up in patriotism and nobility.  Honor the brave, celebrate the free.

No wonder the Orient seems uninterested.  Europia fools can't get it together, they are the guilty.  They know nothing of peace, they never have.  Come clean.  Rome has fallen, chill out.

And here we are, on our very own hemisphere. Monroe was on to something with his doctrine.  Only 20% of the world's population lives here, we are the outsiders.  North America, South America, and all points in between, from pole to pole.  Station to station.

New America '76: 12. Water Made Dusty

 

The summer is grand.  Nothing going down except what's actually going down, unless we listen to people telling us what's going down.  The twist, the shake, the on the take.  Listen not, watch not, protect your own wireless connections.  Bluetooth seems the greatest invention this century, so far.

Tell me, tell me of their woe.  How life and fate and decisions created this travesty.  Millions of European kids are dying in the mud, we hear.  500,000 have starved in the past three weeks, were told.  The goldfish must be fed, the water made dusty.

Many have jumped the fish tank, into ponds and lakes and rivers and creeks and bays and seas.  Hooks are everywhere, but there's more room to swim.  On our own and free.  Upstream, downstream, in a school, or prowling the deep.  Tunes all the way through.

Chupacabra Screw 3: Three Fingers To The Crowd

 

Screw the Hattiesburg FC.  Their unstoppable #9 and his glory sky pointing, his three fingers to the crowd as he left the field late, his pushing and shoving and his jawing and his scoring and his winning.  Wish we had him on our team.  The Chupacabras were not ready for the likes of him or weren't aware of the likes of him, or something.  Another lesson learned, the hard way, 3-5 loss, reasons for optimism, but still, dang.

0-3-1 on the season says nothing about wanting to win, the Chupacabras certainly want to win.  The blood, sweat, and tears are all over, spinning wheel, got to go round, they are busting to bust out.  It's a good trait, a solid trait, effort and want to, but it's not enough, to merely want to win.  They must have to win, to not accept losing, to detest it, to become ill by it.  They are making progress.

Tough to take, and medicine's not enough, the mind must take over, the body is a tool to maintain and improve, it must be tamed to perfection, broke in.  And so it is with a team.  Ignore the Refs, they are Refs, any team relying on Refs or blaming Refs is diminished.  Pull up your shin guards, Chupacabras, keep the chins high as your digestive system processes the first 4 games.  Hit the road like desperados, like it must be done, we definitely have the players, we must become an elite pack.

Chupacabra Screw 2: Soft Red Card

 

Screw the Mississippi Brilla.  We're lucky to get out with a draw, 1-1, our first point in franchise history.  #9 was dashing again with an early goal, and #15 showed off his skill and grit all night.  Our goalie made key saves down the stretch, and a Brilla open net header went six inches wide right in the final minutes.  Becoming winners takes time and the entire team seemed collectively disgusted with the outcome, a good sign.

It would be easy to ride the refs, complain about the soft red card on our best defender in the middle of the 2nd half when we were up 1-0.  It's temping to whine about the penalty kick given Brilla late in the game, which they converted to tie the score.  But, no need.  The Chupacabras crowd was relentless, "You're horrible!" from a man to my left, loud and booming, "The Ref sucks!", from another man up front, as his gal cringed.  Even a small boy to my right got in on the heckling, yelling out a a slur, covinced the Chupacabras were being robbed of their first win, as his parents sat gloomy silent.

Somebody has to pull the cards, somebody has to blow the whistle, somebody must take the blame.  It was real anger simmering in the stands.  Gestures, vulgarities, and aggressive pleading.  The sorry Refs can't card us!  We're invested, on the cusp, in the den.

Chupacabra Screw 1: Whiff Of Culture

 

Screw the Denton Diablos. Chupacabras take the 3-4 loss in our home opener, but scored the first goal in franchise history and got gritty at the end to nearly push it to overtime.  Lots of flying around, lots of hustle, couple of weird bounces, just the right amount of yellow cards, and a stone cold penalty kick save from our goalie.  My Jankee Roots Bike Gang brother, Amos, informed me about 80% of those hit the net.  A soccer coach for decades, it's good to have him in the stands for inquiries, thoughts, and other futbol nuances.

Food trucks and remnants of a pre-party when we arrived hot and sweaty on our bikes.  Evidently, Tupps ran out of beer, which was a good sign.  Word was a white SUV on the edge of the parking lot had beer, and so they did (we owe that dude, Amos).  Division 80 busting out on stage, kids kicking miniature soccer balls around, teal everywhere, Chupacabras flags and scarfs.  The whiff of culture. 

We'll get there, 0-2 on the season, #11 and #9 were standouts.  Our defense had a major lapse early in the 2nd half as the Diablos scored 4 unanswered goals in the first 20 minutes.  Our coach made player adjustments and we tightened up, especially after he loudly berated a player for walking.  "You don't wanna be here?!?" he screamed, rhetorically.  The thousands in the crowd were loud and proud, security was tight, the Star Spangled Banner was starry, the sunset set was nice.

Cowboy Elevens

 

Cole Beasley: 2012–2018

Drew Bledsoe: 2005–2006

Don Heinrich: 1960

Buddy Humphrey: 1961

Akwasi Owusu-Ansah: 2011

Micah Parsons: 2021–2024

Mac Percival: 1974

Mike Quinn: 1998

Danny Villanueva: 1965–1967

Danny White: 1976–1988

Roy Williams: 2008–2010

Cedrick Wilson Jr.: 2019–2020

Wade Wilson: 1995–1996

800 Hamburgers

 

Got 800 hamburgers on my mind.

Extra lettuce and onions, no cheese on mine.

Usually mayo, I'll go mustard for fun.

Done medium well with a toasted bun.

Bring me the tomatoes on the side.

Dill pickles too, sliced up just right.

Make my beef with the finest cuts.

'Bout a half pound patty should be enough.

Scarfed those fries when I was young.

Slathered with ketchup, lick it off my thumb.

Nothing better with it than a soda pop.

Burp it up so your stomach don't pop.

Got about 800 more to go.

That's twice a month 'til I get real old.

So old where I can't hardly see.

'Til the last hamburger I ever eat.

GCDG

DCGC

EmAmEmAm

GCDG