I woke up Tuesday morning, a little short of breath and my back/chest quite sore. I thought, well I am almost 30 and this is to be expected. In my men’s league game I had taken quite a thrashing. Several ex-high school “all stars” (still reliving their Glory Days as if they can hear Springstein in the background the whole game) did their best to tackle me in mid air and propel me into the boards.Their speed and skills longs since depleted have been replaced with reckless abandon and lunging tackles. I spent just as much time picking up my turf burned knees up from the ground as they did picking the ball out from in back of their net. NOW, don’t get me wrong I love men’s league soccer–it is an amazing way for people like me, who still love soccer with a passion, to pretend that for 50 minutes I am still in my prime. It allows me to work out..without really working out, and since I was a pretty decent player in my day (Dunny can back me up on this) I seem to do ok.

However, in the end I am there to have fun. I am not there to fight, injure, or talk inordinate amounts of trash because in the end it is a Monday night men’s league in Massachusetts. Bob Bradley is not in the stands ready with an invite to the next National Team camp for any of these guys. This past Monday I met the king of all trash-talking, used to be good, a$$holes I have ever played against. After beating him three times to his left, he decided he had enough and a la Karate Kid (1984) pulled a Bobby on me and jump kicked me into the boards. Yikes..I calmly rose to my feet and continued to play and simply suggested.

“Dude, its men’s league-what the F**K, we all have job to go to tomorrow, are you an idiot?” He responded with this gem , that I am still not totally sure what he meant by but, “Well at least I have a degree” — Bearing in mind I graduated from Brandeis University in 2000 and now work at a respectable financial institution I had to ask him. “What does that even mean” — After beating him all day, and then being assaulted all he could come up with was “Well at least I have a degree”. Apparently I must have looked unintelligent, or perhaps he is the worse trash-talker in the history of time. Annoyed, I walked over to him while he was sitting in the penalty box and inquired again “what does that even mean”-he responded with an equally emphatic “Phh, shut up”

So I asked “Do you mean high school, or college, I just want to be certain because when I re-tell this story to everyone I know I want to get the facts right” Clearly bothered by my inquisition he opted for the 6 year old, I want a new toy, Silent Treatment. WOW—its been years since I faced this silent assassin. I finally decided to let it go and settle it on the field. With only 6 minutes left to go in the game, I had to do something great to really embarrass him, physically, since intellectually I was dealing with someone with Einstein like intelligence. He came back into the game, everyone on the field knew we wanted a go at one another and I received the ball back to the goal, and he was on my back–a quick step over to get him to open the legs and I heel flick it through his legs, and run around him. Its just me and the keeper and I tuck it lower corner. I look back at him and smile–and say “Well, at least I have a degree”..everyone laughs EVEN some of his own teammates laugh!!!!!

I love Men’s League!!!!

Editors Note: Joe cracked 3 ribs in that game, and will be out 4-6 weeks.

(I can attest to Joe’s ability and am looking forward to his 2008 NE Revolution preview)