After Saturday morning soccer, Max and I usually hang out to play for another hour or so.  Last weekend he and I and some other kids were kicking balls against the plywood wall with the goal posts painted on.

I’d like to think I’m one of the “athletic dads”.  As such, I have fun playing and running and stuff, not just sitting in a beach chair and waiting for the games to be over.

Accidents happen when you’re mixing it up with a pack of five year old.  In this case, a stray ball hit me in the back of the leg.  No big deal.  No harm no foul. etc.

“HAHAHAHA… I HIT THAT OLD MAN RIGHT IN HIS BIG FAT BUTT!!!!”

Whoa.  What old man?  That poor guy, that kid should probably… HEY!

“Pardon, me?”, I said.

“Huh, what?”, said the tiny little offender.

“Where is the old man with the big fat butt?”, I asked.

“Oh. Ummm.  I was just talking to myself.”

“So, you’re and old man with a big fat butt?”

“I have to go now.”

That’s RIGHT!  I WIN! WOOOOO!
U-S-A!! U   S   A!!  YOU ESS EIGH!!!!