Put Me in Coach

Ah, John Fogerty singing Centerfield.

You know, I have been out of commission for the better part of a month now with my knee injury finally nearing the last stages of sealing and healing. It feels like I am always saying that.

As we ready for our trip East, I feel like I will be healed enough to where I can start participating in some form of organized sports. When we get out there, maybe I can join some sort of organized team. I will warm up, of course, with several trips to the golf course.

Karen thinks I am full of shit and should be content with my music, blog, and growing older together.

But I still have a few swings at the plate left in me before I hang up my spikes for good. What I would really like to do is join an organized soccer (football) league, but I would need to get way better moving with my prosthetic leg.

Something to work for.

There’s got to be a league for old banged-up ex-footballer wannabes somewhere. Maybe my .315 batting average in Little League will hold up and I can catch on as a designated hitter for a very bad team. I just have to make it to first base so a pinch-runner can carry on.

Speaking of football, how about those whacky Swiss?

Taking it to the arrogant, no-sense-of-urgency Frenchmen. Once again, after being on the lips of French football fans everywhere and basking prematurely in his recent play (which has been brilliant when his play was of no consequence), Paul Pogba gave a glimpse of what he is capable with his rocket goal, but the intensity just wasn’t there for the entire match. His MO seems to be he will make one or two absolutely impossibly brilliant plays or passes and then bask in the positive press that inevitably follows.

And it wasn’t just Pogba. Griezmann was loitering on the pitch for most of the match and Didier Deschamps looked like he was in a fog when they needed him most.

My lads from across the pond?

They kicked the Germans asses, that’s what.

We don’t often get to enjoy this sense of accomplishment, buy hey, it was the Germans. They have literally owned England on the international stage.

I have no doubts a few pints were lifted worldwide in celebration.

For the first time in my memory, Thomas Mueller looked a touch slower and older.

It seems as far back as I can remember, he was the heart and soul of the German National team as they ruled the football world through strength and power.

Sound familiar?

So yeah, it was a big game.

I was backing the Lions at the start and I see no reason to stop now. My prediction for the match against Ukraine?

England 2 Ukraine 1.

There it is then.

Serena succumbed to yet another injury (aka Mother Time) and withdrew from Wimbledon thwarting her attempt at 24 Grand Slams, tying Margaret Court for most all-time. I can’t help but think that such a fierce competitor won’t have at least one more major in her.

At least I hope so.

Stay well.

Where Do You Go To My Lovely?

This song is a fond childhood memory of Jolly Olde.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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