Zogsports Soccer version Jersey starts up again this week, and I know what to expect. I know that for a bunch of former athlete-wannabes, the field is quite impressive. I know that our one fan will be there unless yogging (it's a soft J) gets in the way. I know that we'll attempt to score from midfield at least once, just because it's worked before. I know that my touch will be far less than stellar, which is great because I don't give a crap. And forgive me for getting cute here, but I know that I'm gonna laugh.
Zog takes everything cool about a sports league and does their best to throw it into the Hudson. But I expect them to do that. I expect them to schedule games super early while still labeling themselves as a league fit for "young professionals." I expect them to "ask" us to move the soccer goals before and/or after games without compensation, financial or sexual. I expect them to lure the unsuspecting rookies into their dungeon by proclaiming that proceeds will go to charity, without mentioning that their definition of "proceeds" is extremely discretionary.
But I know this. My teammates know this. Thus, we make a voluntary choice to subject ourselves to a bootleg establishment.
If you're the second most famous basketball player in the world, you don't televise your choice of employment on ESPN. This was something that had never been done before, and we accepted it, because it was LeBron. Everything that happened afterward, culminating in a uninspired Finals performance (plus-minus of -36!), was a result of a voluntary choice. Our media-driven, kill-first-grieve-later society will never look at this man in the same light ever again, and he deserves it.
Sidenote: If Delonte West and Rashard Lewis really did the dirty, then my hands are off. It wouldn't be right to kick a dude when he's down, for something like that. After all, he would have had no say in the matter. Having a mother and girlfriend as sluts dressed in regular-people clothing = involuntary choice.
Logic doesn't always win out though.
When Zoggers scrimmage this Thursday, I will probably still complain about the consequences of a voluntary choice. Not only am I human, but I'm still a kid. The very fact that I'm writing for a freaking blog (*shudder*) means I haven't grown up yet. And for now, that's just fine. 26 years old...still a kid.
Your procrastinating Google search today?