Starting last fall, I played two seasons with a recreational soccer team in Springfield. I had a lot of fun, and the team was pretty good; in the second season, in particular, we played some very good soccer and finished the regular season second out of ten teams. Unfortunately, my move to Arlington and my increasingly busy comedy schedule (the Dale City Chuckle Hut is a demanding mistress) caused me to search for a different league. Still, I had a lot of fun and made some good friends.
Naturally, upon leaving, my wish became that the team would immediately plunge directly into the shitter, thus proving that I was the magic ingredient that kept the team afloat. However, I checked the league standings recently and was horrified to discover that my former team is a very respectable 1-1-1 with a positive goal differential after three games against good teams! What the hell? I was hoping for a reincarnation of the '99 Chicago Bulls, making me the Michael Jordan of Northern Virginia soccer in this in-no-way-forced analogy. Now, I stand the very real possibility of becoming the Pete Best of Northern Virginia soccer. Well, you know what: fuck you, friends!