The match

He's ranked number 11 today. 76 points to his name, multiple victories collected. He's been playing for a while, taking on each team as they come.

The other player occupies the 221st spot on the leaderboard, and he only ranks ahead of a couple of other saps by virtue of default. His first two matches after months of inactivity have netted him four points, managing two goals in two defeats.

The two will play each other in a match of soccer. The first is heavily favoured in what should be a no-contest. His opponent is unprepared. His opponent is without a strategy. His opponent is without a prayer. His opponent is me.

The best of three series begins, and I see what I'd observed countless times over my playing career. The same opposing team members. The same cheap hits. The same overused tactics. For my players, the opponents appear to be competing in double speed. The opportunities we have with the ball are far and few between, and somehow we always end up playing right into the enemy's clutches. We madly pass the ball between one another, each terrified of what would happen should we hold onto it for too long. Any hapless soul adorned in our team's symbolic red is liable to get assaulted at any moment. A punch in the back of the head here, a cruel tackle into the unforgiving fence there. Often, we are hit even when the ball isn't on us, a foul violation that we've gotten all too used to.

Our passes are constantly intercepted, and when the ball is being carried by the opponents, a pitiful game of pursuit begins. We dash about after them, but somehow they know our exact moment of arrival, and pass it on. Each attempt to strip the ball is evaded, leaving us sprawled in the opponent's tracks. The ball whizzes between their players like a pinball machine, or soaring over our heads like we were children who'd had our bags stolen by the schoolyard bully.

Our goalie doesn't stand a chance. Balls fly past him as though on fire, and at times it seems like he's defending against a barrage of six balls at once. He wouldn't be surprised if, thinking himself in perfect position to block a shot, the oncoming opponent were to clutch the ball between their feet and, with a wicked grin, leap into the air and glide right over his head, landing behind him for an easy goal.

We've become quite familiar with the members of the enemy squad. They've been on many teams just like this one, with the same cheap stunts and dirty tricks. We see these plays develop and we know exactly what they're going to do, but we are powerless to stop them.

We fall, 5-1 in the first match, and bravely take our medicine to appear, as a token gesture, in the following 4-0 beating.

In frustration and utter disgust, I take a deep sigh and end it all.

Everything goes dark.

After a moment, I stand up, and vow not to play Mario Strikers online for another couple of months. From his part of the country, the rival player will not be going out tonight with his gorgeous and wonderful girlfriend to party with friends, because he is without the former, and the small number that make up the latter will be doing just the same as him. He will play on into the night, amassing hundreds of points in a video game as though it meant something, his one escape from the real world, where he is pale, feeble, miserable and socially retarded.

He will dominate the world of online gaming, while his opponent will continue to succeed at life. His opponent is popular. His opponent is attractive. His opponent is healthy. His opponent is me.

Tony & Jess vs. the scumbags

So I suppose you've all been wondering, how did the screening of the short film go, Anthony? Well, the answer would be; it was great! ...If you love crummy delivery and poor expression. The film itself was really good, both the quality of the filming and editing, as well as the work of my fellow actors, but I was dreadful. Absolutely dreadful, I'm really disappointed... To be frank, I thought I was better than that, y'know? I'm not the harshest critic and people have told me I did a fine job, but I can't convince myself of that. It's all a learning process, though.

It was the aftermath that really gets you thinking... We left fairly early so that we could catch a train back to Jess' place (must've been 10ish, I guess?), and decided to have a snack beforehand. We went to a souvlaki place on Russell Street, and were waiting out the front for some potato cakes when a woman approaches us. She's the scummy, trashy sort, you know what I mean. Trailer trash, if only she could afford the trailer.
She asks us for money, and I'm not really into the idea. Just to see where she's at, I ask how much money she wants. Her reply? $16.
...What?? Was she serious? Not a couple bucks, she wants a whole 1,600 pennies to be laid on her. That's no chump change, nosirree! She wasn't about to get that kinda moolah from me; what did she think she was, a stripper with directions to the toilet?

I'm the generous sort though, and I realised I had $2 floating around my pocket (I was specifically aware of this because I got into a bit of a thing with the souvlaki guy beforehand claiming he short-changed me. I was mistaken. He was not happy.), and considering for a while beforehand I thought I didn't even have this money, I decided it best to pass it along. She thanked me, but didn't leave. Sign number one that this wasn't going to be good.
Jess' bag was sitting open on the table, and, as is often the case with my darling Jess, the item on top was a pack of cigarettes. Ignoring the fact that Jess is on the phone (speaking to Andrew, no less), she just asks her for a cigarette. This is quite audacious for a variety of reasons. Number one, the aforementioned phone; she's in the middle of a conversation, how rude is it to just butt on in demanding free stuff? Number two, I'd already given her about as much as I was likely to. I gave her two dollars, she should've taken a hint that that was it and moved along, if I wanted to give her a cigarette I'd have done so. Cripes, if I wanted to I'd have given her balloons and a Chinese finger trap, but I didn't want to, and as such, I did not. Number three, she appears to already have a lit cigarette in her hand. In all honesty, I could just leave it at that.

Now, Jess has this new thing that she's a big fan of, if someone gets in her grill she just takes them down a peg, rather than take their nonsense and hand out cigarettes like she's a convenience store (though I must say, if Jess actually was a convenience store, that'd be really cool. She'd make a lot of money doing that). She says simply, 'I've been asked for fifteen cigarettes today. I work hard to pay for these, I'm not giving you any.'
The woman takes a moment to process this, conversation not being one of her strong suits. Her face twists into a frown, she leans over and replies, 'Excuse me, do I know you? Why are you being so rude to me?'
Well, fair enough. Scummy woman thinks Jess is rude. We thank you for this opinion, and will consider it for future reference. Best you be leaving now, shnookums.

However, she's not going to just take her (my?) money and leave, she continues to ramble on, declaring Jess to be a 'farking' cow (she didn't really say 'farking', I'm just a nut about editing. Besides, with the way this broad butchered the English language it's not out of the realm of possibility she actually did), and she turns to walk away, but not before flicking ash from her cigarette in Jess' face.

...Oh hell no.

I did not just see that.

Time to bash this crazy bitch and take my money back.

I spring up, and start walking after her, helpfully shouting that she cannot get away with that, even when I gave her money and everything. She shuffles off into the convenience store next door, and I start walking back to my seat. Come on, I wasn't going to follow her into the shop, then I look crazy, don't I?
Fortunately Jess wasn't fazed, she was actually laughing about the whole thing. Though it wasn't quite as funny when our dear scumbag resurfaced, bringing her boyfriend out with her. Again, you know the sort. Filthy, wearing a Holden cap, and brandishing some rather unpleasant facial hair and an even more offensive odour.

He's quick to get in my face (much to my nose's chagrin) and says something to the effect of 'don't you 'farking' touch my girlfriend'. Obviously he's had this sort of experience before, she must be a real hot item around the ugly tree society. Frankly, I'm still pretty peeved myself, so I'm not backing down from this guy, meanwhile she's blathering on the sidelines with, 'She's being such a rude cow, now she's laughing on the phone! Why are you laughing, huh?' Clearly Jess is laughing because you're a freaking nutter, love, but that's another matter.
I make a witty rebuttal to the man's fury, in the form of 'Nah mate, she flicked ash in my 'farking' girlfriend's face, pal! This 'shpit' is not on.' (hehe, sometimes editing out swears is fun!)
I don't recall what his response was, something derogatory and low-brow no doubt, but his body language was rather telling. He was clearly getting in position to punch me in the face. This was troubling enough, but the whole while his scummy girlfriend was slowly approaching Jess, and she hissed something rather troubling.

'Don't you think of 'farking' throwing that at me.' I turn around, to see that Jess has a cup of Diet Coke she got at Hungry Jack's in her hand, holding it up in a defensive gesture. Jess stands, and I try and discourage this plan, but it's cut short when the woman goes to push her. Jess responds by flicking the cup's contents at her, though I had stepped in to stop this crazy bat from laying a finger on her, so of course was in the middle and ended up covered in it more than anyone else. Perhaps that was Jess' plan all along, to get me soaked so we'd all have a good laugh and become fast friends. It's doubtful, though, so I won't pursue that concept further.

By trying to separate the two, I've infuriated the guy even further, who now rumbles 'Don't you 'farking' touch her!' as though I had scooped her up, flung her through a window and lodged my thumb in her eye. I hadn't hoped to appear a woman-beater, though in all honesty I'm still not sure what her gender was supposed to be anyhow. It was on like Donkey Kong at this point, he stepped forward and it looked to all the world as though this would result with the untimely demise of yours truly, but who should step in and break us up?

Was it Jessica, brandishing not just a cup of Diet Coke, but an entire vat of the stuff? Was it the souvlaki guy, ready to put aside our differences and prior dispute over the sum of two dollars, and deliver a mighty wallop? Was it in fact Andrew, springing magically through the phone line ready to 'make it rain', as t'wer?

...Nah, I think it was the guy from the convenience store. Or a helpful passer-by, I'm not too sure. Point is, he told them to 'fark' off, and they quickly slithered away from the Coke-covered scene. He went on to inform us that it wasn't our fault (hurrah! Justice!), we'd done nothing wrong and that he's 'sick of those two scumbags. They're always asking for money, and if they don't get what they want they start 'shpit'.'
Well, that was all I needed. We were acquited of blame, free of injury, and could now rest easy with the knowledge that, if we're ever in a pinch, this bloke is liable to surface and clear things up. I'm really hopeful that that last part's true, I live in Melton, I need a guardian angel sometimes.

So that was the sum of our night, really. Some poor acting by Tony, a couple (really, really excellent) potato cakes and a damp shoulder. Though it's worth adding, before leaving the guy looked me in the eye with pure hatred, and muttered 'Stupid 'farking' American'.
Well, the joke's on him! ...I'm not American.