Rent Free Football memory

I love football. Man, I love this game.

This is the game that put us up against THAT guy. A handsome, curly-topped, half-Japanese assassin who managed to score three times. This was the game where he feinted and then dropped me on my ass in front of a capacity crowd of three girls (who, let's be honest, were definitely all his girlfriends—I wouldn't be surprised. I'd be his fucking girlfriend too if I wasn't trying to beat him). The guy turned me inside out, and I tripped on my own goddamn shoelaces.

But this is also the game where we were down 3–1 and fought back to tie it 4–4 on the very last kick of the match. And yes, I scored the equalizer on a half-volley. Following our 7–6 thriller in the previous round, this was another classic that will live rent-free in my memory when we're all old and retired. That feeling right there—that goal—is exactly why we love this sport.

To top it off, I eventually found out Mr. half-Japanese was only half-gentleman. He refused to shake our hands after the game and just walked off after the final whistle. Honestly, that made the result feel even better. It wasn't just that I scored the goal of my life to save the game; it was that we humbled a handsome sore loser right in front of his fan club.

This Wednesday, we take on the Ravens for the number one slot in the futsal divisional finals. First, of all, they named their goddam team the goddam Ravens. Fuck me. 

I deliver. I bring the hurt! I bring the pain! I’ll channel Rudy Hatfield's fucking ass! 

4:30 PM. Ateneo Covered Courts. The champs are here.