Suzy Soccer
(August 29, 2009)

“Soccer! But Colin there is nothing more boring than soccer!”

“Darts.”
“Pardon me?”

“Darts. Darts is more boring to watch than soccer. Now sure soccer is a little boring – if you watch it on TV – but live, soccer is so much fun. It’s the fans that make it fun.”

“The drunken hooligans?”
“Not all soccer fans are drunken hooligans. Some are just drunks. But seriously a live soccer game is fun. Trust me. Besides I have amazing tickets.”

“I don’t know.”
“Come on Suzy. It’s my favourite team Keighley versus those cheeky reds of Liverpool. If you say no, I will not be able to go to the game to see my favourite team.”

“Can’t you just go by yourself?”
“Go by myself? Who am I going to complain to when Keighley screws it up... again.”

“I thought you liked Keighley?”
“I do but it’s every soccer fan’s god given right to complain about their team.”

“I don’t know Colin.”
“Please Suzy, you are my only hope.”

Against my better judgement, I agreed to go with Colin to watch the Keighley Liverpool friendly.

“Super duper! I’ll pick you up tomorrow at lunch. And don’t worry, I’ll bring your kit with me.”
“Kit?”

Colin was gone before he could answer my question. I should have seen the foreshadowing amidst all of my talents (and there are many) however fortune teller is not one of them.

The next day Colin arrived as promised with my kit. I opened the paperbag.

“What’s this? A soccer uniform?”
“Yep. Your kit.”
“Nope.”
“Suzy!”

“I think there are leg pads and shoes in here.”
“If you mean shin guards and cleats, then yes.”

“But why?”
“So we can be twins!”

With this proclamation, Colin removed his trenchcoat. To my horror, he was dressed exactly as a player from his beloved Keighley soccer team – complete with cleats and shin guards.

“Again – but why?”
“There are these two guys who dress up as umpires at Blue Jays games. They sit in the stands behind home plate and pretend to call balls and strikes.”

“Baseball? Colin do you only watch boring sports?”
“Anyway, this year the two umps took their show on the road while vacationing in Baltimore. The Orioles front office was so impressed, that the fake umps were encompassed into the Orioles game day promotions. Now the Yankees have invited them to attend a Blue Jays – Yankees game at Yankee Stadium in New York – all expenses paid!”

“All expenses paid! But how does this relate to us?”
“My theory is that if the Keighley brass see two Canadian Keighley super fans, they might fly us to England to watch a game.”

“All expenses paid! To England!”
“Yes, but first we have to wear the kits.”

“Cheerio Canada, hello free trip to England.”
“Aagh... Suzy, can’t you change in your bedroom?”

I pulled my top back down.

“Righty-o chap. I got a wee bit excited there.”

Once changed, we went the game. Colin wasn’t kidding – he had great seats – the very first row behind the Keighley bench.
Colin was bouncing off his seat as he watched his heroes warm up.

“Oh my – it’s Grant Abbey. Ooo, there’s Greg Whelan, Suzy – Greg Whelan!”
Colin stood up.

“There he is! There he is! It’s Fred! Suzy stand up. We need to salute him.”
“Fred who?”

“Just Fred. He’s Brazilian. When you are that good, you don’t need a last name.”
We saluted the soccer star.

Just as the game was about to begin, a dozen or so guys in red jerseys sat two rows behind us. By their rowdiness, they had been in a pub within in the last hour. Colin saw them too.

“This could be bad. They’re Liverpool fans.”

The game began quietly, according to Colin, each team feeling the other one out. Then boom!
“GOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLL!” Colin yelled.

Keighley had scored. Colin called it a miracle thanking Saint Sebastian – the patron saint of athletes.

By intermission Colin was still jumping with joy from the 1-0 lead. Then early in the second period, it happened again.
“GGGGOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!” Colin yelled.

Saint Sebastian had struck again. This time through the blessed foot of Fred. The joy was too much for Colin. He began dancing in the aisle – almost disco like.

“Come on Suzy! Or maybe you don’t want to go to England.”
I found myself instantly in the aisle.

“What are we doing?”
“Dancing. It’s called ‘picking the apples’. Put your hand in the air like you are picking an apple from a tree. That’s it. Now put the apple in your basket. Yep, just like that. A few more apples. Now a bum shake.”

I shook my booty.

“Whoa, Suzy. Don’t Beyonce it. Just a wiggle – you don’t want to bruise the apples in the basket. There you go.”

As I picked the apples, I realised Colin was correct. Watching a soccer game is boring. Being at a soccer game is a lot of fun. Then Colin screamed.

“We are on the Jumbotron! We did it.”

I looked up at the giant scoreboard to see Colin and I picking apples in front of 55 000 people.

“Don’t stop Suzy. Keep dancing. Pick them apples all the way to England!”

We continued to dance, long after appearing on the Jumbotron until disaster struck. Liverpool scored two quick goals to tie the game.

“Darn you Saint Sebastian. We need Saint Blaise.”
“Whose Saint Blaise?”

“The patron saint of choking. He was known to bless throats.”

With the first Liverpool goal, the dozen Reds fans became obnoxious. By the second the goal they were mean. They began dancing in their seats, mocking our picking the apples.

“Hey look at me, I’m picking apples like those losers!”

I turned to give the Liverpool drunks a piece of my mind. But there were so many of them and they were so big, that I could only muster

“Hey that’s not nice!”
They mocked me by repeating my words but with a cool English accent.

“Stop it!”
“What are you going to do? You’re Canadian, you aren’t going to do anything because I’m a guest and you’re too polite.”

Colin spoke up.
“Oh yeah, well... David Beckham is a weiner!”

Later, Colin informed me that although David Beckham had never and will never play for Liverpool, he was in fact the poster boy for English soccer. It was the equivalent of insulting Wayne Gretzky or Babe Ruth.

Apparently the David Beckham crack, was the absolute worst thing to say as the drunken hooligans leaped at us. Luckily for us, seated in the row between us and the hooligans was some Keighley hooligans. A brawled ensued.

“Suzy we have to get out of here. No one is going to give a free trip to England to someone who was in the middle of a soccer brawl.”

We motioned to the aisle but security was quickly running down the stairs to our section. We were trapped.
“There is only one place left to go Suzy.”

With that, Colin grabbed my hand and we fell backwards onto the field.
“Quick, mix with the players. We won’t stand out if we are blended with the Keighley team. Our kits are the perfect cover.”

As I sprinted for the player’s bench (boy those cleats sure do make a difference), I turned to see Colin being tackled by a police officer.

As he laid pinned on the fake grass, he yelled to me.
“Run, Suzy, Run!”

Knowing it was unsafe to stay with the team on the bench, I ran to the next cluster of Keighley players – the field. Never breaking stride, I leaped over the bench, high-fiving a Keighley player walking off the field, blew by a Keighley player sprinting on the field, and stopped at the cluster of Keighley players, standing in line at the Liverpool goal. The players were pushing back and forth as a Keighley player stood in the corner with a soccer ball.

A Keighley player spoke to me.

“Who are you?”
“I’m Suzy... I mean Sebastian. I’m new.”

Another Keighley spoke.
“Must be one of the young guns from the Youth Academy.”
“They get younger every year. Did you hear his voice? So high pitched. Hasn’t even hit puberty yet.”

Then the Liverpool player standing next to me commented.
“Look how puny this one is. Those pecks aren’t worthy of a toddler. Like a... (Inappropriate comments)”

Angry, I said the only thing I could.
“Oh yeah, well David Beckham is a wiener.”

Again, the worst possible thing to say. The Liverpool player leaned back and gave me a shove. I tried to dodge it by leaping backwards but this only compounded the problem. Before I knew it, I was head-under-heels over the shoulders of the next Liverpool player. I flung my legs desperately to avoid landing on my back. Somewhere during my flinging I felt a pain in my shin. However, my leg flinging had saved me as I landed on my stomach. There was a moment of silence then cheers.

The Keighley players picked up my winded body and carried me around the field to the cheers of thousands of fans.

“Hey kid, you did it! You scored! We beat Liverpool!”

I looked up to see myself on the Jumbotron.

“I’m going to Disney-land! No wait, I’m going to Eng-land!”

Later, after I bailed Colin from jail, he told me the true Suzy-wood story. As we ran onto the field, Keighley was granted a corner kick in the Liverpool zone with no time remaining. The player who I high-fived was in fact the player being substituted for the player I sprinted by on the field. The second player, seeing that he would be an extra player returned to the bench. The line I stood was in fact Keighley players jockeying for position for the corner kick. When I flipped upside down and flung my legs like a crazy person, I was actually performing something called a bicycle kick – apparently the most spectacular move in soccer. The pain on my shin was the ball ricocheting off it and into the net. Apparently I had bicycle kicked the ball into the net thus giving Keighley the win.

And once Colin beats the misdemeanour rap and is permitted to leave the country, we've off on a free trip to England!