2/7th The Way to Hell

In the last post, I covered Gluttony. I have the sugar ring permanently stuck to the corners of my mouth to prove that I have been indulging in this sin with enthusiastic zeal. I knew I needed help this weekend when I mainlined the creme filling of a jelly donut. What a rush.

Next, on my tour of the 7 Deadly Sins, is Sloth. Believe me, I’ve been slothing like a motherslother. I haven’t run at all since the Detroit Marathon. I’ve thought about it and I think that counts on some level. I had every intention of busting out a nice 3 miler yesterday but once you mainline creme filling you start noticing the walls of your house seem to breathe in and out…in and out…and your dog helps herself to your guitar and plays a sad tune heavy on the G chord with metronomic clapping accompaniment from Mark Twain and his Calaveras County jumping frogs. It’s not unusual for me to believe I’m hanging out with deceased literary figures; Sylvia Plath is always following me around (and, word to the wise, she’s a real downer). However, those frogs!? What a mess. Fortunately, they flew away on their little froggy wings before I returned from my Creme Coma.

I’ll have to shake out the rust tonight. It’s Kids vs. Parents night to wrap up my colt’s soccer season. The 11 year olds will be racing around, eyes all aglow with the hopes of impressing their parents, while I’ll be looking to tally a few broken shin bones. You have your goal; I have my “goal”. If the final score is Kids 3, Nitmos Broke Your Tibia 2, guess what? I won. While the tibia will heal over time, I’m pretty sure their self confidence will be destroyed for years to come. Lesson? Don’t bring a soccer ball to a broken leg fight.

Meanwhile, my filly completed her final game yesterday with a rousing 6-5 victory. She tallied four more goals and a few more plates of humiliation served up cold to sprawled defenders. Of course, “scoring goals” is not the primary focus of the league. It’s about fun and skill development and blah blah blah. By my count (who’s counting?), she netted 19 goals in 6 games for a 3.1 goals/game average. So, of course, my response to her was “why didn’t you score 4 goals per game, hon? Get a little lazy this year? Sleep in the car and think about what you could have done better.” I’m a great coach.

All in all, both kids were pretty unslothful, er, deslothful…hmmm, possessing few sloth like characteristics in their respective soccer seasons. Mrs. Nitmos and I were pretty proud of them. Sure, they each could have preened a bit more after their goals for our tastes but there’s time to learn. As coach of my filly’s team, my completely unbiased appraisal is that I did a FANTASTIC job with them. Most of the boys on the team stopped picking their nose during game play by the 3rd game. Only once did a player leave the field of play to pet a friend’s dog while the game was in action. Sure, I could never get one tow-headed child to stop singing Queen’s “We Will Rock You” during every kick off (or humming the Indiana Jones theme when racing after a ball) but some things you have to tolerate. The little Juice Boxers played hard and that’s about all you can ask of them. Well, that and maybe a few more goals for next season.

So tonight I will be exorcising the demons of a second deadly sin. Between 5:30 – 7 Eastern Time, listen closely. The wind may bring the sounds of snapping bones and anguished cries to your home town. If you hear a symphony of pain floating in with the breeze, you’ll know Team Parents have won. And won hard.

Now that I think of it, tonight I may be able to make a smooth transition from deadly sin Sloth to WRATH upon the tender tibias of my community youth.

Fate keeps serving me up slow pitches down the middle. I’ll keep hitting them out.

And, beware Mrs. Nitmos, Lust is on the To Do list.

Happy trails.