I play soccer in a men’s league. We get together twice a week to abuse one another. I don’t mean on the field — we can hardly move in that arena. I’m talking about verbal abuse. The trash talking, the arguing, the back and forth about petty nonsense — The ball was out, no it wasn’t, it hit your hand, no it didn’t, you’re blind, you’re an idiot, and so on. We’re all pretty much in our late forties now. The legs can no longer perform the feats the brain tells them to. We think we can sprint after a long ball but after a few short yards we’re huffing it. We try and avoid contact. The days of slide tackles are long behind us. Now it’s a big warm-up before the game, apply Ben-Gay generously, yell a little on the field during play and then call it a day.
The yelling on the field is all we have left…that’s why we’re so damn good at it.