Galactic Green Peacekeepers

My love affair with Hollywood's love affair with comic book movie adaptations continues. They keep pumping them out, and I am that audience member that keeps flocking to see them. (Can a single person flock?)

I do try to avoid seeing and hearing reviews BEFORE the film comes out (which makes watching David & Margaret a little tricky!) but I managed to catch some of  the reviews for The Green Lantern by osmosis. SMH Film blogger gileshardie said on twitter:

"THE GREEN LANTERN. Ummm. Yeah. If you like films. Or if you like yourself. Just don't see it. More flaw than film."

Both Margaret AND David saw flaws in the film, but gave it 3.5 and 3 respectively.

And I could see where they are coming from.

The vast tracts of backstory voice over in the start of the film, if they happened to be the opening paragraph on a Year 10 Short Story assignment (because that might give you an insight into where my life is this week!) I would have scrawled in the-not-as-demoralising-as-red blue marking pen something along the lines of "Start with ACTION. SHOW, don't TELL" - so NOT the most engaging of opening scenes.

The premise is all about a superarmy of fearless green suited warriors from around the universe who use the power of Will, and are charged with a mission to fight Evil. And the grandaddy of Evil is Fear, the only force in the universe more powerful than Will.

So... Complex scifi alterno-reality to create, and a voice over backstory is prob the only way to do it with any kind of brevity... But I still reckon they could have woven it into the story, so we could have found out when Hal found out.

Hal.

Ryan Reynolds.

Most certainly NOT a flaw of the film. Very much flawless. And spends a fair whack of the film flaunting his flawless figure. Sigh!

He is utterly convincing as an irresponsible, impulsive, emotionally retarded manchild. I know some of them, so I find them easy to recognise.

And Blake Lively is near perfect as the female interest, Carol Ferris. Mostly she is not a totally insipid damsel in distress, but there are moments when we lapse into those comic book stereotypes. She is, as she and all female counterparts in comic book movies are meant to be, smoking hot. There are some shots of her that I imagined could have come directly from the original DC pages - the framing, the perfecting drawn hair, the unrealistically red lips... Comic book perfection in a way that can only be drawn. Kind of reminds me of Jessica Rabbit...

For a change, the chemistry between Reynolds and Lively is pretty... lively (sorry, that was terrible, even by my standards...) and starts off pretty sparky from the get-go.

And in keeping with comic book traditions there is the Compulsory Alliterative Character. In this case, the evil fear minion, Hector Hammond. Part elephant man, part Fear's magic wand, the very attractive Peter Sarsgaard does a pretty good job uglied up. Scrubs down alright.

The special effects are phenomenal. Sparky & I heartily agree that 3D films are nauseating, distracting and do little for the cinema experience. So we managed to catch a 2D screening. And while I know that if I saw it in 3D, I would have left with a headache, nausea and a general feeling of malaise, I actually think there is a possibility they could have done some good things with that tech this time. The Big Bad Fear Monster, part dragon, part octopus, would have been incredible launching out of the screen. The asteroid belt, and the Lanterns' translucent green weapons of Will (ie whatever they imagine) and all the flight scenes had the potential to make 3D work quite effectively. Of course, you will have to see that for yourself. Because I won't be doing it for you.

AFTER the tedious intro, the early scenes are snappy. And being Ryan Reynolds, hilarious. They have pace and characterisation and interest, which is tricky for a Meet The Characters on what I'm sure the producers hope will be a franchise. We see Hal selected to join the Feds of the Universe. That transition from irresponsible to dutiful is highly entertaining. Once the action starts, however, things get a little more predictable, with the set pieces and raised stakes. Hal becomes less unpredictable and spontaneous, and much more... boring superhero-y.

I once read an article (and do you THINK I can find it??) that said that superheroes are by their very nature boring and reactive. Their day to day life of tedium is only challenged when a more interesting supervillain comes along with big plans to shake things up and take things over. And after we meet Hal and learn about what he can now do now, he joins the boring ranks of the Dean Cain/Christopher Reeve era Superman, or a Val Kilmer/George Clooney style Bruce Wayne (Michael Keaton has too much sarcasm, and Christian Bale is WAY too dark to be Captain Goody Goody).

Lantern is about a bajillion times better than Captain A-MEH-rica.

Kick arse action, totally unrealistic scifi goodness.

Things That Shit Me About Captain America

Yes, comic book films are not meant to be High Art. Yes, they are generally the schlock that Hollywood rolls out to bring in some guaranteed coin. Yes, the scripts are usually fill-in-the-blanks, predictable drivel to tie together the action packed set pieces.

But I love them.

Usually.

Captain A-Meh-rica however, kind of gave me the shits.

Here's why:

1. The "Yay" America Attitude.
Yes, I was prepared for it. I mean, it IS in the title after all. But I wasn't prepared enough to not let it shit me. And yes, there are a few token characters from other countries, flung against the Nazis and their suped up uber-scientists. But they are pretty tokenistic.

2. The Historical Inaccuracies
I'm not really a stickler for History. Making things entirely Realistic or True is not necessarily what I am all about. I LOVED Inglourious Basterds. Fantasy & SciFi stuff makes me happy. The X-Men franchise is totaly not plausible, but I have so much love for it. And I have no problem with scientific divisions of the military creating super soldiers with serums and rocks that wield the power of the Gods.
But I have great issues with the portrayal of women at the front line of WWII.
Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell) is smoking hot. 1940s lips and hair to die for. Pencil skirts that make me wish I had hips like that. Great dialogue, and a kick arse attitude. And I could almost believe that she was an intelligence agent. I could almost believe she was working behind the scenes to bring about the downfall of the Nazis. But it really shat me when she was firing off a machine gun in the advancing line, next to commanding officer Tommy Lee Jones with other soldiers dissolving into blue sparks beside her. Completely naff and disrupting.

3. Derivative to a point of vomitous

I realise in this post-modern context we all live in that nothing is original any more. Every new piece of art (did you know comic-book films are art?) comes from somewhere else. Another Marvel film is always going to be saturated with enough intertextuality to sink a MAD Magazine, especially when it is set to be part of a whole series of Avengers films. So I am aware that OF COURSE this film was never going to be a stand alone piece.

But I think they took it too far.

When making an alterno-fantasy about battling the Nazis, it is difficult not to lean towards Raiders of the Lost Ark. And in Star Wars, when George Lucas named the Empire soldiers after the German Stormtroopers, he really did twist up the ideas of fantasy and history. Director Joe Johnston just had to make his Nazi Hydra Soldiers look like blackfaced Star Wars style Storm Troopers, and Boba Fett's your uncle... Bad guys!

A shot for shot recreation of the pena-climactic chase sequence from Return of the Jedi, however, was completely surplus to requirement.. The coathanger rope to knock the bad guy down? Check. Left some surprise explodey things behind to blow the next bad guy up? Check. Two dudes on very fast motorbikey things trying to overtake through the scrub in the other lane? Check. I thought at any moment the Ewoks were about to jump out and help.

 

4. Bobble Head SFX

I think it was kind of cool that the film included a pre-buff Chris Evans, before super powers, super strength and super cut abs. But seeing his enormous head on his tiny body through the wonders of CGI just made me disconcerted. I mean, supporting that weight would cause some serious neck strain.

5. The lack of attention to the AMAZING support cast.

Yeah, Chris Evans, chiseled jaw, rippling muscles, blah blah.

What about Dominic Cooper?! Huh? He of History Boys and The Duchess fame. Casting wise, he is pretty perfect for a Robert Downey Jr Daddy. Suave, cocky, liable to make mistakes and not admit them. But where was his dialogue? Where was his screen time?  Give me Cooper over Evans ANY day.

And Our Hugo? Weaving is the antagonist, and he plays the sociopath like an expert indeed. But there just wasn't enough opportunity for us to see it.

But the biggest tragedy of the cutting room/story editing has to be Stanley Tucci. I love him. I have loved him forever. Not in a want-to-jump-his-bones kind of way, but in a could-watch-him-forever kind of way. As a character actor, he is so versatile. Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream. The husband in Julie & Julia. The dad in Easy A. The tragic clown in The Devil Wears Prada. But my all time favourite Stanley Tucci film is The Imposters. Farcical hilarity, with Oliver Platt & Billy Connolly. But I digress.

Surely with a character as complex as Dr Abraham Erskine, escaping the Nazis to use his scientific formula for the good guys instead, could have been given more of a role? I know, the Hero needs the motivation to rage against the enemy, but... I don't need to offer solutions to my whinges do I?

Unfortunately, we didn't stick around to see the teaser for the next Avengers film at the end of the final credits. I've heard it's special, and I probably should have made the time for it, but I was so blerged out by
the whole film, I thought it time to go.

Only see this if you... plan on seeing the next ones? Iron Man it ain't.

The X Factor

My deep seated obsession with James McEvoy has been documented. Shameless, Atonement, Macbeth, Becoming Jane, Narnia, Wanted... If my James wasn't the best thing about these movies/shows, then he was pretty darn close.

My long running infatuation with the X-Men franchise is no secret. And my penchant for superhero flicks, either the original characters or the comic book derivatives is not something I am ashamed of.

The only thing that has kept my excitement about the latest prequel, X-Men: First Class has been the insanity that is my life of late, and the discipline of my routine of Expectation Management. Not only does this movie have superheroes in silly suits, not only does it have character drenched back-story, not only does it have the uber-hot January Jones and the super-sexy Rose Byrne, but the condescending and ever-so-slightly bossy boots of Professor Francis Xavier is played by the oh-so-delicious James McAvoy!!

But he isn't the best thing in the movie.

In terms of a review, there isn't really much to say. There isn't much that is unexpected about the plot - the conflict in increasing stakes, the war between the mutants and the humans. The set pieces are a little predictable - pretty fab, action packed, lots of henchmen getting slain. The overarching message of the piece - the issues of the greater good, the question of a struggle for identity, of being true to ones self - these are not new messages, and are certainly not new for the franchise. The big, weighty, clunky "B-Word", known in depth by English teachers, and feared by HSC students for the last few year, is hurled around with gay abandon.

I always like an alternative history. First Class is set post WWII, in the time of hunting those nasty Nazis, and with the Cold War freaking everyone else out. And seeing the Cuban Missile Crisis play out with mutants was significantly more explodey and special effecty than the walky-talky Katy Holmes-Greg Kinnear version on The Kennedys tonight. Funny how a piece of history hits you from multiple angles in one day. Whereas The Last Stand heavily cemented the metaphor of  mutantism with homosexuality, this prequel centres it back on the cultural or religious stereotypes and prejudices. The oppressive fear of nuclear war, the threat of the Red Other, the commies, is effective as a metaphor for the evolutionary revolution that the mutants continue to harp on about.

The performances are all pretty good - though some are better than others. Jennifer Lawrence is a little bit Squinty McPout for my liking. Very soon, some sassy director is going to cast her as Helen Hunt's sister. Or daughter. Or past-self. My beloved James is suitably smug, conveying Patrick Stewart's later arrogance. Though his tendancy to massage his temple is a little annoying. Kevin Bacon continues to look disturbingly piggy (is this nominative determanism at its most literal?) but doesn't seem to be quite evil enough as the major antagonist, Sebastian Shaw.

So if you weren't going to see the film anyway, there is nothing I can say that is going to inspire you to do it.

Except for perhaps two words.

Michael. Fassbender.

A brilliant name like this hasn't been seen since Benedict Cumberbatch. And he has the talent - both acting and physical- to support a brilliant name like this.

The character of Magnito requires some serious screen gravity. Sir Ian McKellen has it. Great voice, lived in face, rich in character. This character has to be able to walk the thin wire between total meglamaniac, and a voice of insanity that actually speaks the truth. He recognises the precarious nature of humans - their capacity for unrestrained cruelty and violence. And chooses to fight back, rather than bend to human pressure.

And Fassbender walks that line with grace. I've seen him in Inglorious Basterds and Band of Brothers, and his face is so likeable, so manly and chiseled. And that hint of Irish lilt doesn't hurt either. So I think I have just found yet another gentleman for my celebrity crush list. Almost ALL of the reviews I have seen and heard have agreed that Fassbender is the highlight of this installment. And I'm with them.

The X-Men franchise is not without its problems. The sexual politics of the original 1963 comics is understandably problematic. We are talking pre-sexual revolution here. Jean Grey is completely objectified, totally passive in her powers and ever the damsel-in-distress that needs rescuing. Even the post-feminist installments are not necessarily pro-grrl. The inclusion/tokenism of various races - and the 'disposable' nature of some of the un-Caucasian characters makes me a little uneasy. And the temporal setting of the Cold War in this one raises the issues of the women's place - in the CIA, in the sexual manipulation of men, in combat situations... The question I tend to ask myself is if I love the characters enough to ignore the blatant and latent bigotry?

Of course, the ending is set up for another follow up. Though, I think it would be rather confusing to run THREE different time lines on the one franchise. The Wolverine line, with the sequel with Hugh Jackman (scrummy), and something about Japan. And then the Deadpool Origins film with Ryan Reynolds (more scrummy-ness). Then there is this line, with the First Class kiddies, the beginning of the X-Men Academy. I think it should be called X-Men: Second Class, but that might be seeming like a judgement call on the story or something. Wiki says it is X-Men: First Class 2. And then there is the original series, with  an X4 film slated  as a possibility.

Bring it on, I say. I will hand over  my money to the box office every time.

"This Week". Or "Bad Poetry that is Not Well Thought Out". Or "I'm Tired."

Radio silence again.

Here is why.

Monday.
4 periods.
90 min staff meeting of being told what a shit job we're doing.
2 hours of report writing.

Tuesday.
6 hours of school.
45 minute welfare meeting.
2 hours rehearsal for closely pending play.
1 hour report writing.
Basketball.

Wednesday.
6 hours again.
4 periods again.
Piecing together emotional boys and refereeing minor conflicts.
2 hours rehearsal for closer pending play.
2 hours reports.

Thursday.
6 hours school.
Cancelled soccer training - one hour of Me time to chase the B Team before their player numbers increase.
3 hours duty.
2 hours report writing.

Friday.
4 hours of class.
2 hours of soccer training, but not my team.
1 hour of game, U14s vs the Privos from Up The Hill.
5 hours of watching/supervising football in various codes.

On morning TV
A giggly blonde woman said
That if you work more than 11 hours a day,
you are 64% more likely to have a heart attack.

Bring on Europe!

Bluesfest: The Rest of Day 1 - Trombone Shorty, The Bamboos & Franti

Music has the most amazing power to infect with emotion, to uplift, to educate and to make you wiggle your butt.

First step after the surprise of Timmy Rodgers, and after tracking down the various members of my extended family with limited phone signal (damn you Vodafone!!), was the phenomenal Mavis Staples. Gospel music, soul music, and tunes from the civil rights movement, with a kicking voice and an amazing stage presence. She is a little bit like music royalty, getting the nods from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Rolling Stone Top 100 singers of all time and Grammy Lifetime Achievement. And the lady deserves it all.

Her cover of 'The Weight" really kicked the crowd into gear, and her special guests on the stage made us all very excited for the next act. But more on that in a moment. The set of lungs on this lady was most impressive, and her command of the crowd was incredible.

But next... Next was Trombone Shorty (the future Mr Proctor, he will soon be joining our gang of merry revellers) & Orleans Avenue. Oh my.

I stayed to watch these dudes on the recommendation of American Danny. As opposed to me, Australian Danne. Or Sane Danne. That might hint at what American Danny is like, if I am the benchmark for sanity. Though given the brilliance of Trombone Shorty and his band, his sanity is hardly called into question from me.

I heartily regret not getting to New Orleans before it was ravaged by Katrina. But if the music scene is as alive and well as this talented outfit, I should get myself on a plane without delay. To start with, Trombone Shorty (Troy to his mother, personally I like his pseudonym better) is fit. Like the British version of fit. a proper athlete of a muso, using his chiselled abs and sculpted muscles to belt out every note on his trombone and trumpet. And belting out is kind of an understatement. One note lasted for something close to forever, but really was probably about two minutes. Circular breathing never looked so sexy.

The uber-sexy Trombone Shorty. Photo thanks to Mikey J.

But Shorty wasn't the only talent on the stage. Each band member was rocking on his instrument of choice. And then in the final number, there was a quick band conference huddle in the centre of the stage. Without skipping a beat, Shorty took the drumsticks, and took over the rhythm. There was a shuffle of the weapons of choice, and the band played on. Impressive!

Spirits were sky high after those antics and those upbeat relentless tunes.

And there was nowt that battle-of-the-fros seventies-throwbacks Wolfmother could do about it. I have never been their biggest fan anyway. Perhaps "Joker & The Thief may be the only one that gets me wiggling. But I found their performance significanly lacking in pizzazz. But perhaps that was just because I still wanted to be tasting Trombone instead of Led Zeppelin...

If you approach your day at a festival uncertain about where you will spend the headlining set, there is a chance you may fall into the Indecisive Trap that I fell in on Day 1. I really wanted to see The Bamboos. I've got an album, I like them a lot, and I have heard great things about them live. But Michael Franti was playing at exactly the same time. And the rest of the tribe were resolute about that.

So I started at The Bamboos. Solid Aussie funk and soul. Horns aplenty. More rhythm than an old school Dulux Paint ad. And their lead singer Kylie Auldist CAN wail! Massive voice with a fab head of curls, a great rack (I notice these kinds of things), a stunning dress... But most importantly SEQUINED BLUE CHUCK TAYLORS!!!!! I have a sneaky suspicion that while Kylie is billed as the 'feature' singer, she actually rules the roost. Her attitude and awesome voice made me fall just a little bit in love with her. I was kind of tempeted to stick it out at the smaller stage... But...

Kylie & the Bamboos. The tragedy is you can't see her shoes!!

I am so pleased I caught The Bamboos. But I feel like I missed the best part of their set. I feel like they were just building up to something pretty special when I snuck back to the Crossroads Stage to catch the end of Michael Franti's set.

And it was going NUTS!!

The whole tent was jumping, and the bidding of the dreadlocked and tattooed singer songwriter, his voice undulating between gentle and soulful to vehement and inspired. I could see the infection effect Franti was having on the crowd, but I just couldn't emerse myself in it. Whether it was a case of 'you had to be there' from the start in order to get the glee, or whether there was a little piece of myself kicking me for leaving the brilliant Bamboos set, I will never know.

Having said that, he was pretty darn amazing. He did a walk through the crowd, and played a verse within spitting distance of me and the rest of the bouncing tribe. He told stories of his chats with songwiriting idol Bob Dylan, with such an affable and genuine nature I think we all just wanted to take him home with us to our rambling beach house. With his final song, he invited all the kids and oldies up to boogie on stage - and filled all the rest of us with life-affirming lyrics and melodies. <>  <>

 

Franti, just over there. Not even very much zoom being used here, if any at all.



It was a brilliant way to end Day One. My face hurt from my Live Music Grin. My feet hurt from dancing in gumboots. I was tired, sore but so so happy. And there was still two more days of fun to go.

Bluesfest: The Start & The Surprise

I love a music festival.

I love the fact that brilliant, world class musos can converge on a patch of green for one day (or more) of celebration, of music and of life.

I was delighted when my tribe from The Big Smoke included me on their excursion to Bluesfest in Byron Bay this year. The epic weekend of Easter and ANZAC Day, what better way to celebrate that music, dancing and good company? I think it is what Jesus and our fighting soldiers would have wanted.

My roadtrip to Byron began with "Oliver's Army", by Elvis Costello blasting through my brand spanking new car stereo (thanks Sparky!), and I kept myself on a healthy musical diet of the lineup all the way to the coast. Bob Dylan, The Cat Empire, Michael Franti and Clare Bowditch sung me up and over the mountains, and down to the sea.

So rock'n'roll. Photo from Mikey J.

All seven of the tribe converged on a gorgeous rambling house, just a short walk out of town. We feasted on fabulous food, drank spectacular cocktails - and the next day set off for Tyagarah Tee Tree farm for three days of bluesing and rootsing.

Just outside the gate, I saw a PNG flag, snapping proudly in the breeze. Despite the fact I haven't been there (YET!) we Levys have a strong connection to the land to the north. Dad grew up there, and spends most of his spare time collecting school and hospital supplies to send to Mt Hagen. That is really where he grew up, his hometown. In PNG Pidgin, they call it "arseplace", which I think is a lovely bit of linguistics. Anyway, the site of this flag has always seemed to me a pretty good omen for good times to come.

And how right it was!

We entered.

We did a bit of decision by committee, that always takes a bit of time. And just when the Committee Decision was 'Let's go for a look around', I heard the melodic voice of Julia Zamiro, host of music geek show RocKwiz.

"Welcome to the stage, our very good friend, Tim Rodgers!"

Well. I nearly buckled at the knees at the thought. I had scoured the program with a glimmer of hope that he or his band (one of) would be on the lineup, but was disappointed. And then, Julia came through with the goods!

Bare chested, in a fuschia velour blazer, he rocked out covering The Stones before starring as a gracious and yet knowledgable contestant. And then he carved up the stage at the end (now totally sans shirtwear) with David Bowie's "Fame", with a bridge of "Ignition Remix", initially made famous by pirate R. Kelly, but much more enjoyable covered by The Pigs. The stage was then flooded by superstars from all kinds of festival bands for a mega-cover of Kiss' "Rock and Roll All Night"- a very fitting number to kick off a festival with... and party everyday.

Timmy, bare chested, doing Bowie. My favouritist photo of the WHOLE festival. Thanks again, Mikey J!

Timmy Rodgers has been a long standing favourite of mine. You Am I played at the very first concert I ever went to (Crowded House's "Farewell to the World" in case you were wondering.) They were really the deciding factor in the road trip with The O Team to see the last ever Powederfinger gig in Brisbane - despite the fact that we had already farewelled Bernie and the Boys in West Bubblefuck a few months earlier. I've seen You Am I play about half a dozen times. And I have seen Timmy solo a few too - seriously that man must own so many velvet, velour and corduroy suits. For a sweaty man, I find this quite surprising. But my point is that my love for the seventies styled guru of the Aus music scene is pretty boundless and to see him in person (again) was one of those Music Goosebumps (or Musebumps? Think that one needs some work) kind of moments.

The RocKwiz ep was also pretty awesome. One contestant did a pretty ripping version of Pat Benatar's "Hit me with your best shot" for the karaoke round. At least I thought it was ripping until a dude from the next team tore the stage apart with Dragon's "April Sun in Cuba" flicking the lyrics away with reckless abandon, and accompanying his massive voice with drama-student-style interpretive dance moves. Impressive.

It was a brilliant start to the three day bonanza. Many Music Goosebumps (surely I can come up with a better name than that...) moments were to come, many more surprises and brilliant songs and chances to boogie on down. It had only just begun!

Return to the field. Or How my body is beginning to betray me

This here digi-tome has mentioned my efforts at coaching. I took the Mighty U13s to third 2 years ago, and last year the same boys (or mostly) went down 1-0 in the GF. This year I have taken on another squad of Mighty U13s, a new assistant supercoach and a different set of strengths and weaknesses. So far so good, one win, one loss, one draw. The team hasn't really played to its potential yet, but I have faith that they will finish the season strongly.

But even more importantly than my sideline encouragements and masterminding puppetry of young footballers is my own return to the park.

Moving back to West Bubblefuck four years ago, I was devastated to learn that there was no women's football competition. I think the words I actually spake (I'm teaching Shakespeare at the moment, and it is affecting my vocab) were "What kind of a backwards town am I living in?!" At the end of each game of coaching for the last two years I have ended up bubbling with unspent adrenaline, and each week I made a small curse (silently or otherwise) that there was no comp I could play in to spend the pent up energy. Sure, I could play with the blokes, but my serious lack of fitness kind of embarrassed me out of that.

This year, the West Bubblefuck District Football Association has finally got a 6 a side comp off the ground. Just.

In the last two months I have been palpable in my desperation to find players. I emailed parents, I mentioned it in almost every conversation "Do you know anyone that might be interested in playing women's soccer?" West Bubblefuck has a really great culture of sport - a thriving netball comp, a really successful basketball comp, hockey, tennis, austag AND touch, indoor mixed soccer, cricket and netball... West Bubblefuck women play a number of sports, and tend to keep playing them until their bodies betray them. As mine may well currently be doing.

Yes I have been getting my competitive kicks with the Flames on the baskeball court for a little over a year. But this has led to various joints of mine deciding they will no longer operate at 100%.

Betrayal.

But I have loved the round ball game dearly for over 15 years, and it is where  my sporting heart truly lies. Despite the fact that Sparky despises the game in an unworldly kind of way. So when I managed to get 7 ladies together, I contacted a club and poached a few more players, helped to coordinate a SECOND team and became a part of a women's football comp in my backwards town.

But then of course, not everyone could make it this week.

I showed up with 3 other girls, hoping desperately for some juniors to help us out. We found one. And then sneakily poached one of the keepers from our opposition.

Since I dinged my shoulder a month ago, I haven't graced the basketball court. I haven't been to body balance, or to the gym at all. I may have walked the dog a few times, but nothing that was really strenuous. Within three minutes of kick off, I was scraping the bottom of my lungs for breath. Turns out, a complete lack of exercise leads to a seriously diminished fitness. Who knew?

Betrayal.

I was delighted to be playing a shortened game. 30 minute halves instead of 45. Six a side instead of 11. Half field. As it was, I was wheezing and doing so much field walking that if I was COACHING me, I would have given myself a total blast at half time. Imagine if I had played the real mccoy? At the end of the hour, I was already aching. My stupid basketballed ankle was moaning, my niggly basketballed shoulder was whining (from the throw ins).

Betrayal.

As I limped to my car, my calves started to seize, and the burn set in to my quads.

Betrayal.

Delayed onset muscle soreness - which the professionals call DOMS, but I like to call Second Day Syndrome - will ensure that tomorrow I will be tight and achy. And even worse on Monday I will find it difficult to walk.

Betrayal once more.
But despite the fact that my body is kicking me back, and despite the fact that my team went down 6-0, and despite the fact that half a dozen dudes from The Boy Factory sat on the side line as a witness to my defeat (against the team in black and white, and against my body) setting my humliation up for further discussion over the course of the week, I had such a brilliant time.

I just hope I can get my body to work with me a little better next week. The South West Bubblefuck Womens Green Machine has started its epic journey and I hope it is long and fruitful and rich in great football.