Ezekiel, you play right midfield--Judas, you're in goal

This evening I received a yellow card for an obscenity-laden tirade during an intramural soccer game versus the Baptist Student Union.

It began with a horrendous call (after the keeper slid in front of me and I cut inside towards the goal, he grabbed my legs and wouldn't let go, and, unable to move my legs, I eventually fell on top of him. Inexplicably the Baptists were awarded the free kick), at which point I announced my general disapproval to anyone within shouting distance. The goalie rolled around on the ground for a bit, and I once again articulated my disfavor. This elicited a response from the Baptist bench, who quickly bound together, man and woman united (behold the rib!), and began to assail me with such crushing verbal missiles as "why don't you just quit shouting and play the game!" and "yeah, you just hush!" Now I was just downright irritated and removed my gentlemanly verbal filter, letting loose the aforementioned profane retort. Judging by the looks on their faces I'd wager dollars to doughnuts that those poor bastards had never even heard half the words that shot out of my mouth, and I think they would have preferred to keep it that way.

Somewhere in between "[fornicate] off" and "[Jiminy freaking Christmas]" I casually mentioned to anyone who happened to be listening that I found the referee's opinion of what had just transpired inside the penalty box to be "pure [equine feces]," and I subsequently received my official reprimand.

Five years ago I may have done something stupid (on field or off) to my competitors in retaliation. Eight years ago I definitely would have. Thankfully though, the experience and wisdom of old age have taught me to behave otherwise (well, after I cuss and scream at least), and I actually made a point of making amends with the Baptists and the refs afterwards. It is, after all, as one staunch Baptist supporter proclaimed during my soliloquy, "just a game."

The call really was a load of horse shit though.