Saturday, February 17, 2007

Blood in my Eye: The Vox Day Story

- By JamieR

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of Italian World Cup supremacy, it was the age of Neo-Cons, it was the epoch of Treos, it was the epoch of online female sports writers, it was the season of indoor soccer, it was the season of Serie A match postponements, it was the spring of goal scoring, it was the winter of eye patches. Vox Day had the game before him, Vox Day had the game behind him, he was going direct to hospital, he was going direct from the game…

As the sun set on another woggy day, blogger at large Vox Day pondered. He pondered his team, he pondered his abilities, he pondered the task before him, he pondered victory… For tonight, his indoor soccer team, the Italian Handbags, were playing the much feared German Reinforcements. The crowd was eager. The Italian team finalised their warm ups - one by one they hugged their mothers in the pre-match ritual, while the boxheads stared at their opposition and simply rolled their eyes. They were not to do it for all though…..they didn’t do that in Vox Day’s direction. Oh no. Vox Day was to be feared, Vox Day was being massaged by a one Spacebunny, while he finished up ebook number five for the day on the Treo.

"Ich möchte gern wissen, wer er ist."

The boxheads were curious. But they were not intimidated. Not by a long shot.

The referee had walked onto the field of play and the players were assuming their positions. Vox Day cooly strode out. He cooly strode back. He had forgot to do something. Looking at Spacebunny, he raised her hand with a smile…then kissed his Treo. "Wish me luck," he asked of the small little device.

The Germans lined up alongside their Italian counterparts, and the one wogalini soccer-playing Anglo. The whistle blew and like an efficient machine the Germans begun their assault, the Italians fought valiantly, throwing themselves down at every opportunity and drawing fouls. The skill level was intense, never before had so many woggos gone down like pansies!

Germans cooled the physical offensive and looked for gaps to get ball movement, but within the smaller confines of indoors it was rather hard, and the battle continued… The sweat was pouring, the goalkeepers were getting a workout as they saved shot after shot… This was a stalemate, no team had the advantage, it was not long before the half time whistle blew with the score tied at zero zero.

The teams went straight for the refreshments. Vox Day jogged to Spacebunny who had already served up his half-time cappuccino.

Appearing tired but resolved, Vox Day stared out onto the pitch, listening to the coach but also reliving past glories… If this game was going to be won he was going to have to want the ball, and to make something happen.

The players clapped as the coach finished his pep speech, Vox put down his cup and jogged back out, it was time…

The ball bounced furiously around as the teams looked for any advantage. The boxheads were getting frustrated, but then so was Vox… It was then that Vox saw his opening… The ball bounced off the wall and sat at his feet, he dodged one boxhead, he dodged a second boxhead, before he knew it, the goals were upon him….. It all happened so fast and from five feet out, Vox saw the goal opening and struck it…..

The goalie blocked, BAM!

Immediately it came back, BAM! Into his face, BAM! Into the back of the goal! BAM!!!

GOOOOOAALLL!! It was the advantage! Woggos danced around excitedly! But Vox lay rolling around on the ground, ensconced in pain, holding his eye. It was too much, he got up, after some time, but the sight in the eye was gone, the ambulance was being called, reality was spinning, Spacebunny was stressing, Vox was worried. The paramedics were there fast, Vox Day was whisked onto the stretcher!

"You're gonna be alright son, you're gonna be alright."

As he was furiously wheeled away he yelled out one last thing…

"Spacebunny! Spacebunny!!! Don’t forget the cappuccino machine!!
Cappucino machine……"



But then...

Hospital lights. Doctors. Nurses. Vox awoke and stared at the ceiling. He felt something gripping his hand, it was his Treo, held in there by Spacebunny.

"Am I gonna be okay?" Vox asked.

Spacebunny brushed his hair back, "Sure honey, they’ve got wi-fi access here."

And with that, Vox hit Blogger to let the masses know in limited form of the drama that unfolded that day in one of the great moments in armchair sports.

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