VMSL 2nd Division
Thoughts of the Great Yonder
Rare are the moments when we find ourselves fully disposed to thoughts of the Great Yonder. The eternal vastness of space and time that precedes and exceeds us all, simultaneously wrapped and woven from this yarn of cosmic continuum as we are. And all of us, through some unfathomable sequence of infinitesimal intricacy and absolute happenstance, born as naked apes on this most precious of blue-green spheroids, floating together through endless interstellar space. Adrift in consciousness by some impossible stroke of luck, the atoms arranged just so in our 3lbs of brain-meat to relay this jumbled grouping of wayward words.
Indeed, it is a continuous mindfuck of legendary proportions, if one is disposed to digging around in the dustbin of eternity. And amidst the stardust and the nebulous matter of meaning, one hopes that this correspondent might soon shut up and get on with it… for what is it that compels any of us reasonable individuals to gather at night in the depths of December, to wear nothing but a pair of baby blue leggings and nylon sport wear and then proceed to chase around a polka-dot ball for the better part of two hours? The vagaries of existence notwithstanding, it seems a rather fantastical endeavour.
Is it the camaraderie of guys on guys? The gratification of gamesmanship and goal getting? The ballsweat and bros? All this and more, surely, and it has to be said of this team: you guys are all pretty sexy Space Apes. And like all good cosmo-monkeys, attuned to the movement of spherical bodies through space and time. This Saturday last was a continuous demonstration of such familiarity – the anticipation and movement around said sphere, the formulations of specific velocity and deflection, the intimacy with the gravitational constant and its affect on trajectory and deceleration. Superb stuff really. And way over this correspondent’s head. Yet from the sidelines where he feels most comfortable, it seemed a remarkable clinic on Newtonian mechanics, and at times, with the pace and power on exhibit, to even exceed it – though that is a matter of Relativity.
Surely Ry-man’s deft two-touch banger into the bottom right not ten minutes into the game threatened to bend the very fabric of spacetime itself? What onlooker could deny the curvature of the strike, hit with such pace that it disappeared for a moment from our plane, only to reappear in the back of the net?! And who could contend with Hitman-McKnight’s defiance of anatomical constraints with his Go-Go-Gadget legs striking the same spheroid well above his 6’3″ frame, to put the aptly-named (at long last) Strikers up two goals to none a dozen or so minutes later? It hardly seemed fair to the opposing ruminants, grazing as they have been near the bottom of the field – a once proud animal, now in dire decline due to the illegal trade in their ivory proboscises. And cutting them down one after another was the concerted orchestration of their unrelenting Space Ape masters, dehorning their attacks with the hopes of aphrodisiacs, each hard member of the team working in tandem to form something of a mercenary gang-bang poaching party…
And just before the half, another sexy combination of plays from a fine string (at least in Theory) of players, set Conor-O’Gonna-Smashye-Malley piercing through the Event Horizon of the Rhino’s rear end in classic Space Ape fashion, whence he smashed the spheroid once more into another dimension. It was a dazzling spectacle of dominance, the whole half being commanded by 11 spacetime savants that have come to symbolize the Striker superposition. (Perhaps a match against Python’s starting 11 Philosophers is in order soon?) In any event and by any measure – Newtonian or otherwise – the match had all but been won against their once proud odd-toed ungulate opponents, left bleeding and hornless across the pitch at half time.
With only one choice moment worth mentioning in the second, I’ll be brief here as your correspondent is getting himself rather (quantum?) entangled in the plot… But it was in the waning quarter of the game, when a running flash of brilliance on the left flank put the one and only Baris-the Bullet-Akbulut free and clear in the 18. And with a cheeky sashay of the sphere to his instep, he smoothly slotted it near post through the tightest of holes (no, not that kind Dobes with the Rhino horns) – putting into question the very notion of particle theory. This 4th and last goal sealed a triumphant showing for that soon-to-be festive eve, the Westside Space Apes putting on a masterful display of sphere-controlling, gravity-defying, spacetime-warping prowess. If only your physics-challenged correspondent could have stayed on the sidelines to keep from sullying such sterling team form, he might just have been able to come up with some quip to round out this truly nonsensical Space Log.
12.20.18. Over and Out,
*Editor’s note – Rhinos are actually better knows as Rino’s – Named after an influential individual in the early days of the club (as pictured in the club’s badge).