One day you're playing with your friends as you have done so many times to spin, with marbles or football in an era with two stones as goal and the next day all that is boring (everything but football, of course) and the only thing that matters are the girls. I do not know what genetic or hormonal mechanism starts suddenly that even the affirmation of dependent children to go with girls or not. And I speak in plural because our insecurity as individuals was that we had to take refuge in the collective. There were those who were and talk about us, our group at the DRYLAND, some of whom remain friends since then.
began to get together with the crew of the niece. But that was a mirage. It was late summer and they were all that were (which were were friendly and were very well), nor were those who were (that were not were so well). So when were those that were, as we behave in a somewhat unpleasant. We were about to discover the inner beauty but only to point. We still had a little bit. Furthermore, to us who we really liked were the Kernels. There were also Curras, but they were very bland. They sat with us (the setting for most of this post were the banks of the park and ride) and is silent. They only knew that "Tell us something. And we felt something like comedians performing. The Kernels no. The Kernels were self-sufficient. The Kernels passed us. So we liked. When stayed with them never came. If we were finished with them producing the phenomenon of mitosis. We were in a circle, we interspersed between them. When we wanted to account began to move in a way we had just us alone in our position in the circle next to them talking among themselves. But we liked. Two minutes with them were worth more than two evenings with Curras. And we did talk for two days. Because we all have liked. And if we will like each other to some camouflaged as well. Evil is that age. We
indoor football team that summer to play youth league or cadets. League of small, go. We called the Phoenix. We had no name, so when we went to register the computer, open a newspaper for a random page, and without looking, someone with closed eyes put his finger on an ad for "The Union and the Phoenix." Luckily we did not open the newspaper in the contact section. That league was, as Bill Shankly would have said, no matter of life or death but something much more important (that's something that happened in all the years I played indoor football, and there were many). We had our first regular season and an outstanding second half. In the last game we played to be seconds (the first guys were a team of eighteen years. We had a few less) and that we had several sleepless nights and stress. We told the Kernels a million times the enormous significance of that game and how important it would be for us to come and see us (and thus, by the way, someone came and our parents as they approached. With how hot it was). The game began. There was nobody there. The match was very close. Midway through the first time we saw them appear. They sat on one side and began to chatter eating pipes. Not watching the game. No matter. Our motivation is multiplied by one billion. I laugh at the videos and ditties of Guardiola. The game remained unchanged. We were tied. He was about to end. I won a ball in midfield, made the wall and I was alone in front of the goalkeeper. Do not rush. As he began to set I threw out the suit. Gol. Golazo. At that time goals were celebrated in a racial and virile and yet no one is kissing the ring, and pointed to the public or hearts made with hands, or kissing the tattoo or any of those fags. Jumping, running, shouting, hugging and montonera. When we got up I turned towards them. They were not. They were gone. Just set the goal of my life and the very foxes were gone. He finished the game. We won. We were seconds. We went to look for to tell. What we learned pride the same day that inner beauty. We still had a little bit.
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