When I was a young lad playing high school sports (soccer) we had a team that we played once a year and they were legendary: one of the longest winning streaks in scholastic sports history. Seasons of lossless championships. They were the big dogs. I now realize how this situation, and the current Democratic primary, are absolutely similar in so many meaningful ways. More on the flip.
I was but a sophomore (wise fool and all) we played this team as a hurricane (or as we in the down east say: "harrykin") was ever slowly approaching, whipping up a tempest of wind and spitting hard, but infrequent bulletss of rain.
No lighting, so no worries. We played as hard as my team ever played in order to come to but a 1-1 draw at the end of regulation. Being a conference game, the plan was for one full half of overtime, then shootout. We didn't want the shootout. Our goalie was all thumbs and their goalie was made of steel.
I played defense. My sole assignment that day was to keep their star and somewhat record setting offensive weapon from doing us too much damage.
I contained her well. She scored no goals that day, and she also made no points. And yes, she was a she, and we were all young men. She was incredible. Not blazing fast, but enough speed and a strong foot and able to whistle 25 yard shots passed the best goalkeepers, and especially our keeper with brick feet. I have it on high authority that after high school she went on to a splendid collegiate career and now coach's young women in soccer at a powerhouse national university.
I was teased, harrassed, and told "don't be too hard on that young gal" but I didn't see the humor in such jokes. This chick could burn me faster than some of the best foreign players I had ever encountered (and I later learned her father was an Irish national team member in his day and taught her every dirty, and good, trick he knew). She blew me away with what she was able to do with the ball. Stop on a dime, turn, and only needed a split second to squeeze off a powerful and accurate shot. One such time she had me back-peddling full out to the penalty line, just before she entered the box, she turned 90 degrees to her left, cut the ball back away from me, and squeezed off a mean bender towards the goal...
I knew all was lost at that point. Just two minutes left in overtime and my goal keeper had not a pray to stop that shot. I tripped, stumbled, and fell on my ass watching the deadly shot pass right over my head.
CLUNK. It hit the side post and bounded out of play. I breathed a sigh of relief. Dusted the now muddy grass off my ass. Caught my breath, and put the ball back in play. Our team played welll for the remaining minutes, and came close on many more occassions to seal the deal.
THen with what we call "penalty time" left on the clock, she got a good clear from the back at midfield. My last defensive-men was either playing with himself or playing with some other team and was nowhere to be found. She got the ball with NO ONE in between her and the goal.
But I knew her weakness. Not nearly as fast as me, if I could catch up and tackle her prior to her reaching the penalty box, I could save the game and move this thing to the shootout stage where at least we had one last opportunity.
I hustled. I ran as fast as I could, she was moving too, faster than before, her eyes lit up with the prospects of nothing between her and the goal.
At the speed I was traveling, there was nothing left to do but to go full on into her from the back in a slide. It would be brutal, I know, and might very well injure the both of us, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I dug deep, rared back, and let her have it when I was a yard or two within her and she was a yard or two within the penalty box. I could not have touched the ball. My slide up-ended her and caused me a great contusion on my knee for which I would later be treated and end up on crutches. It was a grueling, butcher of a play on my part. The crowd moaned. The wind died down as if to join in the horror and disgust at my clearly intentional foul.
She landed on her face after twisting over twice. Covered in mud, you could see her nose start to bleed as she stood up. The referee blew his whistle louder than ever, and out came his red card to match her red face.
The crowd jeered. My coach shook his head at me. My goalie stared as if to say: "now all the pressure is on me, gee thanks."
I was ejected. Their team pulled their goalie for one last free kick, just outside the penalty box, as there could only be seconds left. The pulled a great play on that kick, and got a good clear shot out of it. The shot hit my goalie as he dived towards the corner. Rebounding off his knee it flew a good thirty yards from our goal. Our offensive star found the ball on his foot and no one, not even a goalie from the other side, between him and a win.
He took the ball, dribbled up into their penalty box, and kicked it in. As it hit the net, the ref blew the whistle... time had expired, game us.
I caught some flack from the other squad after the game, and my coach told me I better never do that again. My mentor, also an Irish national team member a few years younger than her dad, told me after the game that thats what meant by "professional foul." I had brought on some scorn, but put my team in a position where they could still win the game.
It's time for Barack Obama to end this thing. Finish it off, and commit whatever personal foul might be necessary... my personal opinion is something like this would do the trick:
You know Senator Clinton is taking some flack for her answers to some questions about being in Bosnia and whether or not she was really "under fire" by enemy troops. Was it a situation a danger? Is it life threatening? Those were the questions... And I guess, I mean I just suppose, that Sen. Clinton probably gave her answer thinking: it depends on what your definition of is is. But that's the politics of the past. We don't have to go back to all that. We can have an election on the issues, as long as we have hope in the future, and the ability to believe in ourselves.
That would end it. It would be ugly for a few weeks. But it would be over. He might get a red card, but his team would win the game.