The last thing my friend Mario said to me as we stepped onto the field for our adult league soccer game last Wednesday was, "We will be slaughtered" and I agreed with him-- the team we were playing was comprised of fit, fast twenty-five year old kids, while our team is comprised of slow old men . . . and, to stack the deck against us more, we were missing several of our youngest, strongest, and fastest players, and so we only had one substitute . . . AND it was 95 degrees and humid-- but the soccer gods smiled on us, and our strategy of packing it back on defense and playing for the counter-attack worked and we ended up upsetting the youngsters 4-3 and I would tell you who scored the game winning goal, but my friend Terry says my sentences have gotten too long, so I'll end this one here.