Chapter 18 - the Wake

   You can call love many things. I guess its like a boat. You're here, you'd like to be there. And there's this big body of water between that you can't cross to get there without the boat.

   Get on the wrong boat? You won't end up in the right place. You stand on the dock and you pick the right boat, though. You get transported to a wonderful place. Even the trip there is thrilling. Wind in your hair, warm sun on you. And the destination is just this magical place.

   When you lose love? There's no more boat. You just stand there on the dock. All alone. You can tell there once was a boat, though. Boats leave a wake behind them. You can tell which direction the boat was going, and you can tell where the boat came from.

   Normal "lost love" is I guess there's just no more boat ride. You said no, and don't get on that boat again. Or? The captain said you no longer have permission to board. You would have to stand on the dock now, and watch some other passenger enjoying the ride, and going to that magical place.

   Mine was worse. I was really enjoying my boat ride, and some assholes torpedoed my boat. I watched it sink, and I damn near drowned though I survived. I spent years on that dock, remembering the good old days. The ride, the destination. That magic. I swear, its like my boat's back. I mean, sure its got different numbers on the side, but. I know that boat. It came from a similar but slightly different direction than my last boat, but its going to the same magical destination and the ride is as wonderful as ever.

   My boat has a few more improvements than I remember from last time. I approve. When the same couple submarines surfaced once again, looking to torpedo my next boat I feel lucky as hell to have had found me? We dropped depth charges and blew their ass out of the water. Feels good, man. Good feels.

   The wake the boat leaves behind? I can still see that first boat's wake, even though its been years since the last doomed ride. My magical wake I can see forever? A smile. A shrug. What can you even do.

   I was surprised by my quick and steady improvement. It took me a couple days to begin to "trust" that the crushing pressure of emotions wouldn't return. But, apart from slight recurrences that were quite mild as compared to that first giant one? I leveled out in short order.

   I was tempted to get medication with a reputation for emotional suppression at first, but decided to wait and see. I spent a good number of years as an unemotional robotic being, so I chose to wait at least a little while to compare things as they were now with what had been the normal state for so long.

   I had some odd symptoms at first, but they were short lived. Nothing that was a sliver as bad as that first big crush though. I was prone to get a few tears unexpectedly, but it went away quick. There was a sort of trembling feeling that would come and go, but that subsided in short order as well.

   I found myself stroking and cuddling our two cats for long stretches of time. Marveling at the joy it brought me. The cats had sort of posted up on either side of me on the bed, confused and concerned when I was under the big emotional press. For years? My Bitty Kitty had been my main source of "almost feeling". Now though, wow. Bitty Kitty adopted me when I was still a monster, hiding in plain sight. He didn't judge me, he just took one look, one sniff. I was the one good person he could find in his little world.

   I looked at things and would sort of marvel at them. Beautiful clouds or sunsets, flowers, an interesting insect to watch going about its six legged duties. An inordinate number of mundane everyday things? Were a source of mild wonder for a time. I must have sat for over an hour, watching a caterpillar chewing rhythmically on a leaf.

   I started to get a tinnitus, a sort of high pitched humming in my ears, but it would slowly lower in volume and go away quickly. It occurred with less and less frequency, quite rapidly. Particularly when falling asleep, I had a slight tendency to get a weird feeling in my head. It felt like a very mild electrical shock in my brain, a sort of mild zap. It felt weird, and I sort of "fought" it. I quickly lost fear of it though, and finally decided to "let it go" and I sort of allowed it, or fell into it, the zap inside my head. It felt really weird, and I would generally just wake up the next morning. Allowing myself to "fall into" the electrical feeling? Obviously was some sort of shortcut to instant sleep.

   I won't lie to you, it was terrifying that first time. What was this, a seizure? I no longer had the benefit of lack of emotions to make me unafraid. Finally, I had to know. I gulped the lump in my throat, and I let it go, and I tumbled into the weird electrical feeling. It seemed to instantaneously no longer be in my head, it seemed to grow and encapsulate me. I felt like I was vibrating at high frequency, and somehow, some way? The frequency with which I vibrated was the same pitch as the tinnitus ringing had been. Then? I just woke up the next morning. Another eight hours straight through in the bag.

   Like the trembling or the tinnitus though, it quickly spaced appearances of itself out until it went way. I let this period pass without telling Mike about it, until it all quickly receded and seemed to go. I allowed this all to get filed under "I need a little break". After it was over, I finally broached the subject with Uncle Mikey.

   "Honey? This doesn't all sound like you're… losing it. Honestly? You're telling me you feel normal and better. I mean, for the first time in years."

   "Yeah, Mike."

   "All right. I didn't put you on leave or anything. I mean you're really not known for taking any vacations hardly, historically. You want to… invent a sick grandma, and go away to spend time saying goodbye to this grandma? You know, cover for a little vacation. Beach, something like that."

   I sighed, but it was a relaxation sigh, not a stress sigh.

   "I remember going on vacations when I was younger, with my family. Half of it is getting away from day to day work, and I think the other half is novelty and enjoying yourself. Like the beach."

   "You want some beach time, then."

   "Honestly, Mike? I know you and the wife do the beach thing. I guess you sit on the beach, watching the sun go down. Wow, is this pretty and better than the city, honey, or what."

   He agreed.

   "More or less, yeah."

   "Well. I might do something like that, later on. But right now I'm getting that wow sunset thing, just from… everything. Want me to try to explain it?"

   "Sure."

   "Imagine you lost your taste. I don't mean like when you have a bad cold. I mean… imagine it didn't matter if you chewed up and swallowed… cardboard? Or a steak. Food was honestly just… something you shoved into your mouth, and chewed and swallowed. I was like that for… just years. Now? All of a sudden. Its just back. I mean, how much would you enjoy that first steak, you could actually taste, you know?"

   He nodded along.

   "I could see that."

   "And that, is kinda what everything is like."

   Mike waited a little bit.

   "Do… you wonder why I provided you with the… release information as soon as I heard about it?"

   "Mm. I thought about it. I figured you were giving me… options."

   He waited again.

   "State prisons, have a system of jailhouse informants. Snitches. I mean, standard operating there, as you can imagine."

   "Sure. Makes sense."

   "There's a kind of a clearing house, for all the rumors the snitches overhear, or claim to overhear. Some guy's job to sort the snitch stuff out, and send messages around, if they think they get anything."

   "I can imagine that, the way you describe it."

   "Its the exact opposite of a reliable system. Jailhouse snitches? Will… make shit up, to get back at an inmate picking on them, for example. They're well known to just make up credible sounding shit, as best they can? Just to try to get their little favors for their work. I mean, if every rumor reported, gets a pack of cigarettes in a no smoking prison and a place to smoke and not get in trouble for it? Go figure they'll make something up if they haven't heard anything juicy lately."

   "I'm guessing where this is going."

   "Don't forget. Probably every state prison inmate? Talks shit. I mean, even in real life. You can't realistically prosecute every person that ever said… oh, I'm gonna kill whoever. Prison inmates? Do it even more. You take that all together? Christ. You never know what rumors that come out of this system and make it to you, are even remotely credible."

   Now I was the one who paused a little bit.

   "The… system reported my favorite parolee, was…"

   He said it softly.

   "Yeah. Maybe you can appreciate, how unreliable this whole snitch network system is."

   "I can."

   "Good. I figured, what the hell. Probably nothing, like ninety percent of all the snitch generated rumors. But… I always felt bad what Light went through, and what she had to deal with back then… and you take what happened to… him, on top of it all. God, I always hated how… so? If something happened to the bastard, I don't figure the world is out much. And? I don't like to take chances."

   "In hindsight? Good hunch there."

   "If you noticed? I put JG on it for you. Gently. I mean, its Junior. Mister surveillance. If that turd was up to anything, I figured he was the man for that job."

   "Mike?"

   "Yeah, Merry."

   "Remember when JG had a great idea, and cracked the case quick, on those two bitches that gave me this?"

   I pointed to my emergency tracheotomy scar.

   "I do."

   "Not only was his surveillance expertise like solid gold? I told you, it was his way of thinking that was the real tipping point that set up the whole thing. He's good. Real good."

   "I know. He's good in the field, isn't he."

   "Yeah. Real good."

   Mike paused again.

   "Sending JG. In addition to his usefulness, I… figured his presence might keep things from getting, not sure what word to use…"

   "Ugly?"

   "Mm. I was thinking, more like he prevented anything too rash, but. Any way you put it, I guess. I mean, do I care if he got run over by a car 48 hours after his release? Not really."

   "My first… inclination? Might have been, okay. Rash, we'll say. Panic? Advised caution."

   "How's Light doing, everything considered. I couldn't be sorrier, this all went on. That she had to go through this."

   "She seems like she's doing great, when you consider everything she's been through, then add this on top of it. She always did amaze me, that way."

   "That's good. I just hope she can enjoy a normal life now. Hell, thought she already was there, then this craziness cropped up."

   I shrugged.

   "You know, Mike. Its funny."

   "What."

   "Our big case? Its… smooth as silk, for the most part. Its… everything else that comes along, that's the craziness. You'd think a case like ours, would be the wild ride. Its really not. Its everything else."

   "Merry? I hope everything calms back down for you. And… when you decide you want a vacation? Just let me know."

   "You'll be the first to know, Mike."

   "Okay. Oh. Almost forgot. Here…"

   He handed me his phone. A cell phone picture. It appeared to be, what. A big book, with a flower on top. Sitting on a bunk. Lovely.

   "Nice."

   "Yeah. He'll come back from the cafeteria? You're seeing what he'll see. Little present for him. Guy I had put it there, sent me this picture. To you know. Prove he left it."

   "They don't mind?"

   "They encourage prisoners to read, from the prison library cart that goes by. No difference, that he'll just have a book in his cell. And a flower? Can't be used as a weapon. No way he doesn't get to see it."

   "Thanks, Mike. Means a lot."

   "Anything for my favorite niece. You know that."

   Seeing JG and Light together, when the 4 of us all meet up? Is pretty much greeting card material. With mainly JG, its her running gag to do some of her "spoiled cunt" routine. His running gag back, is to sort of order her to get him another soft drink, or he's going to smack her around. To watch them do this around her apartment, then to see them playing the old game console she got him? Is precious.

   They look like teenagers sitting there, fingers working the controllers. JG smokes her at the games, and she shoves him then uses it as a cheap shot to get away with something and they giggle. I'm pretty sure they're both enjoying each other's company more than the game itself.

   More greeting card material? It reminds me of two young kids, and the boy and girl both maintain they're not into each other… yet clearly look like they are. As long as I've known Little Lightning? Its generally not like her to be friends with the guy she likes, before any physical sparks.

   She's still with "us" for now, but honestly if that were to change eventually? I wouldn't be surprised. I tried bringing it up with her. I think me and Panic are a very safe option for her, somehow. I would be guessing, but I sense that she's afraid that if it didn't work out? She would feel funny trying to come back to us.

   Panic related to me, that one night at the range on the weekend? JG casually wanted to make sure it was okay if Light had him over for dinner when he stopped in to service her computer stuff at work. Because that was going on. He told me, that he explained that was entirely up to her, not him. He said when JG asked for… as he claimed Junior phrased it… clarification? Panic shrugged, and said whatever Light wants? Is what he wants.

   I asked how that went. Panic chuckled, and he basically wanted it clarified a little better. I asked him how he got his point across, and if he got it across gently. He nodded, he had. He said to make it perfectly clear, JG… if it makes Little Lightning happy? It makes me happy. Whatever that is.

   I see the fascination JG has for her. Playing video games, computer video editing business. No kids and no ex husband at her age is rare. I think he sees her as his potential unicorn. I also notice things maybe only a girl would notice. The nostalgic gaming console is at her apartment, I would almost consider it bait on her part.

   Its weird how life turns out. I can close my eyes and drift back to being a freshman at my university. My size and speed was what I figured got me looked at for my scholarship to get to play women's soccer at such a big top ten mid west university. Just getting the full ride felt like a dream. Getting playing time and finally starting early into my freshman season? Whatever the hell you even call that. The Germans, the Chinese? Some other culture… probably has a word that doesn't translate into English well, to convey the dream beyond the dream.

   Because that's how it felt. I had a lump in my throat when the coach wanted me to stay after practice for a quick word. Shit. Was starting as a freshman going to my head? I was even more worried when I asked what he needed, and he quietly said to just wait, we'll talk in his office. I mean, that was a double shit, right there.

   When the coach saw me fidgeting, he asked what was wrong. Me? I'm like a cat on a hot tin roof, glancing around his office. I started gushing, I couldn't figure what I had done, so… I figured I wasn't trying hard enough…

   The coach laughed. He said he didn't think of it like that, he was sorry for having scared me. He's having coffee, what did I want. Lemonade, iced tea, he had an old double door refrigerator in his office. He eased into a conversation about me and why he had picked me. There were a few girls bigger than me, but they weren't as fast or as useful and couldn't play temporarily in other positions like I could. But, talking with my coach and assistant coach at my high school? Put it over the top for him.

   Apparently, size, speed… determination, all the normal things you need from an athlete were there. But, the over the top thing for him? My high school coaches said I was the "adult" on the team. I didn't have any "tricks" to managing me. Good grades, never in any real trouble. I wasn't butt hurt playing fullback, everyone else wants to be a starting forward or center. My university coach? Joked with me, taking me by surprise.

   "I keep waiting for it. I'm like, what's the catch with you. You're like your high school coach said. Coach's wet dream."

   "Really?"

   "Yeah. You players, you think you have it bad? Christ, girl. You should try managing a bunch of athletes sometime. Its hard enough to get what you need on the field? I've learned how to get that part. No. My biggest headache is everything else. Best players not able to keep their grades up. Or partying or getting in trouble. You girls can get pregnant, its another nightmare for female team coaches like me. No… its everything else that's got me biting my nails."

   He was pitching me to take my eight hours a week school job? As his "house mouse", student athlete office helper. I was amazed when he signed the approval slip for the fifteen hours a week, instead of the normal eight. On top of the normal full scholarship "stipend", this was a nice little extra for me. By the end of my freshman season? He had developed a relationship with me that floored me. He asked me things, way more than he told me things.

   Things like that? You could never guess it coming beforehand in a million years. Life surprises you, and its not always bad. Though it sometimes can be, as later in life I would certainly come to know. Back then? I was called "Tina". My real name was just too Italian. Frusta Sferza Frustino.

   You meet every team in your division twice in the regular season. Every team has its own spin on things. Some coaches go for emphasis on skills. That gets you speed and ball handling, accurate shooters. Anyone that's ever played soccer at any level from pee wee to professional knows that many of the stars? Aren't the biggest players. At the other end of the spectrum? You can recruit for size and bad attitude. You condition and run them to death, and you can play a very physical game that can dominate in the second half. Most coaches try the balancing act. Like trying to stand up on top of the see saw on the playground. A little to the one side, a little to the other, or just right in the middle.

   Nothing seems right. You lean towards skill? You sometimes get out gritted and out intimidated. Next year you lean towards size and grit and attitude? You get out played. You try the perfect balance, right in the middle? Flip a coin. You could pull it off, or even end up getting outscored by skill teams and grit teams both.

   Late in the freshman season, the coach had already been using me in a way I wasn't used to in high school. I was always a solid fullback, and any position switching was just with the other fullback, or one of the halfbacks. You move players around to try to create or avoid mismatches. The American soccer game? Skill, physical, or you pick your balance point. He was the rare European style coach. My University had once had a very successful title winning girls soccer team. They had slowly despite all attempts otherwise over the years? Went into the slow spiral down. He was the attempt to get out of the death spiral of the toilet flush.

   A coach that had a style that was common across Europe? And rarer than hen's teeth in America. The school was trying anything, and he said it was a commitment. He told me, how coaches interview and get picked. All the other coaches? Promise immediate results, and give reasons. He said he told them straight out. I can't promise you that. I can promise you this, though. An immediate slight improvement. Followed? By continued improvement every year you let me implement this style of play.

   As a big fast fullback? He wanted me to suddenly switch with a wing, out of nowhere when he said it was time. It gave a short period of a what the hell moment for the other team. I could do things the wings and centers couldn't. Take it to the big fullbacks deep into the enemy's backfield, the red zone. I didn't have to react to the fast accurate wings jetting in on me up there like I did in my backfield. I could mow those girls down and steal their lunch money. Or our star center could take a breather, while I took over for her break.

   I was still Tina though, that's what everyone called me. There's that one team, though. They leaned heavily towards the size and grit end of the scale, and weren't shy about it. Their game? Was all intimidation. You get up a goal or two on them the first half, they're getting outplayed. But? They rattled their tails and doubled down on their game plan. Fights, brawls, cheap shots. These girls played rough. They whipped girls down by the hair because they didn't have the ball stealing ability, and were trained to know when the ref's attention was elsewhere. They were shameless about it.

   Yeah, they beat up on us the whole game and won it in the second half of our first match up my freshman season starting. The coach was ready for them the second time around. He sent me up for short bursts constantly right from the get go. I took breaks being fullback that game, and he switched me out on wing, center, wing. The big half backs and bigger fullbacks were used to knocking around the lighter wings and centers. They got a taste of their own medicine. When they tried to double down and play even harder and dirtier? He responded by suddenly switching our fairly big halfbacks with both wings in quick on field drilled switches.

   That was all the first half. The second half? He kept it up. He had drilled us on fast position shifts preparing to try this. Our wings got the protection and muscle they needed, and by the second half? They could run and gun as effectively as in a skill game.

   Finally, it happened. They were down by two, and their style of play demanded if they were losing anyways, make the team pay for the win. The blatant cheap shots, the goon fights. Big backup fullbacks that can take a yellow or red card and it doesn't hurt you like a star out for a game or three. He pulled me out and gave me a couple minutes of rest. When he motioned me up to him before sending me back in? It was time.

   "Tina? We're winning this. You see this number?"

   I looked down at what he had written on his clipboard paper.

   "Yeah."

   "She's hurt three of my girls. You're going in at center for the rest of the game. You're staying there. When she pulls her usual MO on you?"

   "Yeah…"

   "This is soccer, not a gang fight in Brooklyn. We got our win, we're up by two, minutes left. Go spread the word, and do it quick. The minute she tries it? I want you waiting on it."

   "Oh. You want me to take a yellow card. All right."

   "Yellow? I expect a red card. Let her go? Then tackle her from behind, and don't stop. I want her taken away in an ambulance. They want a brawl? I'll give it to them. Do not stop, do not hold back."

   "Okay. What am I spreading the word to the other girls for, though…"

   "They're waiting on it, too. The minute your fight breaks out? I want the whole field, and the whole bench out there. Make it like high school. Everyone crowd around the fight, and keep it from getting broken up. Lock arms, and keep the refs out."

   "Coach. You want a bench clearing brawl?"

   "No, Tina. I want… Armageddon. We're making a statement, damn it. Next year? We won't have to put up with half as much shit, from teams like this. Now go on. You got a minute or two. Send my captain up, I can trust her to keep her mouth shut. Drawing a line in the sand. Right here. Tonight. We no longer take no for an answer. Go."

    You can imagine what happened a few minutes later. The whole field was ready, and ran up and crowded around and cheered the fight on. Since it was on cue? Our brawl was surrounded by mostly my team before the other team could react. Our bench ran out almost immediately after. Which rather trapped the other team's goons that ran in to the fracas quickest, and those side fights weren't one on one because they were outnumbered.

   Bench clearing brawl didn't cover this one, it was complete pandemonium. Crowd fucking loves it though. The head referee and his assistant referees? When whistles do nothing, there's not a lot they can do. They can resort to physically separating the players, but… not this many at one time once something this big gets going. This isn't like adults separating grade-school kids on the playground.

   This was no longer a girls soccer game, this was now an all out war. The referees were outnumbered and now all but powerless. Like a forest fire, it had to burn itself out before it could even think about ending. The roar from the crowd? Was intoxicating. For several minutes, I guess I got a taste of what it was like to be a gladiator in ancient Rome way back when. That surprising and usually hidden component of the average person's lust for blood and spectacle.

   When the opposing team's coaches and assistant coaches ran out to try to answer the ref's plea for help getting this broken up? As soon as pissed off grown men started pulling my team mates by the hair and whipping them around, well… my coach and his assistant coaches ran out and ended up in it all too. Both coaches and all the assistant coaches ended up in their own little side brawl.

   Not only did the crowd love it? They all had their cell phones out, rolling movies to post on the internet. I got to later see a ref pushing a player down, and several team mates rush to her aid, shoving him down. That assistant ref actually punched a big girl, and he got tackled and kicked for it.

   The guys up in the booth that run that big screen and audio clips? They have several little things to run for fights. One is a "ding ding ding", obviously a boxing bell and a cartoon of boxers going at it. This is a home game for us, and our announcer and their announcer are trading jabs back and forth.

   I had followed instructions. That girl's signature move? Whip you down by the hair, and usually kick you quick. A team like this? They're trained to do this. If you practice doing it when everyone's attention, such as the referees, when their eyes are momentarily elsewhere? You get away with it more often than you get a penalty. The ref just sees you punching them in the mouth a few seconds later, and you get red carded for defending yourself. You're generally taught not to take the bait.

   Which can allow a blatantly rough team like this, to get it working to their advantage. They win the penalties game by drawing yellow and red cards, they get to beat up and intimidate the other team physically. They do it? Because it works or they wouldn't do it.

   I had several minutes to do my part. By getting up and tackling her from behind, I had surprise when she thought she had gotten away with it yet again. We're physically more or less the same. The big difference? I grew up literally with all farm boys playing sandlot ball with them. When I came home from the tackle football game with a swollen lip? My dad went to talk to the other dad. He came back home quickly, and told my mother the boy that gave me a fat lip? Had a black eye. My dad chuckled, and my mom was a pearl clutching pantie wetter.

   So despite things looking even? It was anything but. I put a real job on that girl, and she deserved it. I marked her face up like a drunk husband had beat the wife like another man at the bar. I got up and kicked her around when she was in a ball and could no longer defend herself. I'm getting the same red card anyways. Not like you get two red cards because you beat both eyes shut or anything.

   It took a long time to get the brawl broken up. Then? No one knew what the hell to do. All the coaches and assistant coaches, along with the head ref and all the assistant refs, had their own long session of "discussion" out on the field.

   Me and the girl that got into it? We're both red carded, that was a given. The hell could be done with everything else though. Normally, a ref can get into a yelling match with a coach, and will finally have had enough. He blows the whistle, and the coach is thrown off the field. He has many options, and none of them realistic or even good.

   He'd have to about send both coaches, and at that point all the assistant coaches out as well. Not realistic, and even if he did? Who the hell was going to try to control the players for the last couple minutes of the game. The coaches were legitimately screaming at the refs. Female athletes had been punched and thrown around. By referees as well as other players and coaches. I heard my coach screaming at the top of his lungs, that the referee needed thrown out of the game for fighting, and he intended to take this up with the NCAA council.

   Shown a quick couple of cell phone clips? The referees were now scared. Enough players were injured, that finishing the rest of the game was dicey. Not to mention, the hell was the rest of the game going to be like anyways. The couple of minutes got finished, with a constant stream of pushing and shoving matches. The refs resorted to stopping play, separating them and just restarting the game to get it the hell in the bag, and end this train wreck.

   The coach asked for uncharacteristic permission to enter the girls locker room, which means we stay dressed until he leaves. Hell, he had a torn shirt and a few beauty marks too. He sat and laughed with us all about it. He told us to get ready. We were going to get a long lecture from the athletic director, and he would be forced to join in and scream at us too. Don't take it personal girls, its just a show.

   Not many seconds of mentions in the national sports news come from girls collegiate sports even in the big ten. A big brawl like this, though. It was about guaranteed.

   The crowd loved it. It put a lot of asses in the seats, in case anything even remotely similar ever happened again. We got a new reputation as one of the "tough" teams in our division. And everyone knew why it was happening anyways. Our coach? Was pulling perfectly weird but also perfectly legal shit. Switching players fast and furiously around the field, disrupting any game plan any other coaches had.

   They responded by trying to up the heavy handed tactics. When the perennial "bad girl" team went overboard? Hey. Taste of your own medicine. When the NCAA sent a representative to have a meeting with our athletic director and the coaching squad? They were armed with example after example, of what that team routinely used as "game tactics". They routinely get away with nine out of ten blatant fouls, its why they do it.

   NCAA had its hands tied. Can't realistically throw two teams out of competition.

   The coach won in the end. National coverage and discussion, with our team logo flashing on the screen? Free advertisement. Our reputation? We weren't to be taken lightly. Our coach's style of play? Was working. Teams were resorting to these tactics because they didn't know how to stop his weird style.

   I got my first name change. I was no longer Tina, shortly after that. One of the announcers quipped wise, that the field looked like a hurricane hit it after the brawl was over. A short clip aired nationally, and they did it with great humor. They said they had footage of the game, then "accidentally" showed a couple seconds of hurricane Katrina devastation.

   So? I became the Hurricane after that. I was considered intimidating afterwards, because I had put the scary goon into the emergency room. The whole team now was considered somehow a "tough" team to play, practically overnight. And goon teams? Started minding their P's and Q's, or at least as much as they were going to.

   The interns that run that big screen and play those audio clips paired with them? Quickly got a little cartoon "Hurricane" graphic with an ominous thunder roll to go with it. The cartoon hurricane spun around and scattered players to the thunder rolling. Anytime I mowed some girl down, anytime I got into a pushing and shoving match or another fight? It got thrown up and the crowd cheered.

   I didn't even know at this stage of my young life? The universe had already started turning me into what it wanted me to be. Skill and fair play only get you so far. When faced with people that straight out laugh at the rules? Well, you better have a game plan for that, too. Or you're finished. Scary things and scary individuals? Often times aren't half as scary, once you don't fall for the reputation and take it right to them.

   If things can't be solved? They can, someone just has to move things around to get the right mismatch going. If the bad guys want to get down in the mud and brawl? The good guys better be ready to jump in the mud and get into it and sling it back.

   Its ironic to the point of hysterically funny. At the start of every game, the same ritual goes on. The ref has both coaches and each coach takes his captain out. You get the little ref speech.

   "All right. I expect a good, clean game. I won't tolerate anything else…"

   Then the rest of the canned bullshit speech comes. Because that's all it is, pure bullshit. And everyone knows it. The truth is? If the ref doesn't see it, its legal. We all know what a team that plays a "tough, in your face, physical game" means. We all play let's pretend, that it means that other team has "heart" and "wants it more". I could abide by it, except we all repeat these rehearsed mantras as if its the truth. It isn't.

   Its nothing more than a team seeing what they can get away with, and going about doing it. They know they don't have the skill to play by the rules, and they resort to cheating. If you call them on it, and try to shame them for it? Here's what you get, every time.

   "Hey. This ain't pee wee league anymore. Its about who wins and who loses at this stage of the game. Thought you got the memo."

   "Hey, you gotta do, what you gotta do."

   In the end? You have no choice. The rest of life? No different. You can take all your laws and regulations, and wipe your ass with it all. Because the simple facts are? Criminals are the real life version of teams like that one I just got done relating to you. They understand the rules of the jungle. Cheating and breaking the law? Works. And while everyone just about understands you need some blend of skill and yes, some cunning and grit to go along with it?

   There will always be people and teams, that take it to the extreme. The worst of them? You get monsters out there. Bad monsters.

   And if you don't have an answer for being faced with that situation? You will lose that match up, hands down. Just about every time.

   Watch just about any old black and white monster movie. They can't be stopped, through the whole movie. They kill and devour all they touch, and they terrorize the rest. Everyone cowers in fear, and hides inside.

   The only things monsters understand? Is the end of the movie. The villagers all get together with torches and pitchforks, and go out and hunt the monster down, and do whatever it takes to put a stop to it all. Why? Simple. Monsters understand nothing else. Monsters understand silver bullets, wooden stakes, and a band of villagers who have had enough and come right at them.

   Go on. Say it. Oh, you? Why, you're no better than the criminals. You're breaking the law, too.

   Yeah. Go. Hide under your covers. Bolt your doors and latch your windows. Lock yourself in every night, and hide under your bed and pray the monsters don't come for you one night. Do you enjoy running from your workplace exit, to your car through that dark parking lot because there might be something lurking? No. You demand someone do something. So, when someone finally does the only thing that can be done? Just shut up and let them go. Yeah. Either smile and say good for them. Or? Just turn your back and look away. But for the love of god, don't you dare complain about how what had to be done, gets done. You can't have it both ways.

   "Well, see. You have to set the example. How are criminals supposed to learn respect for law and order, if the very people who are supposed to be providing that law and order, are breaking the law, too? You're making the problem worse."

   And okay, I see where you're coming from with that. I admit, it looks good on paper. And you can even go about it that way. The parents can, when they're in diapers. Grade-school teachers in kindergarten or a little more, but… that's the end of any effectiveness.

   I'll break this down into bite sized chunks such a person can understand. The majority of the villagers? Have been trying this, for a very long time. It simply doesn't work. You will never get hardened criminals to "respect" laws and regulations. Respect, comes from fear. Respect, comes from learning that good things will not come from doing things like this. I hate to break it to you? Crime, does pay. Often? Quite well, as a matter of fact.

   The whole concept of going to prison to pay for your crimes? Ask anyone for the FBI compiled crime statistics. You're winning about one in ten times. In other words? Ninety percent of crimes never get solved. Let that sink in. Every time a serious crime is committed, and the law enforcement agencies fan out and try to put a stop to it? Is a game. You are losing the game, 9-1, each and every time. Does that sound like… winning to you? Who would bet on that team. Wake up already.

   In baseball stat terms, I'll do those same statistics as batting averages. The criminal is batting .900, and the law enforcement is batting .100… and you think you're going to win that way? Good grief.

   Here's another zinger these word-smiths love to use.

   "See, you say you're fighting fire with fire. You don't fight fire with fire, you fight fire with water. Go watch firemen with the hoses. You fight fire with fire? You just get a bigger fire. Its so simple."

   Oh. It just sounds so profound. They're so smug, with their zinger.

   Actually? They're dead wrong. Oh, sure. You can fight a small fire with water, that works. But a forest fire? Go watch those firemen. You dump water on the big raging forest fire? Its an instant puff of steam, does nothing. They do fight fire with fire. You set the woods around the giant conflagration on fire? Then the fire reaches where you burned it out already ahead of time, and it dies. And really, the monsters I'm talking about? Are the forest fires of crime. Once again? These zingers only "work" on toddlers stealing candy bars, and even then not all the time.

   These people learned when young, that you only have to obey the rules? When a superior force is standing right there, watching. If the teacher isn't there? You can pretty much do anything you want and likely get away with it.

   This is where the real life monsters come from. And if you don't understand this and insist on clinging to your platitudes and slogans and pamphlets and bumper stickers that sound wonderful, and impact the real monsters in no way whatsoever? I know what the problem is.

   You haven't spent any time in the trenches. You? Have never seen up close what real life monsters are capable of. Because I can tell you, first hand. I have.

   You've obviously never puked your guts out, hearing a bad rape survivor telling her true story. About growing up in a criminalized small town, with a completely corrupt police force. All ran by a criminal and his son. You look into those eyes, as you hold and try to comfort a girl that was sold out by her madam mother at 14. To be drugged and gang raped by half the town perhaps a dozen or more times. Because prostitution and drugs and gambling were perfectly legal in that little town. Why? Because the criminals said so. And they enforced it. And the villagers didn't come with torches and pitchforks soon enough, to put a stop to it all when they still could.

   You've obviously never seen your fiancee get gut shot like a deer right in front of you, and had his blood and scraps of organs get blown into your mouth and eyes. Why? For being a member of the team that finally came in to put a stop to the insanity.

   You've obviously never had hardened felons hiding and tracking your loved ones. Lurking the alleys and the shadows. Waiting. Watching. Not just to kill them? But to slowly cut them into pieces, and go over them with a blowtorch while they taught them the rules of the jungle.

   You've obviously damn well never been in a third world country, where large bands of monsters were committing the most gut churning atrocities upon terrified and helpless villagers. The things these monsters were doing to the villagers? Were unspeakably evil.

   Okay, I didn't see that last one with my own eyes? But, my boss and my fiancee and his buddies… did. It happened. And you? Just because it wasn't splashed on your news channel, you get to pretend it didn't.

   I know what's out there. Monsters. They're very real and they understand nothing, except good monsters coming for them. The monsters? Are not penned up in third world shit-holes exclusively. Though admittedly, there are more and worse of them there. No. Small towns are better than inner cities? Try telling that to the girl that survived over a dozen gang rapes, in her criminalized idyllic small town. I know one woman, who actually grew up in the better part of the nice end of the city. A monster struck her down in her prime, around 14 or so. Beat her and left her for all but dead in an alley.

   I tried your system. Locking the felons up in the state prison. What lesson was learned? Obviously none, or the exact opposite of whatever lesson you and your ineffective system intended. Because there were shadows lurking in the alley, waiting to pounce and devour. The shadow was at the front door, and thank god someone was there that understood how to deal with it.

   And if you still spout your bullshit complaining? Well, I just don't know what to tell you. You're just playing a word game. So go on then, launch your words. Its all you're good for at that point. The criminals don't fear your words. The hell should I fear them for.

   What. Call me a vigilante. I'm so hurt. Go on, call me a criminal myself. Like I care.

   I was worried when my feelings came back. Would they prevent me from continuing to give, what the universe wanted from me. No. It hurts me to pick up the paper, tune into the news. Read and see and hear what some monster did to some helpless and innocent villager. It strengthens my resolve, that I'm not at all ashamed of playing on my team, and playing to win.

   There are no rules.

   There's only karma.