Lucky break, Tigers—I talked to the ref and, for the next five minutes, we get a point every time we blow all the seeds off a dandelion in a single try. Go, Jenny, go!
James, I don’t care if your father played soccer at Duke. It’s my job to make sure you’re a huge disappointment to him. Now pretend you’re a magic airplane or else.
Nelson, watch out! The ball is now a horrible, child-eating monster and the only way to defeat it is by running away and crying.
Ralph! Hear me raise my voice slightly? Your parents need to come over and explain my shortcomings as a coach and a person.
Timmy! Nice aggression. I support your decision to give that kid a bloody nose, and you should resolve conflicts similarly at school and at home.
Nice half, guys! Remember, a true soccer player saves his energy for the sprint to the sideline—especially since I only have enough juice boxes for half of you.
Now, Christian, we’re all about to make assumptions about your future sexuality, so make sure to run that way we practiced.
Tigers! I’m sure you’d never notice on your own, so I’ll point out the apple-juice stain on Tim’s crotch that looks suspiciously like urine. Stop what you’re doing right now and laugh till he cries.
Nelson, don’t panic, but that monster’s back. Put your hands in your pants and pretend not to see it and you may survive.
Good game, guys. Remember: It doesn’t matter whether you win or lose. What matters is that you all played worse than the Joneses’ kid.