Northville v. Stevenson

Last night was the most important meet of the year, Northville v. Them. So why is there a picture of Chuck Norris, I mean he didn't fly in for this meet? Well my friends, if I had to metaphorically draw what our attitude and mentality looked like last night, it would be this stunner above. Two machine guns with rawhide straps; cut off sleeves; look of determination that's near constipation; a big, hot, nasty American flag; and of course the denim shirt unbuttoned to the belt for maximum sweaty sexy. In fact, the talk we got while stretching out before practice wednesday blew my mind. Rich was pacing in front of us explaining that underestimating that team down six mile was the worst mistake we could make, and that we'd have to swim the best meet of the season to beat them. Then out of the blue Rich said something to the extent of, "This is a twelve event meet, you do not let them back in at any point. When they pull themselves out of that pool, you put your cleats on and drive them through their skulls." Yikes. I almost started laughing, which totally would have ruined the depressing mood. I mean it just sounded so exorbitantly violent. I don't even kill spiders, how am I gonna shove a spike through a kid's head? Anyways, we didn't need to.

Although we lost the medley relay despite my :22.8 split (bitchin' fast), we were ahead the whole meet, although only by 2 at diving, which made it way too close for comfort. In the ultra competitive world of high school swimming, 2 points is practically nothing. The highlight of the meet was that of the 20 or so girls who timed for us, about 18 must have had "we love northville boys swimming" shirts. Score. They may as well have said, "I come to meets to check out the dudes", but that may have been too obvious. I even saw them being passed out at school today, which means we're spreadin' the love, groovy. Anyways, the only bad part of the girls timing is that you're walking around in you're speedo the whole time. Maybe you try to change the subject off your bulge, example: "Hey Megan, did you do the Spanish homework?". For me that generally doesn't work, so yesterday right before I hopped up to bend over on the starting block I said,
"Hey Lindsay?"
"Yeah, Clay?"
"Don't stare at my ass, okay?"
"Haha, okay..."
Then I went a :52.6, so regardless of how baggy my suit happens to be in the ass, I probably will kick your ass. Wow, that's really cocky, but hey, why not?

We went out to Red Robin and I had a great Red Robin Bacon Cheeseburger with amazing Freckled Lemonade, making sure to slurp the chunks of strawberry through the straw in a very suggestive manner. Anyways, on the way home it was raining like a bitch, and dark. Not great driving conditions. I had to drop off some underclassmen, so I told a.j. to put on some good music and tell me how to get to his house. He chose "Crazy Rap" by Afroman, a solid victory song. So as I was focusing on driving through a.j.'s hood, I unknowingly said the whole verse of the "Met this girl from Michigan, can't wait 'till I f*** that chick again". SHIT. The streak came to an end. 16 years, 10 months, and 11 days without saying the f-bomb-gone. SHIT. I don't know what I have to live for anymore. Ohh wait, another Stevenson ass kicking, never mind. Word.