Inside is a street soccer court with a blue synthetic pitch. The entrance of the pitch is a slide-through opening made of canvas that reeks of the countless players that ever came into contact with it. Every time I enter the pitch for a match, I would take great care and caution to either never inhale too deeply, breathe through my mouth instead of my nose or just hold my breath and pray I don't pass out while caught half in and half out of the pitch. That would just be dead embarrassing.
The boys didn't seem to mind one bit, though and I wasn't surprised. They were just all-out excited to be kicking a ball around the whole place, be it the pitch itself or on any given surface. I was put in a team where the coach was late and when he finally came, he wasn't of any help. Let's face it, Fergie he was not. And yet, there he was in a Manchester United T-shirt. T-shirt, not jersey. And again, let's face it, he was looking at other teams rather than focusing on his own.
I'd like to complain that it was unfair because the other coaches did a brilliant job and were so into their own team despite not knowing half the kids on their team but you know, they fought for their team on the touchline and they fought each other. Uncle Nazri was the referee and I would so like to think he was being kayu --which he was-- because everytime the coaches claimed foul on their players, he'd cite matter-of-factly that he didn't see or he was busy checking his stopwatch.
Dad was the only one who wasn't a coach. He was a goalie. The kids whined about the fact for a while about how it wasn't fair that the other team had a tall goalie.
My team lost every match. I think it's me. I really do. I told my players so and though they tried to reassure me that it wasn't because of that, I still wasn't convinced. I think I must have embarrassed them. They were cool about it, but I really felt bad for them. There were about four girls that were playing altogether and out of all of them, I was the only who didn't suffer from any type of injury whatsoever. Other than the slam of a goalkick on the back of my left shoulder, I was fine. Fartz, though received a boob injury and got stepped on by the birthday boy himself, the brat.
A girl cousin of Adam's however, wasn't so lucky. She was against Fartz's team and I think she just did a wrong turn and ended up with a sprain. Oh, how embarrassing!! And she was all made up for the party too, complete with blue eyeshadow. Mamat the Medic had to actually carry --yeah, carry-- her out of the pitch outside for a little medical analysis. I had never felt so snickerish in my entire life. Just minutes before, she was snottily enquiring God-knows-who if she was the only girl playing. Her mother went around asking for Panadol, which we kept spare and said that if Panadol didn't work by tonight she was going to send the chick to the hospital for a scan. Almost immediately, she turned pale and proclaimed that she was scared that something were to happen to her ankle.
Scared?? Are you kidding me?? Dude, if your ankle was really twisted, it would be sticking out at an odd angle right now and Mamat would've said something about it. Silly git.
We all agreed that for a party on a scale like that, it wasn't much of a big deal. Sure, Sis Leila knew how to throw it big with all the decor but the substance that holds a party together wasn't there. And let's not get started on the food. Mother made sausage rolls that sold like hotcakes and the hosts were smart enough to keep them slightly away from the kids. Their strategy was to put the tray of rolls on the backline of the buffet and keep it covered. So, while the kids gobbled up pieces of fried chicken wings, the sausage rolls were more reserved for the adults.
The thing about big parties with kids as the target audience is to have the right kinds of food that will make kids eat them. In other words, finger food galore. I mean, think about it. Finger food like mini club sandwiches, cocktail sausages and chicken nuggets are always an instant hit at parties. Why?? Because they're mouth-poppable and easy to eat in a jiffy. They're constantly on the run so they can just grab a nugget, run away with it and pop it into their mouths, easy.
The itenary for the day wasn't much of a hoo-haa either with only the team soccer matches as the hightlight. Fartz thinks she can one or two-up this party when she hosts her sweet sixteenth next year. Whatever.
Anywazoo, air stewardesses are total snobs. Like, they think they're so way up there just because they've travelled the world and seen everything so they think they're like mini celebrities in their own right. And I'm not talking about air stewardesses in general. I'm talking about specific ones. Sis Leila was an air stewardess once and I could just bet you that if we weren't living next door to her as neighbors, she'd be just like the rest of them. All snobs.
Welcome to The Cage of Smells.
Not nice!! I'm not joking, the cake was light which meant it wasn't moist and according to Fartz, the strip of printed icing tasted like feet. The royal icing however, was not too bad if eaten with slightly dry cake.
I'd still prefer a normal cake over these schmancy schmadoodles.
Bite your cheeks!!
On the opposite sides of the fence. And half an arm that you see belongs to Dad. He was goalie for Fartz's team. The old man's not too bad. For his age.
As you can tell, I'm not very good.
The birthday boy clad in his customary Liverpool jersey. The thing was, nobody told us it was a red-themed party where guests were required to wear red!! Pffft.
Curly Harith.
The Medic and his casualty.
Man down, man down!! Ohh, I meant GIRL down. That's Fartz lying in half agony.
Nibble your nose!!
The hosts.
Dad the Defender. I'm thinking he still practices regularly because of the monthly matches Shell has between departments. A few minutes after this, Mamat apparently trips over himself for no rhyme or reason. There was no one near him and he wasn't with the ball or anything. Sadly, it wasn't captured on Hot Rod.
Later, Dad the goalie making a save. He did a hattrick save at one point and we were all quite impressed. Oh, wells. The old man still has tricks up his sleeve.
Laterz...
Lenny
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