Just like Mighty Ducks. Without the winning.

As Claire has noted in her weekend roundup, our little season forecast came true. Castle Greyskull FC faced the dreaded PPSH (or, as Owen likes to call them: Pipishes) in the final.

But soft! Sheena, do you mean to say that Greyskull defeated Footlocker, one of the top teams in the league in a semi-final match? Why yes, yes I do. You may remember that they forfeited to us a few weeks ago, rather than brave a couple inches of snow. So, we'd never actually played them, so we were pretty keyed up. I'm pleased to report that the Greyskull schooled Footlocker and won, 5-3. We marked them tightly and prevented many turns. It was a thrilling and nerve-wracking match, overall. Mike continues to have a preternatural ability to find the spaces (or to predict where spaces will appear) and get great shots off, or pass the ball for some truly brilliant assists. Will scored two beautiful goals.

After about 5 minutes' rest, we regrouped and played the Greyskull nemesis, Pipishes, a.k.a the yellow team for the championship. We held the lead at 1-0 for the whole first half. It was a hard, frantic fight. Then, Owen badly rolled his ankle and had to be attended by some paramedics. He was down and out. We were shaken, and we let our lead slip. But, they didn't trounce us (the final score was 3-1), tried as they did to run circles around us as they did in our first game. It was hard to kiss the made-for-Hollywood plotline goodbye along with the championship and nice shiny trophies.

Didn't feel like a loss, though. We had loads of fun this season. There were thrills, spills, trips to the ER (that wasn't so much fun, but Nora's on the mend, last we heard), hearty tackles of opposing players, season-long unwashed jerseys, and many laughs had by all. We got some pretty sweet bruises, cuts, what-have-yous.

Owen reported yesterday that the ankle is feeling pretty ok. He said he's stored painkillers up for just such an occasion, and it seems like he's going to give the ankle a good rest this week. All of us are pulling for his speedy recovery and return to the pitch with the spring incarnation of Greyskull.

My personal best whalloping came yesterday, when Young Maradona (you may remember his work) took a shot from about a foot away (from me, not the goal), and totally clobbered my thigh. Blogger's misbehaving, and I can't seem to add the close-up of the soccer-ball imprint on my leg, but you can sort of see it here:

It occurs to me that, after posting photos of my hand a few weeks ago, I'm well on my way to establishing a little niche bruise fetish blog. Not my intent. Though, I suppose I would consider having my various and sundry bruises photographed for a price.

Nor am I whining (my parents are fond of checking the blog and later telling me to "suck it up" or "walk it off"). Nay. I am presenting my war wounds. If I can't score a bunch of goals in the game, I might as well show off how I may have prevented some.

Anyway, it was a great season, and I'm excited to keep playing with these kids (in addition to the pack o' newcomers).