I've Got Your Back

I'm playing soccer with an over-30 co-ed team. It's a lot of fun. Our players are, almost without exception -- more on that later -- really great, solid, decent people, that you'd be happy to have a beer with or play a game of soccer with or get lost in the Amazon with. They have good senses of humor, a true spirit of cameraderie exists, and they are all intelligent, kind, caring people.

Then there's someone we'll call Jill (because, what the hell; it's her name). Jill is a bitch on wheels, and I bet she thinks everyone should be like her. Honestly, I'd rather kill myself than be that kind of mean, but that's just me.

Let me share an illustrative story with you. About a year ago, my then-boyfriend came to his first game of mine. The games are all late Saturday night, and as it was a commitment I had made to the team pre-boyfriend, I felt I had to keep playing, especially if we were short on female subs on a given night. So at some point I mention to Jill that my boyfriend is there watching, and she looks up, scans the horizon, chooses literally the skankiest guy (sloppy, fat, old) across the field, points and says, "Is that him?"

At the time, I didn't know her well enough to know that she was a mean, coldhearted bitch. I thought she was just clueless. I said, uh, no, THAT guy, over there -- pointing to my very attractive, if not devastatingly handsome, boyfriend.

Later I realized she'd done it on purpose, to show how little she thought of me, I guess. Gee, thanks, teammate! I've got your back, too, you fucking bitch.