Just as the Celtics advance towards the finals (fingers crossed for a closeout tonight), we got an early taste of victory when my home team, Metapán, won the national championship last Sunday, claiming their fourth title in seven seasons. Kind of insane. Just ask Motorcycle Carlos, above.
I was lucky enough to be at Sunday's game, which was wild, by the way. About a thousand degrees and packed. As in past years, the mayor sent 30 free buses from Meta, trying to fill the stadium with some sort of a Meta fan base, knowing full well that we couldn't compete with the other team's ridiculous numbers. They're a departmental team from San Miguel, which means they totally outnumbered the fans from our tiny pueblito up in the mountains. See? Check out all that ugly orange.
But we showed them what's up and silenced them early with a nasty goal in the 24th minute. After a few close calls, we somehow managed to stay alive, even scoring two more times. And when time expired, we went nuts.
Final score: 3-1. My boys and I screamed until we lost our voices. We were such underdogs, we never thought we'd win again. Another little bonus was that I was there with a few of the new Meta volunteers who definitely got into the action.
Here's Greg, one of the new health volunteers. He's also a fellow Mass-hole and a pretty damn cool guy.
Now look at this photo from after the game...
Notice anything different about Greg? Yep, the shirt. After the game, some drunk guys started bugging us. But before I could tell them to piss off, one of them notices Greg's not wearing a jersey, whips out an extra, and demands that he put it on. Pretty amazing. You know that thing they say about not judging a book by it's cover? So true. Thanks drunk guys! Sorry I gave you a fake number!
Now if only the Celts can wake up, pull things together and do the same...
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