Soccer John

Or as he calls it....maybe, Football John.

At any rate, scale or thermometer I had another opportunity to be "the supportive wife", which I love doing. John calls it patience (i.e. watching too many men running around in short shorts kicking things from 4:30-8:30), but I call it involvement. You can't buy that.

In between dreams....che...hem...games.

I brought some magazines I have been meaning to look through and some change for the bratwurst stand. As soon as I got the glorified hot dog, I promptly put fry sauce on it. Yuck! The mustard kind of covered things up, though, I did get some pretty weird looks.

His team was made up of "middle aged" (according to John) SAP guys with beer bellies. They only practiced one time, but managed to win two games out of four.



I think I adequately embarrassed him with my "Honey, can I bring you some water?", or "Do you want something to eat?" or the best, flashing the camera so many times the paparazzi would be ashamed.

All ended well. It was threatening to rain on the soccer tournament, but it didn't. Though John pulled his hamstring, I know he had a good time, and he was just so darn cute!