I got goals. They’re even new, like the year—2011. And I got them at one of those used sports equipment places. Mostly because I set the same goals in my yard every year. They don’t change much and they last forever, goals. I spend all year shooting into them. Missing mostly. Although once in a while it seems like I’m getting better.
By the end of most years, though, I gotta be honest—I’m ready to scrap the things. Wad them into a ball and take them to an incinerator. I’d love to stand there and laugh maniacally as my goals for the year burn to ash. But I never do. Don’t want to add to pollution, you know?
So I just sigh, put them in the closet for a month or two so I can decide if I want to go out and get new ones. Then, after the memory of the blasted things has had a chance to fade a bit, I go dig them out again. I mean it’s cheaper, right? And one of these years I’m going to knock the tar out of those goals. You know, hit the ball dead center and never look back.
This year I’m doing something a little different. I got me a street soccer ball. More able to handle the scrappiness of my road. Probably be able to aim better with it too. The right equipment. That’s what I need.
This year . . . It’s gonna be different.