training day

God said, "Pop quiz."
And I said, "Okay."
"You don't have to do it, you know. The opponent will never know the difference."
I know, but I decided to accept the training anyway. I was compelled.

She just doesn't understand the game like you do.
Really, is that it? She just doesn't understand the game, because she hasn't seen it played except by one team? She's seen that team's techniques, as it dodges, and dodges, and dodges.
"Play offense!" I wanted to scream. But I didn't. Instead, I thanked her for showing me her techniques.
I tried to play fairly, tried to remember the rules, even when my opponent committed technical errors.
She called it sad.
And carnal.
I think she was referring to me.
She said she was just playing the game, but each move she made seemed to be directed right at me. I confronted them all, but I didn't kick them right back in her face. I couldn't do that to her, you know.
Even though she couldn't see past my facemask, I pray she still saw me.
And I pray she still saw Christ.

It wasn't until afterwards that I discovered my sweaty armpits.

Dear Lord, I think I passed.