Craig and Carrie, Chapter 12 - Sex Stories

Craig and Carrie, Chapter 12

... corrugated aluminum. A few comments had gone back and forth from some of the more vocal dads. It happens when your girls are out there playing hard. Your teammates are all wonderful, and the opponents are all assholes. Both sides knew this to be true. It was tied 1-1. The Red Devils had given up an easy goal in the first couple minutes and finally managed to get an equalizer just before the half ended. Both teams recognized they were playing the best team they were likely to see this weekend. A sharp whistle from the referee and then Anna was being shown a yellow card. Cheers and clapping from the asshole parents . . . boos and ‘what, are you kidding?’ coming from the good side. Craig observed the behavior like a disinterested 3rd party. He’d been in competitive sports through high school and college . . . he knew how people got. Anna was frustrated because, as happened with some frequency, the other team had picked her as the target of their aggression. Players always figure out who the strongest players are on the field, it’s usually obvious in the first couple minutes. They’d been going after her all game . . . eventually, she just got frustrated and shoved a girl to the ground. The yellow card was not her first ever, but she had to be careful now . . . another one and she’d be out. The energy of the game was palpable. Carrie, however, was sitting on the bench in her warm-ups, cheering along with 4 of her teammates, and she’d been sitting there since playing a 15-minute ...

... stint in the first half. Craig was watching Anna. She was pissed. Pissed at the other team . . . pissed at herself. God, that girl is competitive. She chested a long ball and settled it to her feet. Looked up and danced left for some open space. She spotted Izzy hanging by the right touch line near the other team’s one weak defender. She stepped into it and launched the ball 30 yards in the air. Izzy was at a full run and was soon 5 yards ahead of that weak defender. She gathered up the ball and began to cut inside to look for a shot. Their middle defender, probably their stongest player, was half a second late in responding and all she saw was a skinny dark-haired bitch who might score . . . that ain’t gonna happen. She did a slide-tackle for the ball and caught Izzy square in the ankle. Izzy was screaming in pain and her mom was standing with her hand over her mouth. The good guys were all shouting. The shouting got louder when the girl who made the tackle was only shown a yellow card, not a red, as was deserved. The Red Devils were huddled together at midfield as the coach and the trainer came to assist Isabella off the field. She was still crying but the screaming had stopped. “Petrowski . . . go in for Izzy” her coach shouted to the bench as he helped his injured player. “Coach” Anna stepped out of the huddle toward him. “Carrie’s faster . . . we need a goal.” Coach Marx wasn’t used to players questioning his decisions, but he had a lot of respect for Anna, and she was ...