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Message-ID: <38803asstr$1034773803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} NEW Playing the Game II: Playing to Win Ch. 5 (mf rom)
Date: Wed, 16 Oct 2002 09:10:03 -0400
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As promised, new chapters in the continuing saga.

Enjoy.







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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This story is
the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or downloaded
for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for anyone to
download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as long as there
is no intent to charge money or barter for the privilege of acquiring
this material.

(Copyright 2002, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@hotmail.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.
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PLAYING TO WIN:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK II


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 5 -


TOURNAMENT WEEKEND



I kept up my schedule through the end of the school year.  Since I
didn't have a girlfriend to spend any time with, I kept on running,
with and without a soccer ball.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I worked
with Davey, Kip, and Justin before the Warriors practices.  I wasn't
sure how productive these sessions were, but we had fun goofing
around in the park, at least.  And, at that age, any time spent
working the ball was time well spent for a kid who wanted to be a
better player.

The recreational leagues played through the first weekend of June.
The following weekend, there was a huge tournament in a nearby
community, and Bill had sent in our entry.  The tournament was for
recreational teams only, all age groups, and all the teams played
three 40-minute games on Saturday.  The top four teams would be
invited back for playoffs on Sunday.  The organizers used a version
of tournament scoring, which meant that teams were awarded 3 points
for a win, 0 points for a loss, and 1 point for a tie.  In addition,
teams were awarded 1 point for each goal scored, up to a maximum of 3
points.  If a team shut out their opponent, they accrued 2 additional
points.  Finally, the referee working any game, at their option,
could award 1 more point to any team that displayed, in their
opinion, outstanding sportsmanship and fair play, so the maximum
number of points a team could win in a game was 9, by winning a game
by a score of at least 3-0 (3 points awarded for the win, 3 for
goals, 2 for a shutout, and 1 for sportsmanship).  The top four teams
in each division with the most points after the three Saturday games
would play two more games on Sunday.  The winners of the semi-finals
would advance to the championship game, the losers would play a
consolation game.

The community's soccer organization set up 15 soccer fields around
town, ranging from small fields, not much bigger than the width of a
regular field, for the little kids, all the way up to full-sized
fields at the schools, for the older kids.  The organizers also
required each team entering the tournament to supply one referee, to
be assigned games not involving their own teams.  I agreed to be our
team's designated referee, so I would be there all day Saturday,
running from game to game to game.

Wendy Marcus, Justin's mom, arranged for a team party at their house
for Sunday afternoon, win or lose.  They had a swimming pool in their
back yard, complete with a slide and a diving board, and the boys
were just as excited about the party as they were about the
tournament.

There were 14 teams in our division, but only three of them were
teams in our rec league, so we weren't familiar with any of our
scheduled opponents.  The Eagles, our only loss of the season, were
also entered in the tournament, but if we played them, it would only
be because we had both made the playoffs.  We had a lot of work to do
before we could even begin to think about it.

Our first game was at 9:00 on Saturday morning.  Our team was
assembled and anxious to play by 8:40, and we watched the last few
minutes of the game ahead of ours.  It was an Under-12 girl's game,
and the hometown team was winning by a score of 3-1 when the final
whistle blew.  We organized our Warrior Warm-up Shuffle, while at the
same time, our opponents were running laps around the field, without
balls, as their warm-up.

We started Devon in goal.  Ever since our loss to the Eagles, he had
taken on more of a leadership role for our defense while he was on
the field, to the point where he really didn't want to play a forward
position at all.  Bill and I agreed that he was effective and
comfortable staying on defense for the entire game, so there was no
point in forcing him to play up.  Besides, even when he wasn't in
goal, he helped the other defensive players maneuver on the field,
proving his proficiency.

And he was very effective during that first game.  He moved his
defenders around so efficiently, that he only had to make one, easy
stop the entire half he played in goal.  His midfielders, sweeper,
and fullbacks stopped every other threat on our side of the field.
We ended up winning easily, 4-0.  Eight points for the Warriors went
on the giant scorecard at the central scorer's table.

Right after our game ended, I had to jog over to another field to
referee my first game of the day, an Under-6 boy's game on a half-
sized field.  Each team had about 25 players, so there were a lot of
substitutions being made, by both sides, on every available throw-in.
It almost seemed like there was more standing-around time, waiting
for players to either get on the field or get off after being subbed,
than there was actual playing time, but eventually the game
progressed as much as it could, considering that it was Munchkin
Swarmball at its ugliest.

The Warriors had another game at noon, and I got there just in time.
Bill had already set the lineup, and the boys knew the routine by
now, so I got to sit back and relax during the second game, chatting
with Lori and Wendy and some of the other parents as our boys romped
to a second shutout, 6-0.  Even though this was a tournament, Bill
still pulled one of our players after our fourth goal, in the
interest of fairness.  He promised the boys that he would play them
at full strength again if the other team scored on us while we were
down one player, but that was never necessary.  Because of this
sportsmanlike gesture, our team was awarded an extra point for fair
play.  We now had tallied 17 points, and were looking good for
returning on Sunday.  A tie or a win would land us in the playoffs.

Our last game was at 4:00 in the afternoon.  We took all the boys
out for a good, relaxing lunch at a nearby pizza parlor, and let them
run riot in the little game arcade that was there.  By the time we
got back to the field, around 3:30, they were starting to tire a
little.  They were easily distracted, more into goofing off than
getting ready to play soccer.  They really didn't want to go through
the Warrior Warm-up Shuffle, so we were a little disorganized when
the referee came over to inspect our shoes and shin guards.

We sent our starting lineup onto the field, and within a few minutes
after the opening whistle blew, the carbs and sugar from lunch
finally kicked in, and the boys began to run and play their game
again.  Bill and I discovered, however, that their stamina was short
by this third game, so we found ourselves keeping a close eye on
everybody, substituting much more often than we normally did, and
making sure the smaller kids got a little more rest before shuffling
them back into the game.  We won the game, but it wasn't pretty.  The
final score was 3-1.

Everybody went home exhausted.  Bill promised to call everyone when
he found out what time we would be playing the next day.  I hoped it
wasn't going to be an early game.  I was supposed to referee the
first playoff game for the Under-6 boys on Sunday, at 10:00, and I
really wanted to sleep in a little.

By the time I got home and out of the shower, there was a message
for me from Coach Bill.  Our semi-final game was at 11:00, against
the Eagles.  The championship game and the consolation game would be
played at 2:00, giving all the teams a chance to grab some lunch
before playing.  I silently gave thanks to whichever soccer god was
watching over me this particular weekend, and was asleep almost
before my head hit the pillow.





The next morning, Lori and Davey and Kip picked me up in plenty of
time for my 10:00 game.  It was going to be sunny and fairly hot.  I
had a small cooler full of ice and water for myself, and I was glad
to see that Lori had packed a large, wheeled cooler full of drinks
for the team.  The Warriors were assembled and ready to play a couple
of fields over from me, and as my game was finishing up, I could see
Coach Bill working the Warm-up Shuffle with the crossing passes.  He
wanted them ready against the team that handed us our only loss of
the season.

By the time I got over there, the boys were warmed up and
enthusiastic about playing.  Bill put together what he considered to
be his strongest starting lineup, with Devon in goal, Davey in the
center at midfield, Kip to his left, Justin playing right defender,
and Joey at forward.

"Defenders!" he called out.  "Listen for Devon's instructions, guys.
He's your captain out there.  And Justin?  Stay close to that fast
kid whenever he's in your zone, whether he's got the ball or not.
All the defenders keep an eye out for him.  If he's in your lane and
zone, I want you to stick like glue to him.  If he zigs, you zig.  If
he zags, you zag.  Try to stay in his way as much as you can, okay?
The other defenders will try for the ball.  You just keep him
covered, so they can't pass to him."


"Anytime he stops running," I added, "lean your shoulder on his.
Let him know you're there.   Just make sure you stay between him and
our goal.  You don't want him getting a head start on you.  Maybe
this way, we can keep him from getting a breakaway chance on us."

The referee blew his whistle.  We huddled up and sent our players
out onto the field to take their positions, and the Eagles did the
same.  The game was on.

Remembering the varsity team's experiences in the state playoffs, I
reminded Bill to substitute often.  We had a second game to play,
either for the championship or the consolation game, and we didn't
want to leave everything we had on the field during this first game.
Our defenders, in particular, were going to get tired quickly,
worrying about the Eagles forwards.  On every throw-in we could, we
substituted at least two players, even if they were protesting that
they weren't tired at all.

Even though our defenders stayed on the kid as much as they could,
he still managed to score twice, but our offense was clicking, too.
We got a lot of good looks at their goal, and managed to convert 4
good shots into goals by the final whistle.  The Warriors were bound
for the championship game.

The Eagles and the Warriors were the two best teams of our age group
at the tournament.  The only reason we didn't meet in the
championship game was because another team had tied the Eagles, 1-1
on Saturday, so they didn't score as many tournament points as some
of the other teams.  The team we played for the championship must
have played some of the weakest teams in the tournament to get there,
because they were hopelessly overmatched against the Warriors.  By
the start of the second half, we were already up 4-0, and our keepers
were never challenged.  We ended up cruising to the tournament
championship, 7-0.

After the presentation of trophies, everybody piled into cars and
headed over to the Marcus house for the pool party.  Justin's dad,
Arthur, had the barbeque grill fired up, and was busy flipping
burgers and turning hot dogs as the boys took turns running in and
out of the house, stripping off uniforms and pulling swim trunks on,
jumping into the pool and splashing anything that moved.  A lot of
the parents came along, content to sit around the pool, out of range
of all but the most determined splashers, drinking sodas and beer
after the long weekend out in the sun as they watched the boys play
soccer.

I had ridden over with the Wilkinsons, and was very conscious of how
sweaty I was.  I was looking forward to getting in the pool and
cooling off.  When we got there, though, the pool was crowded and
rowdy, full of 7 and 8 and 9 year olds.  I plopped down in a lawn
chair, and wiped my face off with my damp shirt.

"You look hot and sweaty," said Wendy as she walked by.  "Why don't
you hop in the pool?"

"Maybe later," I said.  "It's a little busy right now."

She smiled.  "If you'd like, you can take a shower upstairs."  She
pointed toward the patio sliding doors.  "Just go in there, through
the kitchen.  You'll find the stairs by the front door.  Go on
upstairs, the bathroom is the second door on the right."

"Thanks," I said, "but I'll be fine..."

"Don't be silly," she interrupted.  "Go on.  Towels are in the
closet in the bathroom."  She pulled me up out of the chair, and
propelled me toward the house with a gentle shove.  A shower did
sound good.  I headed into the house, and found my way upstairs.  The
bathroom was big, with a linen closet, double sinks, and a toilet in
one room, a large shower and changing area through another door.  I
grabbed a towel, turned on the shower and let the water run until
steam was permeating the room, and stripped off my sweaty clothes.  I
had my swim trunks and a fresh t-shirt in a gym bag that I left by
the sinks.  I stepped into the shower, closed the Plexiglas door, and
adjusted the water temperature, turning the shower head until I got a
needle spray that pounded into my neck and shoulders.

It felt so good, I never noticed the sudden swirling of the steam in
the room as the outer door opened.  In fact, I was standing there,
eyes closed as the water streamed down my back, when I heard the
shower door open.  Startled, I opened my eyes, just as the outline of
another person appeared through the mist.  With a wide grin and a
twinkle in her eye, Wendy Marcus stepped up to me, pressing her very
naked body against mine, her large breasts mashing up on my ribcage.

"I thought you might need some help washing those hard-to-reach
places," she said softly.  She reached down with one hand and took
control, sizing up my already hard cock, while with the other, she
pulled me down by my neck to press her open mouth hard to mine.

The assault on my senses had its desired effect.  I kissed her back
as the little head began taking control once again, and I reached up
to squeeze one large boob, with its swollen and distended nipple.
She was stroking me rhythmically, and my hips joined in on the
activity, pushing my cock harder into her pumping palm.

She must have been somewhat familiar with a teenager's ability to
last (next to none), as well as a teenager's ability to recharge
after coming (second to none), because she didn't hesitate.  Almost
as soon as she felt my hips thrusting, she broke our wet kiss and
dropped to her knees, unhesitatingly taking me fully into her mouth.

This was no foreplay.  Her technique was a direct assault on her
target, the object was to get me off quickly.  And it worked
beautifully.  She took just about all of me into her mouth, her
tongue working frantically on the underside of my cock as she bobbed
up and down.  One hand was caressing and squeezing my balls, the
other was stroking the base of my throbbing cock, working me into a
frenzy.  In record time, I grunted and thrust as deeply into her
mouth as she would allow, and spewed across her tongue and down her
throat.  She kept sucking me, taking all I could give her, and when I
was done, and my poor abused cock was softening slightly, she
continued to suck me hard, concentrating on keeping me erect.

Before I knew it, I could feel my heartbeat through my resurgent
dick, and Wendy felt it, too.  When she was sure I had attained
nearly full hardness once again, she gave me one last lick, and
stood.  She never relinquished her hold on me, though, but instead
took her other hand, ran it down my arm until she was grasping my
hand, and then guided my fingers to her very wet, hairy pussy, her
legs spread for me.  With a moan, she turned around, rubbing her
substantial butt against me, still holding and stroking my cock with
one hand, and guiding my efforts with her other hand on my wrist.  My
fingers eagerly plowed through her pussy lips, releasing her oily
lubrication in their search for her vagina, her clitoris, and all the
hot flesh in between.

She began breathing hard, huffing and puffing in front of me, until
she bent over, and guided my pole toward her flooding hole from
behind.  I sank fully into her, my thighs slapping wetly against her
ass, and I stroked deeply into her.  She put her hands out in front
of her so she could lean on the shower stall wall, and let me
willingly do the work.  Each time I bottomed out in her, I drove the
breath out of her in a breathy huff.  Each time I pulled almost out
of her, she wiggled her ass, trying to keep our connection, until I
pumped back into her again, my hands on her hips, and the cycle
started all over.  With the shower pelting my back, refreshing me, I
felt like I could stay like this, inside her, for hours.

Finally, though, Wendy's breath got ragged, and her movements became
erratic.  Her butt was moving from side to side, then front to back,
then up and down, creating a lot more friction between us.  Her
fleshy walls were gripping me, and I could feel her vaginal muscles
clenching and unclenching against my intruding shaft, raising my
temperature and bringing on my second climax.  I felt a hot, oily
flooding along my cock as she came, and it triggered my own reaction,
and I groaned as I flooded her spasming walls with hot jets of semen.

If she hadn't been leaning against the wall, and if I hadn't been
leaning on her backside, we both would have collapsed to the shower
floor.  As it was, Wendy roused herself weakly, and I pulled back, my
thoroughly spent cock slipping from her, and she turned, reached up
to wrap both arms around my neck, and kissed me softly, tenderly.

"Thanks, Sean," she whispered.  "I needed that."  She pecked me on
the lips one more time, turned, and opened the shower door,
disappearing as suddenly as she had appeared just a few minutes
before.  I stood there, the water cascading down over me, in shock
from it all, until finally I roused myself, turned off the water,
opened the door, and reached for the towel.  I wasn't quite sure how
I was going to be able to face her, or Justin, after this.  And then
there was her husband, blissfully unaware that his wife was upstairs
schtupping his son's soccer coach, while he was busily cooking for
the troops out by the pool.

I got dressed and reluctantly went back down the stairs and out to
the back.  Wendy was chatting with Lori, as if this was just an
everyday neighborhood get-together.  She glanced up as I came out the
door and flashed me a quick, knowing smile before turning back to her
conversation.  Arthur was busy at the grill, and the entire soccer
team was either carousing in the pool, or standing nearby, shoving
down food before rejoining the fun in the water.  There was typical
suburban normalcy all around me, and yet I felt completely out of
place and disconnected.

What a very strange day, I thought to myself.





(Continued in Chapter 6)





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