Cleats by Bill Hinds for May 04, 2003

Transcript:

Peri: Mom! Where did you put my shinguard? Peri's mom: I am not your equipment manager, young lady. Peri: Dad? Peri's dad: Ask your mom. Peri's brother: I wouldn't touch your stinky shinguard. Peri: "Stinky." Of course! Give me that! Bad girl! It was 59 minutes before a soccer match on a sunny May weekend when reality rolled in like a mud gray cloud casting a shadow over my equipment box. A bos that was one shinguard short of full. Coach frowns upon us playing with just one leg, so I needed to solve the wandering shinguard caper muy pronto. It was time to put the squeeze on the usual suspects. I took the express lift straight to the top and put the heat on the Queen Bee. She cooled me with a quick repartee. I made a brief stop on the path of least resistance to get the usual from suspect No. 2. Investigation can be a dirty game, and occasionally you find yourself stepping into the trash heap of life. If you're lucky, an answer may pop up for air. Sometimes an obvious answer is hard to see because you don't want to look at it. I mean a best friend isn't supposed to stiff a best friend. Naw, I wasn't going to turn her in. There was no damage and there's no law against slobber. Besides, the fear in those old dog eyes told me sh