the 4th star

The message boards are buzzing following Friesen’s column today, a piece out-lining the pay cut Winnipeg Blue Bombers quarterback Stefan LeFors “agreed to” after not delivering on head coach Mike Kelly’s promises through the first third of the season.

The Sun has learned the Bombers took the unusual step of clawing back $60,000 of LeFors’ salary — cutting it from $150,000 to $90,000 — when he became the backup to Michael Bishop. Two sources said LeFors was basically given an ultimatum: take the pay cut, or be released, outright.

Blammo!

LeFors, from all accounts a down-to-Earth guy, didn’t sound like he was given much choice to do the unthinkable and re-negotiate his contract DURING THE SEASON.

“They didn’t put me in the best position,” LeFors told the Sun. “But when I feel like I have a gun to my head, what am I going to do?”

Everyone knows football contracts are not guaranteed and too often we read about players holding out from existing deals following a good showing the year before, but for a club to basically tell a guy that either he can make a lessor amount or look for work elsewhere is dirty pool. Or maybe this is just a precedent setting move. I mean, shouldn’t the Bombers brass have their deals re-worked now that the team is 2-5 and in serious peril of missing the post season?

Either way, it should help the Bombers attract quality free agents next off-season.

After ignoring a 25 year layoff, with three of those spent begging to play, I have decided to make a triumphant return to the beautiful game. In a stunning act of charity, the Crescentwood Saturday Soccer Club has done the unthinkable and allowed me to play with them in the Winnipeg Soccer Division this summer. If I can score one goal this year, I’d be pretty happy. Judging from my inconsistent play, my teammates would be equally ecstatic, too. Here’s the weekly update:

Let me set the scene for you.

At around noon yesterday, I decided to make a list. Pouring through the emails from the various team members, I started to tick off the players who would be making the hour-long drive to Steinbach for the game. By my count, I had 11 players, making me the 12th guy. It was a perfect situation, I thought. I would be a sub, allowing me to spell a few guys as I nurse my quad injury back to the land of the un-limped.

So I made the trip. It was worth it.

Upon arrival, it was clear that we would only have 11 men (including myself), as one of our trusted midfielders was out with an Achilles problem. That meant I had to step in for the full 90 — a task that I wasn’t really confident in performing.

Here’s the problem with my leg: The quad muscle feels like it wants to rip away from the bone when flexed doing things like running, turning, or kicking. Thankfully, none of these actions apply to my soccer style, so I fished one of those useless knee sleeves out of my bag, pulled it right up my leg to keep the muscle tightly wrapped, and hobbled around the pitch, up front on the right side.

The mighty CSSC (5-4-4) took it to the Hanover Sting (2-11-0) early and often, jumping out to a quick 3-0 lead thanks to so excellent possession and some heady play from our centre-mid, DK. It may have actually been 4-0 at the break. Not sure. All I know is I had about five chances to score (like on clear shots and breakaways) and I still couldn’t find the range. At one point, I wondered to myself if the Sting made a strategic decision to not mark me. Maybe they saw me limping around and didn’t figure I would be a threat.

*Yeah, like they’re the first team to figure that out.*

The second half featured a better push from the home side, but they couldn’t find the range, either. The final 45 minutes did, however, feature a monumental moment in the sporting career of yours truly.

The ball makes its way up the pitch to one of our sure-footed mids. He spots two players running into open space, past their defenders and ready for to receive a pass. DK and myself. The right choice is made, and DK gets the ball. Taking it hard to the net, he unleashes a shot. The keeper makes the save, but the ball gets away from his reach, giving DK and the defender a second chance. DK takes out the keeper and the defender in his leap for the airborne prize, allowing the ball the bounce down to the goal line.

Here’s where the preamble at the start of these posts comes into play.

No. 15 (me) is johnny on the spot. Seizing the opportunity (and still trying to forget the time where I put a different ball which was on a different goal line in a different game OVER THE NET), I tap the ball into the netting — through the legs of DK (of course), who was still wrapping up his train wreck.

Forget those dreams of hitting a nice ball from the top of the box into the corner of the net. Forget that one dream I had the other night where I took a ball off my chest and quickly flipped it into the net before it hit the ground. Forget that it was my 10th chance of the game. I’m terrible. It was a fitting first goal in this beautiful game, one that I beat into the cage with an ugly stick.

Something I’m not proud of: Throwing my hands up in the air. I quickly lowered them, but I did it. I remember doing that. Shit, what a loser. Excited, but still a loser. Something even better than that: An exuberant DK lifting me up off the ground. That really happened. We rule. It was like a scene right out of Ladybugs. Have I mentioned that the score was 5-0 at the time? The referee asked me what the deal was. I told him I suck at soccer.

It only took 16 games for me to score. According the schedule, we have five left. But the monkey is off the back, the formula now set: Give me 10 chances a game, with one of those consisting of the ball on the goal line and the keeper out of position, and I’m going to score.