Hill Crests and Soccer Balls

It's mothers day today. When I woke up, I thought I would head up to my work so I could call my mom. Work is on the other side of town and this would defiantly get me out of the house for a while, besides I needed gas and it is always a bit cheaper on that side of town.
After eating an undercooked peice of steak, a few green olives and downing the swill remains from a half pint of Popov from the night before I headed out. At the last minute I grabed a box of potato pancake mix. It requires 2 eggs, of which I have none of. I thought that maybe I should stop by my friend Helen's house and see if she wants to make the potato pancakes with me.
It was a little after 11 when I arrived at my work. People were still checking out. I approach the front desk to ask if I can use the phone. My boss is frantically flipping threw papers and clicking on a mouse. After a moment he looks up at me and says "This is the man who had the rollaway" and pointed to a group at the other end of the desk. He talked to me as if my appearance was totally expected, as if he had asked me to come in and resolve this issue of the rollaway bed. But I knew the man and his group of people, he never had requested a rollaway bed during his stay. The man looks at me and plainly states that he only requested extra pillows. My boss tells him it's ok and that he has adjusted it off his bill.
I talk to my mom on the phone while pacing back and forth in the breakfast room. We make small talk about the plans for the day and agree that the weather is warm, but not quite warm enuff. I expected her to bring up grandma's health and status but she never did. I should probably call my step mom, but that's a local number so i can do that at a payphone anytime.
I set the phone on the counter and tell my boss he should call his mother. After a short, awkward mouse click filled moment the new girl takes the phone and says something plesent, I say goodbye.
When nearing Helen's neighborhood I notice a soccer game being played at an elementary school. But the players were not children, they were grown men. And there was even a couple of concession stands, which could very well be selling hot coco. What sort of soccer game was it?

Perhaps, I thought, it was a game between good and evil- feel good sumer movie style. Perhaps one team was a bunch of rich assholes trying to buy out an old bar so they could turn it into a parking lot. And maybe they only way for the loyal patrons and owner to save it is, for some reason, to defeat them in a soccer game. After creating each team's set of characters with their individual quarks and catch phrases I reconsidered Helen's house. I'm obtusely aware that not everyone likes to live in the moment and that unexpected company isn't always a pleasure.

I go back to the school. At the foot of a hill lays the soccer feild the top are the concession stands and parked cars. I approach the crest of the hill and there is a Mexican family to my left speaking spanish, and to my right a white girl by her self, leaning up against the hood of a car. I go to the girl and ask what's going on. She tells me it's some kind of mexican league but the ones in yellow were the Bell's team ( a local brewery) and that's who she was suppose to be rooting for.

I sit down on the slope of the hill and watch the game. The girl, to me, seemed very confident. I often talk to strangers and in doing so I find a lot of people get anxious and don't make good conversation. She, however, was very laid back during our conversation, chewing on a toothpick the entire time. Plus she was wearing big, dark sunglass which automaticly makes the wearer 45% cooler.

I don't know much about soccer, rulewise, and it is probably for the better. For if I did, I would probably confirm my hunch that this Bell's team is one big collection of assholes. They keep shouting things that seem really obvious to one another "You gotta block it!" "come on, everyone move" "You can't use your hands, this aint basketball". I wonder if it weren't for these dynamic tips that half the team would just stop moving and stand on the field like unpowered robots.
The girl walks over to me and says "Yeah, they are kinda assholes", referring to an ongoing argument Bell's team are having with a referee.
"I suppose that happens in sports in general" I say
"well, they're excessive." she says
I seems like the Bell's team wants you to know they are playing soccer. Everything they do is so intentional. There's alot of superfluous slide-kicks and head hits (all preceded with a general direction to somehow "go for it"). The Mexican team on the other hand could be anywhere. Here on this field, in a big stadium, in the street, where ever. These guys are just dudes playing soccer. There is not a lot of talking between themselves on the field either. They probably don't even call it soccer, they probably call it foot ball. A complete clash in cultures. The crest of the hill is lined with large dark skinned families, all having laud and jolly conversations while the slope of the hills is speckled with individual white girls, looking on with the most mild sense of amusement. They are all girlfriends of Bell's players. There not out of joy but for a sense of support of which they are obligated to provide.

I look back to the girl, who is now back leaning on the car hood "What's the score?" I ask
"I think it's still 2-1"
I bet she is a girlfriend. She doesn't seem like the other white girls here but I bet she is also a girlfriend. I contemplate asking her if she is in fact dating a team member. It's a coarse of hobbit for me to look at things threw a sociological lens and project hypotheses while people do things. Sometimes I will ask someone something like "are you dating one of those guys" just to see if I'm right. In this instance I am reluctant because I'm sure she would take it as some guy trying to get her number in a weird way or something.
the game goes on with many unnecessary sissor kicks and a few fowls here and there. After a while I get distracted by watching a little Mexican boy who seems to be stuck in a perpetual cycle of dropping a ball, chasing it down the hill, and bringing it back up. Suddenly I notice the teams have cleared the field. The girl walks past me, going down the hill.
"Half time?" I ask
"No, it's over" she says "they've been playing sense 10"
As she makes her way across the field to allegidly reunite with her boyfriend one of the Bell's players is going around talking to various people making a fuss about how one of the Mexicans wasn't wearing a uniform exactly uniform with his teammate's. I am struck with a profound query- Just where do they get the refs for these kinda games, anyway?