It was long-time dream of mine to be a sports journalist, but for the most part, it's been one big bust. I've had every crappy job for every crappy paper you can think of, and my current status isn't much better than where I started almost ten years ago. Most recently, I took on a job writing for the New York Ledger.
Unfortunately for me, this is not one of the major publications in the city. Rather, it's a free paper you find at the library or perhaps your local supermarket or dentist's office. Being a sportswriter for this paper is not glamorous, but at least I am working in the city on most assignments. That's the way I look at it. I could have more responsibility writing for a larger paper in a smaller city. I'm a New York City guy who would just love to have a career right in the place where I was born and raised.
Now for my assignments. Where do I begin? It's been mostly high school beats like track or basketball. I love sports, but I have absolutely no interest in high school sports. I couldn't say anything to the editor, since I wanted the exposure -- any exposure -- of writing in the big city. I just did what I was told and took on these inane assignments. Once, I had to cover a women's soccer game -- and I really don't like soccer. Well, let me tell you one more thing - I love soccer now. Correction - I'm a big fan of women's soccer now.
A couple of months ago, after being with the Ledger for only a few weeks, my editor gave me what I thought would be the worst of all assignments. I was to cover some international indoor soccer competition being held at Madison Square Garden. I love MSG, and I've been there a million times, but never as a reporter. This part excited me - going to the locker rooms, being where all the great hockey and basketball players have been. Walking the same halls as some of my favorite rock stars sounded cool, too. But soccer? Not my thing, but a job is a job.
I spent the better part of a week covering about a dozen matches. Some were actually exciting, as far as my interest in soccer goes. I got to see many different countries competing, and my job was simply to make all of this sound interesting. I don't know how much of my material was going to get used for the paper, but I was getting paid to cover it for the entire week, so I did my best.
The championship match was between Brazil and China. I sat there with my drink, pad, and pen. I took notes throughout the match, like I did for the previous games. I think the crowd was in favor of the Brazilian women. I know I was, I mean from a guy point of view. The Brazilian women have such a beautiful, sexy skin color to them. Of course, they also have those famous asses, the muscular kind that look like they were sculpted. Now as athletes go, soccer players in Brazil are like rock stars, and they are known by just their first names. The best players from Brazil were Cecilia, Maria, and Graciela.
During the game Cecilia scored the early go-ahead goal for Brazil. The Chinese answered that with a goal of their own, but Cecilia scored again just a few minutes later. In the closing moments of the game, the team from China threatened again, but a spectacular save by Selena, the goalkeeper, preserved Brazil's 2-1 lead. When the referee blew the whistle, signaling the end of the game, the Brazilian team had won the match by the score of 2-1.
I hated to admit it, but I actually enjoyed myself. Unfortunately, I was not there for the fun of the game. I made my way to the locker room, to try to get an interview or two with some of the players. I left my seat and walked through the tunnel, flashing my press credentials whenever necessary. I followed the handful of reporters that were heading my way, and found the Brazilian locker room.
"No one enters. Wait thirty minutes," came the instructions from the team's spokesman. He was a big, burly guy that spoke broken English, at best.
"Can we go in now?" The question came from a reporter behind me, prompting my friend to give another announcement.
"Twenty minutes." Ten minutes didn't go by that fast, so I was hopeful his lack of English translated into a lack of being able to tell time. I just wanted to get these interviews over with so I can get back to the office.
I figured I should be a wise-ass and ask again, maybe more time ticked away from this guy's surreal clock. "Is it time to go in yet?"
"Ten minutes."
I wanted to laugh, but I thought about Star Wars for a second. Maybe I was playing a Jedi mind trick on him. Either that or he was surely not too bright.
"Time's up!" I yelled out, waiting for a reaction. My burly buddy stepped aside.
"Enter!"
That's exactly what we did, about twenty minutes too soon. I hoped the players were ready for us, so I could just do my job and get out of there.
A few players were still in uniform, while others were missing. I asked around and found out that they were still showering. I wanted an interview with Cecilia and Selena, mostly Cecilia. I didn't see them at either of their lockers, so I decided to speak with their coach. When I got to the closed door I knocked. No answer. I knocked again, but this time much louder.
"No one there?"
I turned around to see Cecilia in a bathrobe, an odd sight for a locker room. Then again, how many ladies' locker rooms have I seen before? "I wanted to see you, but you weren't here, so I figured I'd speak to your coach..." I was obviously rambling.
Cecilia chuckled at my expense. "He is gone. He leaves right away. Want to ask me something?"
"Uh...sure. I wanted to ask you about the game."
"Let's go in coach's office. I'll get dressed."
Cecilia opened the door and I followed her in. Once inside, she closed the door to the office. I sat down in the visitor's chair, while she moved around to the other side of the desk. She took off her robe and revealed her beautiful caramel-skinned body. She had full C-cup breasts, topped off with puffy, mocha-colored nipples. Her stomach was flat and hard, the kind you could bounce a quarter off. The prize for me, however, was her well-manicured pussy. She had but a landing strip of black pubic hair and her lips were full and wet. I wondered if that was from her recent shower or if she was getting excited.
I was stunned, to put it mildly. I tried to keep my head down and not look like I was examining her, when I was there to interview her instead. I kept my eyes on the list of questions written on my pad and tried to keep my professional composure. Although I must say, I don't remember her bringing a change of clothes into the room.
