Adam Treats the Team to Late Night Personalized Haikus. Probably the Best Thing Ever.

I decided that each of us having their own personal soccer haiku would pump us up for glorious summer victory. I mean, why wouldn’t it? Makes sense. Ok, good talk. Let’s beat these dentists.

Cutback, cutback, goal.
Cutback, cutback, cutback, goal.
Cutback, cutback, goal.

Shot to the keeper.
Core Temp dangerously low.
Fuck me, iced again.

My calf exploded.
Wonder what Brian’s doing.
My calf exploded.

Magical mist man,
shades us in his cooling tent.
Yelling at my friends

The 18-yard box:
more than ten from the corner.
Go sit by your tree.

Shin. Hip. Face. Chest. Knee.
Anything but feet and arms.
Halftime oranges.

We have a website.
Can bunions send out Evites?
Jumping over tents.

Mormons seem impressed
with the distance I can throw
my grandma’s biscuits.

Aye, bunch a muppets.
[incomprehensible sounds]
Good Sunday fitba!

It’s never too cold
for snowy bicycle kicks.
C’mon, you dentists.

Wrong jersey, blue socks.
Black shorts, one sock, zero cleats.
My children dress me.

Servers are online.
Packets are ready to send.
Send it. Put it up.

Sorority girls,
they love: my boat, flannel shirts,
my show, The Brians.

Does your jersey stretch?
For the next 90 minutes,
I will be in it.

My ingrown toenail
drank too much whiskey and got…
A pedicure. Goals.

We yell pineapple
in hopes that no one goes home
in a body bag.

If you stand near me,
you’re likely to encounter
my many elbows.

Arrive six AM.
Time to go on a journey
to the spirit world.

If I yell louder,
I believe it is certain
the ref will agree.

On my home planet,
more powerful gravity
stops high-and-weird goals.

Ancient theorists say
exists an email proving
five goals in one game.

Maybe it’s just me,
but sure seems like these old guys
are not running much.