When I was about five or six, I played soccer. The truth of the matter was that I didn't really like soccer, but my mom forced me to do it because she wanted me to stop using my game genie to try to make Samus nude and actually go out and meet some kids (whilst getting exercise). We had practice five times each week, plus a game on Saturday. Only on four out of those five practice sessions did we all wear uniforms however.
On Thursdays we had a scrimmage. Only half the team wore uniforms, the other half wore any white shirt they wanted to wear from home. One cloudy Thursday afternoon, the most annoying kid on the team (and son of the coach; he was granted diplomatic immunity) was against my side. I was wearing my usual uniform, and he was wearing a white soccer shirt of some sort, it had various sports logos on it. One part of the shirt however, stood out.
On the back of the shirt, there was a slug getting trampled by a soccer ball, with a quote next to it, "Just reach out and kick someone." I snapped. All the memories of this jerk smooching his way out of trouble just pissed me off. I felt that this was a sure sign, that God, John Carmack, or some other powerful deity wanted me to take revenge. I wasn't stupid, so I decided to make it look like an accident. Kicking an object into a trajectory that hits another person is the same as kicking them right?
I volunteered to be an attacker on the front line, something I don't often do. Seeing me, the jerk also decided to take this position, just as I predicted. The whistle blew, and I dug my cleet deep into the ground and kicked up, sending the ball spiraling up and forward towards those big blue eyes.
WHACK!