It's 6:00AM and Giovanni's roommate, Alex, turns off his alarm and hops out of bed. Giovanni glares. He was groggy and hungover from last night. He groans and wraps himself up in a delicious blanket burrito.

"Better get up, dude," says Alex. "We've got a big game today."

Giovanni mumbles incoherently and turns to face the wall. Just five more minutes…

Alex heads into the common room kitchen, where he prepares a hearty, protein-filled breakfast. Delicious and nutritious: a breakfast fit for a king. His mother would be proud. As the smell of eggs and turkey bacon waft into the bedroom, Giovanni feels a wave of nausea roll over him, and he races to the bathroom.

Will my toilet ever return from war?

After a few minutes, Alex walks into the bathroom to check on his teammate, who's still hugging the toilet. It seemed as though the toilet were going on a long trip, and Giovanni was bidding it a very intimate farewell.

Alex, hesitant to interrupt, finally decides to say something. "You okay…? We've gotta catch the bus to Santa Brobro. Better hurry."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Last night was crazy." Giovanni's head begins to spin. "I shouldn't have had that much root beer," he lamented. (What, you thought a student-athlete would actually be allowed drink alcohol? Nuh-uh.)

Soon, he remembers that he has a bus to get to.

Giovanni throws together his gear: cleats, uniform, shin guards, stunna shades, and aspirin. As he begins to walk out the door in his Batman boxers, Alex throws him his team jacket and warm-up shorts. Good ol' Alex.

While on the bus, Alex listens in on his teammates talking strategy about the opposing team. He's not a starter, but he wants to be ready in case Coach Stettman decides to put him in the game this time. Giovanni, the star forward, snores in the backseat.

The bus arrives in Santa Brobro and the team anxiously files out of the bus. Alex waits for everyone to leave before he sneaks to the back to shake Giovanni awake. Startled, Giovanni waves his hands around, grumbles, and motions Alex away. The last thing he needs is another pushy Italian mother telling him what to do.

You're not leaving this table until you finish your carbs.

Giovanni and Alex join the team on the field to stretch. Dizzy and light-headed, Giovanni struggles to keep his balance. Despite the lack of breakfast, he's confident he can lay into the opponents. He has a track record of kicking circles around the Santa Brobro defenders.

After Giovanni fumbles his way through warm-ups, he begins drills for first touch, passing, and shooting. He sends the ball sailing over his teammates' heads a few times, and other times, he misses the ball entirely. Even though this results in a very comical dance move that makes the rest of his team chuckle, Coach Stettman pulls him aside.

"Wake up, kid! I don't want to see this sloppiness during the game. Get your act together!"

Giovanni rolls his eyes. What does Coach Stettman know anyway? He's been having pre-game fruit punch and root beer parties for half the season, and he's still scored a goal just about every time. Giovanni glances over to Alex, who's sitting on the bench. Giovanni gives him a quick wink and runs out onto the field to start the game.

For the first few minutes, Giovanni runs on adrenaline. His heart beats hard in his chest as he weaves his way through his opponents. Giovanni strategically moves to give the midfielders a chance to get him the ball. He receives a pass, turns, and passes the ball on to his teammate. So far, so good.

Then, he runs forward to get open again near the strike zone. However, before he can make an attempt at a goal, he's tripped up by a Santa Brobro defender, who then sends the ball back across the field. Signed, sealed, delivered. No way.

Giovanni stands there, mouth agape. But he shakes it off and prances down the field like a gazelle—a beautiful, hungover gazelle.

As the game progresses, Giovanni's breath turns sharp and his sides begin to ache. He's weak and frustrated, and his usually fluid movements feel awkward and imprecise. Coach Stettman's words echo in his head: Wake up, kid!

Suddenly, a pass whizzes by Giovanni's right foot—one he should have easily been able to handle. A defender seizes the opportunity and takes control of the ball. Giovanni's frustration turns to anger, and he slide-tackles his opponent to try and regain possession, which sends the other player down to the ground clutching his ankle. The ref runs out and pulls up a yellow card for Giovanni.

Not to be confused with the violin-wielding band, Yellowcard.

Giovanni is livid. Come on, ref. I didn't hit him with my cleats. That's a perfectly legal play for the ball…

But as Giovanni takes a closer look at his opponent, he sees blood trickling down his ankle. A cloud of shame looms over Giovanni, but his pride gets the better of him. He stomps away from the injured player, muttering under his breath.

Giovanni has yet to score a goal. In fact, he has yet to even make an attempt on a goal. As the ball comes flying through the air, he and a defender from the opposing team both go up for the header. Giovanni can see that the defender has a better position, so he thrusts his forehead towards the defender's head instead of the ball.

That's another yellow card, which means a red card…which means Giovanni's gotta sit out for the rest of the game.

Ref bestows a mighty gift unto #27, who wails in disbelief. Meanwhile, #10 collapses with envy. (Source)

Furious, he badmouths the refs and the players—both his own teammates and the opposing team—on his way to the bench. He slams himself down on the bench next to Alex.

"Giovanni!" Coach Stettman comes storming over. His face is as red as Kentucky during election season. "What do you think you're doing out there? You can't go around headbutting the opposing team! You'll be an Internet meme faster than you can say 'Zidane'!"

To this, Giovanni says nothing. He's tired, hungry, angry, and ashamed. Not a good combo.

Coach Stettman eventually calms down. Eyes fixed on Giovanni, he pats Alex on the shoulder and says, "Well, kid. It's your turn. Knock 'em dead."

Alex practically launches himself off the bench and into position. While Giovanni marinates into sour grapes, Alex rallies the team with his infectious energy. He's soaring on a cloud of rainbows and unicorns—which, we hear, is a good feeling.

Alex takes a pass, turns, plants, and knocks a goal into the upper-right corner of the net. It's not the most graceful goal, but it's a goal nonetheless, and it pulls the team ahead of the Santa Brobros.

Meanwhile, on the bench, Giovanni is pensive. His ego's definitely taken a beating.

L'eggo my ego.

On the field, Alex is kicking grass—he's quick, attentive, and precise. He did, after all, have an excellent breakfast.

The game draws to a close and Alex has scored a total of three goals. It's a joyous victory. Alex beams with pride and envisions all the pats on the back he'll get for this game. Who knows—maybe he'll even get a thumbs-up.

When Alex comes back to the bench with the team rallying around him, Giovanni can't help but smile for his friend. Giovanni slaps him on the back (in a good way) and congratulates him on his three goals.

"Thanks, dude. But I'm pretty sure the SB goalie was also nursing a root beer hungover," Alex joked. He was always the modest one.

"Haha right," replied Giovanni. He was a little embarrassed. "I'll be benched for the next game because of that red card. Coach'll put you in my place again for sure. You deserve it."

Alex throws his arm over his teammate's shoulder in gratitude. He was partly happy that Giovanni had screwed up, but also sad because, you know, they're friends. So he changed the subject. "Now," he begins. "Let's find you a Denny's…"