<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12955549</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:28:38.786-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Football</title><subtitle type='html'>Christmas Football by Steve Real</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://christmasfootball.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12955549/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://christmasfootball.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Stephen</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>3</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12955549.post-114495907142773423</id><published>2006-04-13T13:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-04-13T13:18:03.280-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1851/184/1600/Schiller.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1851/184/400/Schiller.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Captain Friedrich Von Schiller&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;"looks into the heart of no-man's land"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12955549-114495907142773423?l=christmasfootball.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://christmasfootball.blogspot.com/feeds/114495907142773423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12955549&amp;postID=114495907142773423&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12955549/posts/default/114495907142773423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12955549/posts/default/114495907142773423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://christmasfootball.blogspot.com/2006/04/captain-friedrich-von-schillerlooks.html' title=''/><author><name>Stephen</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12955549.post-114419979735007164</id><published>2006-04-04T18:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-04-13T15:19:30.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"I don't want to die Captain!"&lt;br /&gt;I knew that wasn't possible.&lt;br /&gt;Karl was bloodied bad.&lt;br /&gt;"I want to go home.&lt;br /&gt;I want to see my mother!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're alright Karl.&lt;br /&gt;You're going to be alright!&lt;br /&gt;I'm getting you out of here."&lt;br /&gt;He wasn't alright.&lt;br /&gt;His guts were all over my uniform.&lt;br /&gt;Pouring into my hands as&lt;br /&gt;I tried to desperately stuff them back in.&lt;br /&gt;"Medic!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How does it look Captain??&lt;br /&gt;Am I alright?"&lt;br /&gt;Karl was frantic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeh your alright.&lt;br /&gt;Your going to make it."&lt;br /&gt;I lied.&lt;br /&gt;I lied so well I believed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm alright,&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to be alri..."&lt;br /&gt;His breath left him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Your going to make it.&lt;br /&gt;Medic!&lt;br /&gt;Medic!&lt;br /&gt;Damn it you're going to make it.&lt;br /&gt;Where the fuck are you?"&lt;br /&gt;I picked up my beloved frozen mud soldier.&lt;br /&gt;I cradled him my arms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Gas!&lt;br /&gt;Put your masks on.&lt;br /&gt;We're being gassed!&lt;br /&gt;Schiller!&lt;br /&gt;Do you hear me?&lt;br /&gt;Put your mask on damn it!&lt;br /&gt;Captain Schiller put your mask on,&lt;br /&gt;that's an order damn it!"&lt;br /&gt;Vincent grab my mask and put it on for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could have caredless.&lt;br /&gt;How the fuck did I get here!&lt;br /&gt;"How the fuck did I get here!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12955549-114419979735007164?l=christmasfootball.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://christmasfootball.blogspot.com/feeds/114419979735007164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12955549&amp;postID=114419979735007164&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12955549/posts/default/114419979735007164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12955549/posts/default/114419979735007164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://christmasfootball.blogspot.com/2006/04/i-dont-want-to-die-captain-i-knew-that.html' title=''/><author><name>Stephen</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12955549.post-111629679965435847</id><published>2005-05-19T01:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-12-25T17:54:59.410-08:00</updated><title type='text'>By Steve Real</title><content type='html'>Silence!&lt;br /&gt;or am I having a nightmare?&lt;br /&gt;It's not sunrise.&lt;br /&gt;And nobody sleeps here&lt;br /&gt;I don't believe,&lt;br /&gt;I am dreaming&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Singing!&lt;br /&gt;do I hear Singing?&lt;br /&gt;Is that Silent Night?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my hands shake&lt;br /&gt;my wife&lt;br /&gt;where is she?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Captain,&lt;br /&gt;do you hear that?"&lt;br /&gt;my frozen mud soldier speaks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I do..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's Silent Night, Sir" he&lt;br /&gt;says bewilder&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes,&lt;br /&gt;I believe it is"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The morning Sun rose up&lt;br /&gt;like a hammer&lt;br /&gt;hitting the battlefield&lt;br /&gt;blinding all eyes&lt;br /&gt;with Grace!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sergeant!"&lt;br /&gt;I yell to him impatiently,&lt;br /&gt;because inside&lt;br /&gt;I could feel it&lt;br /&gt;coming!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes Captain von Schiller ,"&lt;br /&gt;the mud soldier says&lt;br /&gt;shielding his eyes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hoffman still has that football,&lt;br /&gt;doesn't he?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mud infant is confused&lt;br /&gt;he opens his eye again&lt;br /&gt;and sees&lt;br /&gt;for the first time.&lt;br /&gt;he knows now&lt;br /&gt;this was not a joke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes Captain,"&lt;br /&gt;"I believe Karl does."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is&lt;br /&gt;for real&lt;br /&gt;He knows&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.&lt;br /&gt;The English doctor&lt;br /&gt;Colonel Richard Thompson&lt;br /&gt;was educated at Cambridge&lt;br /&gt;and receive his doctorate in Vienna.&lt;br /&gt;His roommate at medical school&lt;br /&gt;was Erich Kilhelm, from Cologne,&lt;br /&gt;my best friend&lt;br /&gt;who introduce Richard&lt;br /&gt;to my sister Hilda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Richard joined the 133rd Saxon Regiment&lt;br /&gt;shortly after his wedding to Hilda.&lt;br /&gt;It was a great party,&lt;br /&gt;the Thompson's were&lt;br /&gt;good people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now...&lt;br /&gt;Here...&lt;br /&gt;I do not know this man&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His face,&lt;br /&gt;his body&lt;br /&gt;his soul&lt;br /&gt;had all changed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Richard lit up a room&lt;br /&gt;when he walk in.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone found Richard&lt;br /&gt;easy to love.&lt;br /&gt;He brought enough life in&lt;br /&gt;for everybody.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but Richard had left that world&lt;br /&gt;years ago&lt;br /&gt;He survives now&lt;br /&gt;on fear,&lt;br /&gt;terror,&lt;br /&gt;and murder,&lt;br /&gt;like the rest of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Existing only&lt;br /&gt;for his wife and child.&lt;br /&gt;Who will never know&lt;br /&gt;the real Richard again.&lt;br /&gt;He is lost&lt;br /&gt;and not to be found.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.&lt;br /&gt;I went over the top&lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;stood there&lt;br /&gt;feeling the bad&lt;br /&gt;with flag in hand&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my heart&lt;br /&gt;felt the Black Watch&lt;br /&gt;sniper aim&lt;br /&gt;but the trigger did not pull&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No one said anything&lt;br /&gt;Everyone knew&lt;br /&gt;What this was about.&lt;br /&gt;Nothing happen&lt;br /&gt;as I walked&lt;br /&gt;the icy field&lt;br /&gt;to the half way mark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Richard stood up on parapet&lt;br /&gt;alone&lt;br /&gt;He made&lt;br /&gt;his way&lt;br /&gt;before me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Would you like a cigarette Friedrich?"&lt;br /&gt;Dick said&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No-man's land&lt;br /&gt;is a strange place&lt;br /&gt;to meet your brother in-law&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah&lt;br /&gt;I'd like that"&lt;br /&gt;haven't having&lt;br /&gt;one in weeks&lt;br /&gt;I was ready&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's a Marlboro"&lt;br /&gt;he said with a smile&lt;br /&gt;"Really?"&lt;br /&gt;they were my favorites&lt;br /&gt;and we didn't have Marlboro here&lt;br /&gt;for a very longtime&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Richard got hysterical&lt;br /&gt;we laughed together&lt;br /&gt;but it stop&lt;br /&gt;as strange&lt;br /&gt;as it started&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dick look to me&lt;br /&gt;"Friedrich,&lt;br /&gt;the holy man wants a group burial&lt;br /&gt;do you have any problems with that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No Dick&lt;br /&gt;I would like that"&lt;br /&gt;He really didn't have to ask&lt;br /&gt;We really didn't have to talk&lt;br /&gt;We knew why&lt;br /&gt;We were here.&lt;br /&gt;"Well Dick&lt;br /&gt;are you going my christmas football game?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas Football?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.&lt;br /&gt;The brothers worked quietly&lt;br /&gt;and layed all the men&lt;br /&gt;neatly in a row&lt;br /&gt;sad&lt;br /&gt;no one said any thing&lt;br /&gt;we all knew&lt;br /&gt;what was there to be said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Father Sebastian&lt;br /&gt;bless the boys&lt;br /&gt;shovels of earth filled in&lt;br /&gt;around my brothers&lt;br /&gt;who lay&lt;br /&gt;twisted in horror&lt;br /&gt;frozen in pain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.&lt;br /&gt;It was strange&lt;br /&gt;the sky was clear&lt;br /&gt;and a million stars could be seen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What kind of beer is this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know&lt;br /&gt;I've never heard of it?&lt;br /&gt;It's called Stella Artoris&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's good&lt;br /&gt;Grab as many cases as you can find&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.&lt;br /&gt;Father Sebastian&lt;br /&gt;played football&lt;br /&gt;like a heathen celtic beserker&lt;br /&gt;"Raaah!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Get him Johnny!&lt;br /&gt;He's fast!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Father Sebastian's speed&lt;br /&gt;was legendary&lt;br /&gt;he played college ball in Berlin&lt;br /&gt;for many years&lt;br /&gt;he was invited to go pro&lt;br /&gt;in Manchester&lt;br /&gt;before he heard the calling&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sebastian kick the football hard&lt;br /&gt;it flew in past the Tommies&lt;br /&gt;a moment of hush&lt;br /&gt;took over the boys&lt;br /&gt;as the ball slip pass&lt;br /&gt;the defenders fingers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Score!"&lt;br /&gt;yelled Karl&lt;br /&gt;and the boys lit up in song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Stella Artoris?"&lt;br /&gt;I thought priests didn't drink?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.&lt;br /&gt; Captain Friedrich von Schiller,&lt;br /&gt;what were you thinking? &lt;br /&gt;A football game with the English?&lt;br /&gt;This is a war!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/12955549-111629679965435847?l=christmasfootball.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://christmasfootball.blogspot.com/feeds/111629679965435847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=12955549&amp;postID=111629679965435847&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12955549/posts/default/111629679965435847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/12955549/posts/default/111629679965435847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://christmasfootball.blogspot.com/2005/05/by-steve-real.html' title='By Steve Real'/><author><name>Stephen</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image 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