PAGE TWO Most of the basic rules from soccer-proper still reign. Except there's no offsides and no throw-ins (out-of-bounds and penalties all produce a free kick). Some of the modifications to the game have introduced principles from other sports. Like basketball, you play offense and defense simultaneously, and the game is played five on five (with keeper). This can result in a solid 45 minutes of sprinting, the absolute quickest way to feel past your prime. But the truly ingenious parts are those that come from hockey. First, there's the wall. A regulation indoor soccer field is surrounded by a four-foot-high wooden boundary. Near each goal, it climbs to ten feet. Even the best players don't always know where the wall is at all times. I've seen people slam into it, bounce off of it, and even plow through it at full clip. I've personally witnessed concussions, contusions and broken bones all resulting from a careless burst of extra effort. Oh. There's no pads. The only mandatory protection equipment is shin guards. The other inheritance from hockey is the checking. That's right. In indoor soccer, you're pretty much allowed to hit whatever and whomever you want, provided it looks somewhat legal (i.e. the ball is nearby). Imagine tackle football on turf with no pads and a lot of kicking. There are co-ed leagues too, and it's a real thrill to see the women give as good as they get. So why, you may ask, do people — otherwise sane people like me — keep coming back week after week? Simple. The level of competition we face in our day-to-day lives has increased dramatically since we left the safety of the halls of education. And the pressure we endure today dwarfs that which our parents dealt with. Whether it's traffic, bills, getting that promotion, getting hitched, buying our first home, or planning our retirement, we embark on a precipitous path every morning. So when the soccer game is stopped and the ambulance is called, I believe that we all enjoy, just a little bit, scoffing at the peril, having faced one more day without strangling a client or purchasing an assault weapon. I mean, we'd flail around in mosh pits if it didn't remind us we're no longer college pukes. We'd bungee jump from bridges and plunge off of buildings with those little hand-held-chute deals if we weren't smart enough to have jobs. Alas, we need our own way to blow off steam. And our versions of the bowling and softball leagues our folks used to dress up all funny for now incorporate a bit of an edge. Managed danger, as it were. And as I limp to the phone to call work and tell them I'll be a little late, I say bring it on. Joe Procopio writes a monthly column for Smug. He also authors novels, sings in a pop band, and slings technology like a toddler with a rifle, all of which is enumerated on his Web site. He has no spare time. © 1998 Tripod, All Rights Reserved.