I couldn’t have done it without my teammates, who didn’t even want to sit by me on the bench at halftime. June 2005: I’m 25 pounds lighter. Maple Street’s four corners haven’t yet torpedoed my physique.

A couple of my buddies and I are in the middle of a quarterfinal playoff for the Riverside Indoor Soccer men’s league in Harahan. I have missed four easy goals and jeopardized our repeat championship bid.

No one even wants to hand me my water bottle at halftime. Our midfielder Gus manages three words for me: “Ramon, stop sucking.”

However, I keep sucking for the first 17 minutes of the 25-minute second half and missing my fifth and sixth one-on-one chances before Gus filters a through-pass to me.

I run from the left wing to the penalty spot and bear down on the ball.

I have no confidence left and can’t control the ball. The goalie stretches out and dives toward my feet. I freak out and throw my toe at it, like your little sister did when she first kicked a ball at age 3.

I see the ball rattle the inside of the net just past the goal’s blue post, the net’s pinions rattling like tin cans.

“Jesus, Ramon, finally,” said Stuart. He usually pinched my butt after I scored, but he didn’t even offer a low-five.

Minutes pass, and I score a goal off a free kick pass played before their defense set.

The score tied 7-7. When I score goal number eight, Stuart lumbers over and pinches my butt.

I score our ninth goal off a crossbar rebound with 50 seconds left. My timeless performance jump-started a historic run historically sad.

I flew to Mexico for family vacation on semis night and couldn’t bail, but surely my performance would inspire greatness. However, Sean, our 16-year-old goalie, had such an advanced gambling problem that he planned a huge poker tournament the same night. He can’t resist his compulsion, refusing to cancel despite double-booking. Semis coincided with Stuart’s and his girlfriend’s anniversary.

Since you can play a six-on-six indoor game with four, I tried to hide from our remaining members that Sean was a deadbeat addict and that Stuart was whipped. But they find out. They always do.

Gus called me, said, “Screw it, Scott and I aren’t going. There’s no way we win with four, not against that team.”

My teammates don’t show for kickoff and make history – defending champions surrender their crown by not bothering to even put up a fight.

Hmm. It turns out that dull, polite quote many interviewed athletes spoon-feed reporters isn’t so off.

You really couldn’t do the unthinkable without your teammates.