"Olé No: A Westlake Mom’s Guide to Surviving the Soccer Apocalypse"

Oh, joy. The MLS All-Star Game is descending upon our fair city, and with it, an invasion of soccer fans who will undoubtedly disrupt the delicate ecosystem of my meticulously maintained neighborhood. I can already hear the distant chants of "Olé, Olé, Olé" mingling with the sound of my blood pressure rising. But fear not, fellow concerned citizens, for I have taken it upon myself to dissect this so-called "transportation guide" with the precision of a helicopter parent scrutinizing a school bake sale ingredient list.

First, let’s talk about the MetroRail. The Red Line now conveniently drops off the rabble right at McKalla Station, as if we needed another reason to avoid public transit. I can only imagine the horror of sharing a train car with people who wear jerseys as if they’re actual clothing. And don’t even get me started on the Park & Ride shuttles—those are just mobile petri dishes of chaos, waiting to spill onto our streets like a poorly contained smoothie at a yoga retreat.

Then there’s the bus system. Rapid 803? More like Rapid Eye Roll. Eight-minute frequency? That’s eight minutes too often for my taste. And let’s not forget the bike valet—because nothing says "I’m better than you" like pedaling to a sporting event and expecting someone to babysit your two-wheeled nuisance while you scream at grown men kicking a ball.

Rideshare, you ask? Ha! As if I’d trust some gig economy stranger to navigate the labyrinth of my disdain. And parking? Sold out, of course. Because nothing says "All-Star Game" like a desperate scramble for a $50 patch of asphalt near a bank.

In conclusion, if you must attend this spectacle, do us all a favor: stay home, watch it on TV, and spare the rest of us from your misplaced enthusiasm. Or better yet, take up a civilized hobby—like complaining about the lack of valet parking at Whole Foods. Now that’s a sport I can get behind.