Entering the world of soccer

I like soccer. Soccer can end in a tie. I don’t have to feel sorry for losers, or experience guilt from rooting for the winning team. World cup translates to early hours watching games in a language where body language, thank heavens, has as much meaning as the spoken word. The color commentator yelling, “¡¡¡¡¡¡Goal!!!!!!” needs no translation.

The constant buzzing of the vuvuzela horns blown by World Cup fans paints an image in my mind of five-year-olds swarming the ball like a hive of honeybees on a pollinating mission. Years ago a coach stuck six-year-old Hot Wheelz in the goal. That meant either the hero or the butt of the game. Usually the butt. He gazed into space and kicked dirt clods.

It’s funny how hard kids run for a Popsicle treat after the game when, a few years later as teens, you can’t get them to budge for ten bucks. I loved watching Hot Wheelz play soccer (no lasting side effects from being stuck in the goal). He played with so much heart (almost earning a position on the Navy’s soccer team). He nearly passed out from heat exhaustion during a playoff game. Me, too. From running up and down the sidelines. Actually, the real strain was from too much screaming and not enough breathing. (The kids loved the next day when I had no voice.)

Hot Wheelz and Cheezy hated the decibal level of my cheering, but I couldn’t help myself. Cheezy didn’t play sports with the same intensity. But his bulk gave him what his heart did not. He wasn’t given yellow and red cards, he earned them.

After the days of AYSO and high school soccer, I missed the hard concrete seats. When my grandson, the Bug, turned five, I was excited. However, he ended up being the worst soccer player, bar none! I should have guessed that from a practice I attended. The coach started the session with a run up and back to the closest tree at the park, roughly twenty yards away. The Bug finished last, latching on to the assistant’s arm as he came in. “That was a tough one, Coach,” he said.

On the first play of the game, a young player of the opposing team kicked the ball towards his goal, and the Bug lopped at the tail end of the swarm of five-year-olds hoping to stop the goal. When he finally reached the goal line, his foot caught on the inside of the metal frame and brought down the whole net on top of him. Embarrassed, he ran to the corner of the field where he sat cross legged with his back to the crowd.

How many points do you get for a body in the goal?

I wonder if Landon Donovan ever had days like that when he was a young AYSO soccer player in Redlands. Go, USA! ¡¡¡¡¡¡Goal!!!!!!

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