An Ode to Soccer

I read this again last night and tonight: http://randomrants08.blogspot.com/2012/11/sunday-soccer.html It makes me happy. Maybe not happy. It comforts me. Maybe that isn't the right word either. It does something.

But how did I get there? What was it that brought me to that place, that group, that time? How did I, all of those years ago, end up at a park that most people can't spell, during the hottest part of the day in the summer, with a group of people I had never met before, some of whom are now young enough to be my kids?

Its been 36 years or so since I first kicked a ball. 36 years falls, winters, springs and summers of chasing a round ball on a big field. For a while, the point was to kick the ball into the other team's goal. Lately, the point has been to run around a big field, run my mouth, teach the kids, and enjoy that 90 minutes when no one can bother me, no one can bug me, no problems can exist.

My dad started my soccer playing. He taught me the basics. How to kick a ball. How to trap a ball. How to play the game.

My teammates taught me more. They taught me how to play together. They taught me how to work as a group to achieve a common goal. They reminded me that it wasn't what happened, as much as that it happened. I look back, fondly, on the time I played with my team.

We were young. We were small. I don't know if we fully appreciated the sacrifices our parents made so we could play. We traveled a lot.We made memories, memories that we did not fully appreciate until we were older. Now, in our late 30s, early 40s, we have reconnected and rekindled those memories.

Now, soccer is a connection between my son and I. All of them. They all played. And while only my middle son continues to play, I can still talk soccer with any of them. Even my daughter, at age 3, will talk soccer with me. Its great.

But, it is so much more. Sunday, I went to my soccer game. I was grumpy. I was not in a good mood at all. I got there. I started to warm up. A guy drove up. He did something (I can't share what he did since some people may not approve of it.) Immediately, I broke into laughter. He laughed. It lightened the mood. It started putting me in a better mood. I realized that no matter what happens, for that 90 minutes a week, there are no problems. There can't be problems. I simply can't worry about the rest of the world when grown men are kicking a ball at me, running at me, and putting a shoulder into me. Well, I could, but that would probably result in me getting hurt.

Today, I had practice for my U14 team. We had a guest show up. He plays with me. He is getting ready to tryout for a professional team. My boys, wonderfully, stepped up to the challenge. We had a great practice. The music was playing. The boys were running. The old coach (me) got into the goal and started making saves. We scrimmaged. We ran. We did drills that I haven't done since I was 11 years old playing for the Freehold Thunder.

Soccer connects me to my dad. It connects me to my kids. It connects me to guys I haven't seen in over 25 years. It connects me to guys I see every week, guys from the US, and guys from around the world. Soccer gives me a few hours a week where my problems simply disappear.

So thank you. Thank you to the guys who grew up playing with me. Thank you to the kids I have coached. Thank you to the guys who play with me now, putting up with my mouth, my jokes, both appropriate and not so appropriate, and my decreasing skill! Thank you to soccer!