 |
|
Enjoy your stay Thanx for visiting |
 |
 |
|
|
Enjoy your stay Thanx for visiting |
|
|
~ League Soccer ~
It was a bright May Saturday morning. 7:00am came early but the air was fresh and alive with the fragrance of lilac blossoms and freshly cut grass. The day promised to be full of sun and the weatherman on the car-radio was promising no rain in sight for several days. It had all the signs of being a great day to be outdoors. I smirked to myself while driving in the car because I knew this was a great day for all these girls to play soccer. This had all the markings of a great weekend league tournament.
As I drove into the parking lot next to the field, I couldn't help but notice the perfect line of variously colored minivans with their trunk hatches already open. There were parents retrieving duffel bags and young girls putting on their track shoes and adjusting their brightly colored team jerseys and shorts. I had to be careful driving through the gauntlet of coolers and equipment and lawn chairs and people to find my spot next to the field gates. I noticed one parent in particular obviously struggling to stay awake, sipping on his coffee mug as he rubbed his eyes and adjusted his baseball cap, while listening to the endless questions coming from his daughter who was out of sight rummaging through the trunk. Ah, the joys of being a devoted parent.
I took the keys out of my pocket and as I released the lock from the chain-link fence gates, it gently cracked with a metal pop. I could hear faint cheers in the background and felt the eyes of all these people bearing down on me. As I opened the gates, I peered onto the well-manicured field. The grass was glistening with morning dew and a group of robins flew away from center field in panic of the certain intrusion. The field was beautiful. An obvious artisan with a lawn mower had masterfully cut it. You could see the cross diagonal cuts perfectly aligned in a lattice pattern. The field lines were freshly painted in the grass and the goal posts at either end gleamed as if they were new. I knew then that we were going to have a great day. The stage was set.
I watched the parade of families, proud coaches and the orchestrated lines of pony-tailed 11 year old girls fighting and adjusting with the straps of their matching equipment bags that were as large as them and obviously a struggle to carry. They filed through the gates and dispersed across various sections of the field. I thought to myself about all the hard work that all the event organizers and families had gone through. The seemingly endless night practices, the phone calls to set-up the hotels and car-pools, and all those nagging injuries that had to be overcome and gently nursed. They all had high expectations of themselves, the tightly knit teams, and proud of the community they represented to get here. They had all fought battles at home just to have the rite to play on this field. Emotions were running very high. You could sense the anticipation in their faces as they whispered strategy with fellow teammates while glancing back and forth at the untested yet familiar competition. They were ready to play.
The referees and linesmen then arrived in their familiar black 4x4 truck. There they were, all dressed in black, all wearing dark sunglasses and looking like the ominous judge and jury about to descend upon its helpless victims. It was time to start the tournament. After a few minutes of discussion with the coaches and referees talking rules and protocol, it was time to start the first game. As the referee walked to his familiar place in center field, the sharp sound of his whistle pierced the air. As they proudly said in the Olympics, "let the games begin".
Girls league soccer at the division level is amazing to watch and to be part of. There is grace and speed and athletic ability that is unmatched by any hockey or baseball I have ever witnessed. It is fierce competition displayed at the very finest level of sportsmanship. All these girls have small registration books that resemble passports. One of my jobs was to secure these passbooks given to me by the various team coaches. They were handed to me prior to each game, all in nice neat piles, in sweater number order, secured by an elastic band. Leafing through these passbooks you get an idea of what this level of competition is all about. For each player, there was a photo id inside the front cover, full name, height, weight, date of birth, team registration, a sticker with the year of play, and the local soccer association stamp over the sticker. The back cover of every book had a small pouch where there was a copy of the birth certificate of the player identified in the book. Each team had to furnish a book for each player on their team and also for the coaches and trainers officially involved. All the books were identical for all the teams. You had to be on the ball to keep track of them all. This day there were 10 games, between 10 teams, each with 20-25 books. You can imagine. I did bring extra elastic bands, just in case.
The tournament went by fast. The games flew by, one after another; new teams, new colored jerseys and new crowds to cheer each team on. It was like a well-orchestrated chess game. The first 16 games over the 2 days went off without a hitch. We were now going into the elimination play-offs.
Towards the middle of the second day we came to a critical semi-final game. The games had been hard fought all the way through the tournament to this point. Everyone knew that this next game was going to be a showdown and the winner was, in all likelihood, going to win the tournament. These two teams had been dominant through all the preliminary round games and had just faced each other and played to a 0-0 draw first thing that morning. This was going to be a barnburner of a game.
It was the classic confrontation of two powerhouse teams. The action was fast and went from end-to-end through both halves. After the end of regulation time, as most had predicted, we were still in a scoreless draw. Now the nerves started to show. Sudden death overtime and the probability looming of the dreaded shoot-out. The girls were all exhausted from playing their hearts out in the mid-afternoon summer sun. It was enough for them to have just played for over an hour of hits and kicks and elbows and scrapes. Now they had to dig deep and go into overtime. They could hardly catch their breath when the shrill of the referee whistle filled the air once again. The overtime was filled with suspense and surprise. Both teams had golden opportunities to score, yet failed. One shot hit a post and bounced clear back into the mid-field. Another shot had careened off the top rail out of bounds. The crowds went wild. Then that final whistle blew. Overtime had ended. All that hard work of the last 2 days had come down to this: the dreaded sudden-death shoot-out. The part of the game that everyone feared and knew must happen now, yet considered totally unfair. One team would have to lose and face the excruciating heartbreak of defeat. Neither team deserved to lose. Both teams had played so well and with all the energy they could muster.
The entire field went unusually silent as I walked to center field and called in the team coaches and the referee. Reviewing the rulebook, we discussed the exact format for the shoot-out and agreed to formally seal it with a handshake. I was nervous and tense. I was caught up in the moment as much as the coaches and players and the referee. The time of reckoning was about to begin.
The shoot-out proved to be as exciting as the game. A fumbled kick, a goalie that stood on her head and blocked a sure goal. It came down to the final kick from the away team. She punched a perfect shot into the upper left-hand corner of the net and the crowd erupted in applause and cheers. The visiting team had won. The girl (Ashley) that scored the winning goal, jumped up and down on the field, spinning hopelessly out of control, holding her stretched-out arms high, screaming her lungs out in a high-pitched squeal of utter joy. Her team members eagerly greeted her with open arms as she ran to them, in full sprint, still screaming. They swallowed her whole amongst the swarm of yellow jerseys and the entire team danced in clumsy unison, all huddled together, at center field. The poor dejected goalie at the end of the field standing all alone (young Katie), collapsed to her knees on the grass in front of her net and brought her hands to her face. She started to cry uncontrollably as she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had let her team down so badly. She had lost the game. I felt the tears well up inside me, as did many of the parents and spectators there. We all felt so badly for her. It was not her fault. All the girls from her team ran across the field to her side and huddled around her in a maze of twisted legs and blue jerseys crouching in the grass. It had been a hard day for everyone.
The final game proved to be another seesaw battle but didn't offer as much excitement as the semi-final matches. The team that had won the semi-final by shoot-out disposed of their competition in regulation time with a convincing 1-0 score. It was as if they were expected to win. It was no surprise that they were now tournament champions.
I was fortunate enough to be a part of the trophy and medal presentation at the field in front of all the proud parents, spectators, coaches, and all the players and tournament organizers. I was given the honor and privilege of awarding the winning medals to the young girls that had participated in the final game. One by one they came forward, their names announced, each receiving ample applause and cheers from the stands and their teammates. I carefully draped the white ribbon holding the medal over their heads, one by one, past their ponytails (yes, they all had ponytails, every single one of them), and then shook their hands. One by one, they all said thank-you, smiled at me with a big open grin, and stared at their medals as they returned to their respective place by their coach. It was an amazing feeling of pride and pleasure.
I made some wonderful new friends during that soccer tournament and had gotten to know a few of the almost 200 girls and their parents by first name. You truly become part of the family and part of the team. I shook all the coaches' hands one more time, hugged a lot of the players (they wanted to say thank-you again), spoke with their parents for a brief time and then after all was said and done, I waved goodbye.
As I left the field at dusk that night, I looked back for one last memory and sighed to myself as I saw the goal posts glisten once more, this time in the setting sun. It was a stunning rainbow of color running up the posts. I cannot explain to you how I felt at that exact moment. It was something very magical.
Pure and simple...
 |
 |
[HOME]
[Philosophy]
[Storyworx]
[MusicRoom]
[BMG News]
[MAIL]
[About Me]
[Awards]
[Favorites]
[Hobbies]
- This Storyworx page updated May 20th, 1998 -