A Saturday Morning Soccer Story

One Saturday morning I got a call from a friend. What are you doing? he asked. The usual, partly recovering from Friday night excesses (yes, I do still pay lip service to the stereotypical single person's lifestyle!) and getting into the weekend with a cup of coffee and newspaper. Well, he said, you remember mentioning that you were curious about the kids playing soccer? You mentioned wanting to take some pictures? So...your last chance to see them is today! After this, the soccer season is over and they switch to something else, as it grows colder. Ah so, I mumbled, cringing inwardly...I did want to take pictures and I was curious about the whole thing...but it had been a late night, I was feeling lazy and besides. So I took the address of the school, descriptions of the kids' teams and whatnot, mentioning vaguely that I'd probably be there if my place got cleaned up in time.

Just getting warmed up, Coach!

You shoot , I shoot!Next time, stay out of my way!

Allow me explain how this began. Most people with children are invariably talking about their kids' soccer. Some even coach teams. One fellow I met said that he had to be home from travel every Friday nights simply because he'd committed to coaching his son's soccer team. That's a sign of singular dedication to me, but to most folks this is normal. It's apparently an extension of the soccer moms phenomenon, which is pervasive, of course. A couple of those have even surfaced in my neighborhood - a bit surprising, considering the preponderance of condos and townhouses, of single people with erratic lifestyles and zippy cars. As a single person one doesn't really get to see what goes on with them or the kids (unless of course, one chooses to give up the single status - in which case an independent inquiring perspective would probably be out of question!). One could observe either from afar, as they ran about in their homes, or up close on the freeway (cursing, as the soccer mom in question makes yet another insane un-signaled lane change in her giant BMW SUV or Town & Country frantically trying to make her exit, lugging the mandatory coffee and cellphone while 3.5 kids and all sorts of soccer paraphernalia bulged precariously out of the back). The question is what inspires such dedication, what are the kids up to? Surely they're not really playing soccer with any seriousness, considering this is America and David Beckham looks for all the world like a man parachuted onto a desert island, trying to puzzle out why exactly he decided to come here. One would have to find out more.

Goal? Goal!

May I have another one, please?

With all this brewing in my brain, I decided to down my coffee, pick up my zoom lens and head out to the high school playground. As I drove into the lot, I felt like an interloper, an imposter, my little two-seater completely out of place amidst the minivans and SUVs. An illegal alien in a strange country. People stared at me. My singleness singled me out. I almost panicked, considering a possible hasty retreat. These were real children! What would they think I was doing? The kids would point and scream Stranger! Stranger! (note to self: this is what happens when one watches too many movies). Then I found my friends (with many bags and sacks in tow), they were busy pushing and praising, feeding and feuding. They gave directions, and pointed to teams in uniforms. Boys play teams of ten, the little girls teams of five. No scoring for the girls, they're encouraged to "just enjoy playing" by rotation. There were coaches and referees, regular soccer balls and goalposts. Kids warming up and kids chasing the ball like a swarm of bees. Kids running tongues out, kids doing self-goals. Kids showing flashes of brilliance scampering down the line to score while mommies screamed themselves hoarse (Kick it out! Kick it out!) with instructions from the sidelines. Some dads screamed at the referee too. I set about taking pictures, first the boys and later on the little girls...and something else happened...I found myself absorbed in the action. These kids meant business, it was real soccer!