The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘soccer’

What a Utility Bag

At the end of youth soccer leagues we would have a nice trophy presentation. This was a big deal for me, as I was convinced the more trophies I had the better I was. This was an ingrained FACT.

And, sorry, ribbons don’t count as trophies. A trophy is something you can throw and do damage with. Just ask a certain cousin of mine.

Growing up I played soccer, and in middle school and for half of high school I ran cross country. Soccer was my only source of trophies. (I only got ribbons for cross-country. Stupid ribbons.) I needed these trophies, too. They proved … something!

In the fourth grade, in my mind, I was a soccer wiz. I was the tops. The cat’s pajamas. The bees knees.

But, my growth in the soccer skills department stopped there. I kept getting older, but my body relished that fourth grade talent. Improve with age? I don’t think so. I’m good where I am.

Fortunately, when you play on youth soccer leagues no one can get cut.

I tended to sit at the start of games, but I got a pretty good amount of playing time, and I occasionally did something well (intentionally or not, it’s all about how nonchalant you act after something good happens).

The worst time of the year to have no talent was at the trophy presentation. That’s when it really hit home for me.

The coach would stand up and say a few words about the team, the season, the fun, the game! Yeah, we learned a lot from these talks (“pass me another slice,” “Brad, shhh!, your coach is talking!,” “…so do I not get another slice?”)

After the introductory remarks, the coach would announce a player’s name. That player would go to stand beside the coach and beam as the coach went on about their talents.

“Ben scored the most goals!”

“Tony was non-stop, he was always making a play!”

“Nobody could stop our goalie!”

But what if said player lacked in the talent field?

“Brad, come on up here! …” (He’s holding the trophy.) “Brad’s a real great kid.” (Just give me the trophy and let me get back to my pizza.) “We could put Brad in anywhere in the game, whenever we needed him.” (Wait … is that an insult or a compliment?) “He’s a great utility player!” (CRAP! It’s an insult.)

Utility!? Utility?!?!

My coach called me a tool.

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Don’t Be THAT Guy

I’m going to depart from my usual trend – I’m going to make fun of someone besides myself.

I will still make fun of myself, but this time the focus on this is to poke fun at someone ELSE. Usually I try to keep these to just making fun of myself – but in my defense, I think this story is pretty funny.

When I was in the 7th grade I lived in West Point, New York. The home of the United States Military Academy. My family lived on post because my dad was in the Army.

I signed up, through the Youth Center, for soccer in the fall and spring seasons. I can’t remember if this was the fall or spring season – but I’m tempted to say fall.

The coach of our team was a cadet – those guys were everywhere (God’s Gang, a youth group through the church I went to, also had cadets helping out). Our coach seemed like a pretty committed guy, considering it was a soccer team comprised of 7th and 8th graders (let the ribbing begin…).

I told some friends of the family, who were also cadets, that so-and-so was my coach. They informed me that they did not like him, he was a tool, and he … get this … cut the sleeves on his PT (physical training) shirts, and then sew them back so they were tighter. This way his shirts would hug his arms.

NOW, I’ll be honest and tell you that I doubt this was true. But it was still an odd thing to hear about someone. And an awesomely odd rumor to have about someone.

Our soccer team that year was amazing. Seriously.

Kids on our team also ran cross country or did track, or hockey, or basketball – we were machines. Two guys on our team dominated cross country all that season. One guy was in 8th grade and about 6 feet tall. He scored a goal from midfield one game.

But, as good as we were … we almost lost a game. It was the same game as the midfield goal.

After the game we noticed that our coach was still sitting over on the sideline where he’d been during the game. What’s that all about?

He called us over for a talk. And what a talk.

“Guys …,” I’m not sure how exactly the talk went, only four points stick out in my mind.

1) He was disappointed in us because we didn’t perform like we should’ve.

2) He sounded disappointed. You could tell by the tone.

3) He said (4) sincerely, sadly, and with regret (because he’d spoken too soon). More impressively I somehow managed not to laugh in his face.

4) “I even told my girlfriend I was proud of you guys.”

There you have it. One of the great motivational speeches of all time.

Pride: REVOKED!

(On a plus note one of my other coach’s was named Sven. How cool is that? Coach Sven is very fun to say.)

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