I have literally hundreds of great soccer memories. After 20 years of soccer (many of which I
played on multiple teams), I could go on for hours about the magical plays,
incredible screw-ups, disastrous weather, and hilarious mishaps that happened
to my teammates and myself. However,
today I’m going to write about one of my absolute favorite memories.
Like many of my recent posts, this is once again a story
from when I was younger and lived in Eastern Washington.
Each season, right before our big spring soccer tournament,
the team had a parents-versus-players soccer game. It was always a lot of fun, mostly because my
team almost always tromped our parents.
During this particular game, however, the weather had been less than
cooperative. It had rained all day and I
remember thinking that I was going to be really sad if we couldn’t play our
parents. This year my dad was going to
play. He had been pushing me to get more
into basketball, but he had never played soccer before (to my knowledge). I
figured that if I had to play his favorite sport, it was completely fair that
he had to try mine.
Thankfully, the weather cleared up just in time and we were
able to play as planned, although it was really muddy. Not the puddle muddy, though. This was the thick, slimy mud that you get
when the ground is saturated with water, but not quite saturated enough to form
puddles. My teammates and I loved it, of
course. We had cleats. The parents, on the other hand, made sure to
be very careful because most of them were just wearing regular athletic shoes.
I’ve pretty much always played defense. I learned early on that I could greatly
reduce the amount of running I had to do if I played back. How, you ask?
Once a defender gets to the ball, they clear it and then can stop
running. Therefore, if I got to the ball first, I got to stop running
first. Midfield never seems to stop
running and forwards/strikers are constantly making runs while the person with the
ball passes to someone else. Before you start asking, yes, I did play keeper
(and still do). Much less running, but also more jammed fingers and bruises.
Tragically, the coach liked to switch things up during the
parent v players game. I had to play
forward while the girls who rarely played back got to play my coveted defense
position. I think that the coach figured
that it would be fairer if we ended up playing positions that we weren’t very
good at so that the dads and moms had something almost resembling a fighting
chance.
While I stood at the halfway line, waiting for us to get the
ball back, I saw my dad surge into a giant opening in the defense and Kelli’s
dad passed him the ball. Now, my dad is
a big guy. He’s 6’4” and had played
basketball for most of his life, so he wasn’t just any dad. He was the athletic dad. I cringed as
he set up the ball, knowing full well that if he sent that thing at our poor
goalkeeper, she’d probably break an arm.
He planted his foot and I almost looked away, not wanting to witness the bloodbath that I
knew was about to take place. Except
that it never happened. Rather than
crushing the ball and sending it screaming into the goal, my dad’s foot slipped
out from under him in fine Charlie Brown fashion.
I’m not sure if you know this, but when a guy as big as my
dad hits a patch of swampy, slimy, icky mud with the amount of force that he
did, they will actually flip so that they are parallel to the ground before
actually starting to fall back to earth. True story.
As my dad hit the ground with a wet “splat,” the other girl
that was playing forward with me turned and said, “Hey, isn’t that your dad?”
While Kelli’s dad assisted my dad to his feet, I quickly
responded with, “No, no, that’s Kelli’s dad.”
Then I jogged off out of earshot so that I didn’t have to answer the
question again.
Fortunately, my dad was fine, albeit very, very muddy. When
the game ended (I don’t even remember who won) and my dad looked for me, I went
up to him and, without making eye contact, muttered, “I’ll meet you at the
car.” I was far too embarrassed to be seen with Charlie Brown dad. I mean, my
dad was supposed to be awesome and fantastic and amazing at every sport,
ever, on the face of the earth. This joker?
What would people think if they realized that my dad was that dad? Obviously that would make me a
laughingstock. The entire school would
laugh at me. Forever. And no, it never occurred
to me that absolutely nobody cared that my dad pulled a Charlie Brown.
My father, wonderful person that he is, understood my
embarrassment and met me by the parking lot and we walked out to the car
together. To this day he will say that
he’s grateful that he was never a real soccer player. We aren’t sure if his insurance would have
ever been able to cover the amount of damage he would have inflicted on
himself.
Despite a long soccer career, multiple awards, and
tournament wins, I can honestly say that this is the best soccer memory I have,
beyond a doubt. One of these days I might
be able to convince my dad to try soccer again, but probably not as a
participant. Perhaps I’ll talk him into
joining me for an MLS game the next time he’s in town. Certainly worth
consideration…
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