I Love the Smell of Pickle Juice in the Morning
Tonight, we play for first place. That's correct - the team that went easily nine months without a single win, is playing for first place for the second session in a row. It's shocking, I know, but I'm trying not to think about it too much - don't want to psych myself out.
Playing soccer reminds me of my youth and my age simultaneously. As a kid that felt like an outsider from really any of the established social groups (limited as they were in parochial school), soccer was the first time I felt like I fit in with something. I'll never forget being in fourth grade when they finally added a girls' soccer team. I signed up immediately even though I'd never been exposed to much soccer. Who knew there were practices that entailed running up and down steep hills and running around in circles as much as kicking the ball around?
We weren't very good then either. Maybe there is a connection....? Nah. But losing wasn't the worst experience to have at that age and it's certainly served me well as an adult player. Every once in a while, I still fall into the trap of taking a game way too seriously and it's a clear reminder that taking things (usually myself) too seriously is no way to go through life, son.
Earlier this year, I played a session of outdoor soccer alongside the year-round indoor variety and I can safely say, I'm not in fourth grade anymore. I had never so acutely noticed every one of my joints as they cried out in pain from walking across a room. And the deep bone bruise on my left shin from a kickin' last April still looks red and angry and causes me to wince if the slightest breeze blows on it.
Some people probably (certainly) think I'm crazed for continuing to play, especially given my propensity to bruising. And sometimes I do get tired of continuous losing and the griping that goes along with it. But winning is a rush. And I really love the girls on my team. And it's a weekly date with my Mom, with whom I've wanted to play since I was in fourth grade. I want to still be playing when I'm 58...and still be having that weekly date with her.
Playing soccer reminds me of my youth and my age simultaneously. As a kid that felt like an outsider from really any of the established social groups (limited as they were in parochial school), soccer was the first time I felt like I fit in with something. I'll never forget being in fourth grade when they finally added a girls' soccer team. I signed up immediately even though I'd never been exposed to much soccer. Who knew there were practices that entailed running up and down steep hills and running around in circles as much as kicking the ball around?
We weren't very good then either. Maybe there is a connection....? Nah. But losing wasn't the worst experience to have at that age and it's certainly served me well as an adult player. Every once in a while, I still fall into the trap of taking a game way too seriously and it's a clear reminder that taking things (usually myself) too seriously is no way to go through life, son.
Earlier this year, I played a session of outdoor soccer alongside the year-round indoor variety and I can safely say, I'm not in fourth grade anymore. I had never so acutely noticed every one of my joints as they cried out in pain from walking across a room. And the deep bone bruise on my left shin from a kickin' last April still looks red and angry and causes me to wince if the slightest breeze blows on it.
Some people probably (certainly) think I'm crazed for continuing to play, especially given my propensity to bruising. And sometimes I do get tired of continuous losing and the griping that goes along with it. But winning is a rush. And I really love the girls on my team. And it's a weekly date with my Mom, with whom I've wanted to play since I was in fourth grade. I want to still be playing when I'm 58...and still be having that weekly date with her.
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