Chapter 2—First Game, First Great Moment
Owen and I both felt uneasy about our first game. Although we spent a couple of weeks practicing soccer, neither of us had ever played a game, and we were uncomfortable not knowing what to expect. I was thinking about coaching-related things like how to kick off or interact with referees. Owen was worried about playing well and avoiding embarrassment. On game day, we ate breakfast, then Owen put on his uniform, and we warmed up for a while in the backyard. As game time drew near, Judy and I loaded Owen and his little brother, Wade, into the van and headed to the park.
We arrived a few minutes early so Owen and I could watch the end of the game played before ours. It was a cool but sunny September morning. We arrived at a field surrounded by shouting parents and populated by six players from each team. Our players were small, and so was everything else. The pitch was about forty feet wide by sixty feet long; the goals were about four feet tall by six feet wide. The convention was that teams occupied opposite sides of the field, and parents stayed with the teams. A single referee regulated the game with the help of one parent from each sideline to act as a side judge when the ball went out of bounds. Games comprised four ten-minute quarters with a ten-minute break at halftime. Lastly, there were no goalkeepers for our age group. Every player was supposed to be actively involved in the game. However, some always wanted to stand in the goal and defend it regardless of where the ball was.
Parenting is a process bursting with first-time experiences. Most adults do not spontaneously decide to attend a child’s soccer game, even if they are unusually curious. I was no different from most. Because I never played soccer and lacked an enthusiastic niece or nephew who invited me to one of their games, I needed to learn quickly to succeed as a first-time coach. I felt nervous as I watched because some players were much better than ours, but I grew more confident as I learned how games progressed. Finally, the referee gave his whistle three long blasts, signifying the end of the game. The two teams lined up at midfield, and players and coaches shook hands. Then, the event was over. Players and siblings ran everywhere while one group of parents started to depart so the next set of parents could move in. Coach Kathy directed our players to a spot on the sideline near midfield, and parents arranged their blankets or folding chairs in a row behind the team.
The day's first challenge was that the grass was wet with dew, an inconvenience for those who had neglected to bring something to sit on or were sensitive to clammy toes. The second challenge, the other team, was a more significant concern because they were better prepared and more capable than us. The first half was a blur as our inexperienced players and coaches struggled. Kathy mostly let the team play because she didn’t know what else to do. When the referee signaled halftime, we trailed and regrouped as best we could. Once again, the other team was better prepared with a snack of oranges; we managed with water and Gatorade. During the second half, Kathy became frustrated and often shouted at players to “Get the ball.” Her instructions went unheeded. Every parent was yelling. I doubt any player could perceive helpful information through the noise. Ultimately, we did not win, but the game was competitive.
For me, the highlight of the day came at the game’s end. The final whistle blew, and the two teams headed to the middle of the field to shake hands. I did not go because I was just a helper parent; Kathy was the coach. As I watched, an incredible feeling of relief came over me. We had made it through our first game, and Owen had done well. With a sense of accomplishment, I felt the urge to hug and congratulate him, so I started to walk out onto the field. He was halfway back from the handshake when he saw me. We made eye contact, and he must have read my mind. He broke into a run, carving out an arcing path across the field before leaping into my arms. It was a solid chest bump that transformed into a hug and a Disney moment. He wrapped his arms around my neck and clung to me with his sweaty little body, like a ball of muscle and energy, his scratchy soccer cleats against my legs. I hugged him back. The moment didn't last long. Then he was gone, passing it on to Judy and Wade. The combination of relief and a sense of accomplishment, coupled with my child's gratitude, made that moment one of the best of my life.
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