Soccer

Jude and I had talked for a while about signing J.P. up for soccer this spring.  In typical fashion, however, we procrastinated and by the time I inquired about sign ups at the YMCA, I learned that their league (at the Brentwood Y) was full.  I was able to get him on the waiting list for the U4 (under 4) league, though.  On Tuesday, I got a telephone call from the sports director at the Brentwood Y, who advised me they had a spot for J.P. if he was still interested in playing soccer. 

And, in short, that's how I found myself in the land of juice boxes and orange slices on Saturday morning, surrounded by children - hundreds of children (or so it seemed) wearing jerseys in a melange of colors, soccer balls and parents in camping chairs.  I felt like I was in a foreign country.  The true irony, to me, was that it was all happening a couple of miles from my childhood home (where my mom still lives).  Jude and I had no idea whatsoever how J.P. would do, since he hadn't even been to a single soccer practice, let alone played in a game.

J.P. and I arrived a little before 10 a.m. because it was "picture day" (the game wasn't set to start until 11 a.m.).  I'm not sure who was more unsure of himself as we walked into the crowd of miniature soccer players and their parents, J.P. or me.  I didn't know what the hell was going on, as exemplified by the fact that his coach chastised me as soon as I introduced myself for not having J.P. wear black soccer shorts.  It was "picture day," after all, and all of the other boys (all 7 of them) were wearing black soccer shorts.  Next, she lectured me for not having shin guards for him to wear, shaking her head in disbelief as I reminded her IT WAS OUR FIRST GAME.

 

What I really wanted to say was "why don't you kiss my ass?  It's 3 and 4 year olds playing soccer!"  I smiled and held my tongue, though.  Barely.

Waiting in line for picutres was a disaster, as you might expect.  Trying to keep 3 and 4 year olds engaged enough to stand in line for more than 30 minutes is virtually impossible.  J.P. didn't know anyone and was nervous, unsettled even, and wanted me to hold his hand.  I tried to give him some space to figure it out but it was hard, because I could tell he was unsure of himself.  At last, it was our team's turn for pictures - the Pandas (we're black and white, or blue and white, in J.P.'s case).  Thankfully, the individual and team pictures went off without a hitch and we were ready to play some soccer.

Our team was divided into 2 groups of 4 players (as was the other team) and we played 2 games at once, which meant everyone got plenty of playing time.  By "plenty" of playing time, I mean that every player on our team played the entire game.  Well, except for one of J.P.'s teammates, who for some reason got angry with a player on the opposing team and shoved him to the ground, after which his father removed him from the game.  As a result, J.P.'s team played 3 against 4 for the majority of the game.  That might explain why they scored oh, maybe 2 goals, to the other team's 10 or 15.

It was interesting to watch J.P.  He didn't want to mix it up, so to speak, so he stayed 5 yards or so behind the pack as the soccer ball was being kicked.  He was rather timid, which wasn't a surprise, since he hadn't even had a soccer practice.  He seemed to enjoy the running, though, and kicked the ball well when it was his turn to initiate play.  I was so, so proud of him.  At the end of each period, he ran to the sidelines and gave me a hug, then snuggled Jude, who brought Joey to the game.  My mom and Jude's parents were there, too. 

It was a hoot, just watching all of the boys.  And, after the game was over, J.P. did indeed get a juice box (Capri Sun, actually) and some mini-Oreos (a first, as well). 

I guess I'm a soccer dad, after all.  Wow.