The Captain

Friday night, after a long week at work, I went for a run while Jude took Joe to "the carnival" at MBA before the last home football game of the season (vs. Knoxville Catholic) for the undefeated Big Red.  I needed the run, for sure, and honestly, I was looking forward to a little quiet time at home that evening.

As I walked back into the house, I noticed that Joe's club soccer coach, Caleb, had texted me asking if Joe had time for a quick telephone call.  That's odd, I thought, but with the team scheduled to play in a tournament in Murfreesboro Saturday and Sunday, I called him to make sure everything was all right.  

I didn't know what to expect when I called Caleb.  What I got, however, was what will go down in the history of my life as one of my all-time favorite telephone calls.

After making small talk for a minute, Caleb got right to the point.  He told me that playing center back on defense, Joe had really become a vocal leader, positioning the defense and communicating with the forwards in front of him.  He also told me that at practice, he always knew he could pay less attention to Joe's side of a drill because he would encourage the players to run it correctly, pay attention, and complete the drill properly.  

Continuing, Caleb told me had talked to Thomas McDaniel (who is serving as assistant coach), as well as Gabe (who runs the organization), and told them he wanted Joe to serve as team captain for the tournament over the weekend and the foreseeable future.

Team Captain.

I paused for a moment to collect myself, a million thoughts running through my head, my heart about to explode from my chest in a burst of pride.  Smiling as I paced around the house, I told Caleb how much I appreciated his kind words about Joe and that Joe would be honored to serve as team captain.  I also told him that Joe should hear it directly from him - that it would mean more - so we coordinated a telephone call later that evening with Jude and Joe after the MBA football game.

He asked Joe to keep it quiet and Saturday morning, as the boys warmed up before their first game, he brought the team together, Caleb made the announcement to the entire squad.  As his teammates clapped for Joe, Caleb presented him with an armband emblazoned with a "C" - the captain's armband - well known in soccer circles and not unlike the "C" sewn on the chest of the captain of a hockey team.

That one letter - "C" - carries so much meaning to me, as a father who tries every day to teach his boys to be leaders.  Really, it's everything.

As I watched Joe and his teammates play soccer over the weekend - four games with two easy wins, a blowout loss, and a tough loss in the championship game against a bunch of boys from St. Henry's (including Keaton from the Braves' baseball team) - I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and pride.  

Gratitude that God has blessed me with not one, but two, intelligent, competitive, kind hearted, athletic boys.  And pride that Joe is a natural leader in everything he does, in athletics, school, or socially.  That's just who he is and how he is wired.

I think a lot about leadership in general and, specifically, whether it can be taught to children.  Is leadership a character trait a child is born with or is can it be developed over time?  There's not an easy answer to that question but, in truth, it's probably a little of both.  Some boys are born leaders.  Leadership skills can be developed over time, I think, and boys can grow into leadership roles.  

Joe falls into the former category, as he is a born leader.  From day one, he has been someone his peers turned to as a tone setter as far back as Children's House.  There, the longtime director, Anne Colley, once told me that Joe mediated all of the disputes not the playground.  Sound familiar?

In school at USN, Jude and I have heard time and again from teachers - particularly last year when his third grade class had a few students who were a handful for the teacher to manage - that Joe did his work, behaved, and encouraged other kids to do the same.  Joe took ownership and in some sense felt responsible for how smoothly things went - or didn't go - in class each day.  

On the baseball field or on the basketball court, Joe always has been a leader.  Confident, outgoing, and in charge.  Playing shortstop or second base, he's the one telling the other players how many outs there are or where they need to go with the baseball if it's hit to them.  

This summer, when he played for the Braves' all-star team with boys he didn't know, he quickly established himself as a team leader.  Honestly, as the team leader.  His enthusiasm, versatility, competitiveness, and burning desire to win was apparent for everyone to see.  It was contagious and the other players gravitated to him.  Several parents I didn't know before he played for the Braves marveled to me how easily he fit in with his new teammates and how quickly he began leading them in practices and games.  

It's the same with basketball, really.  Joe often handles the ball and is an exceptional passer for his age.  He sees the court well and has the ability to find his teammates when they are open for easy baskets.  He communicates on defense and offense, reminding his teammates where they're supposed to be.  He's always been that way.

That's Joe.  Comfortable in his own skin.  Not particularly concerned about what others think.  Confident enough to lead in any situation in the classroom, socially, or playing sports.  Always smiling and happy.  The kind of kid other kids like to be around.  

It was a big moment for Joe when Coach Caleb presented him with the captain's sleeve on Saturday morning.  It was a big moment, too, for his old man to watch him play soccer wearing it.

JP Kershaw and Joe Miller

Jude was out of town this weekend, in New Orleans, for a Tulane reunion.  I was glad she went because it's not often she gets to see her friends - people like Jeff, Blake, and Terry - and they're all so special to her.  

Too, I love weekends alone with the boys, when we figure it out, so to speak.  Or "Guytown," as we used to call it.  It's cool to spend extended time with them alone.  

This weekend was a crazy one, however, as basketball began for Joe and he also had a soccer tournament - in Clarksville, of all places.  JP had a fall baseball tournament at Shelby Park.  The pace was frenetic all weekend and it began with the spaghetti supper and homecoming at MBA Friday night.  A huge MBA win over Baylor, by the way.

Saturday morning, we were up early to watch Joe play basketball at JT Moore against the CPA team that's beaten his team pretty decisively the last few years.  Fortunately, their big man - "Baby Shaq" the boys call him - wasn't there, so the teams were more evenly matched.  

Joe's shot wasn't falling but what I loved - and I mean loved - about his game is that he worked hard and did all of the little things well.  The winning things that a basketball team needs someone to do if it's going to have success.  He rebounded.  He played great, smart defense, tying several players up for held balls.  His turnovers were down.  As he usually does, he passed the ball extremely well.  

Like his brother, Joe has a good sense of court awareness.  He sees the floor well and gets the ball to his teammates in a position for them to score, no easy task for a 10 year old.  

Late in the game, Joe's team was up by one point with a minute or so remaining.  Coach Thomas called a press after a made basket that gave them the lead.  Joe intercepted a pass in the backcourt, drove to the basket on a 2 on 1 fast break and when the defender committed to him, slipped a perfect pass to Asher for a wide open layup.  A winning basketball play that put his team up by three points.

As the CPA team prepared to inbound the ball, Joe channeled his best Grayson Murphy, and turned his back like he was going to head back up court.  The boy inbounding the ball threw a lazy pass and, suddenly, Joe reversed direction and jumped in between three players to intercept the ball.  As the parents cheered - including me, of course - Joe dribbled up the baseline, turned a launched a 10-foot jumper from the baseline.  Although the angle was tough - slightly behind the edge of the background - he arched his jump shot and it hit nothing but net.  

Ball game.  "Damn!" I said, giving my friend, Oliver, a high five.  "Reggie Miller!"  Oliver said, with a tip of the cap to Miller's eight point outburst in nine seconds in the waning seconds to beat the Knicks in the Garden in playoff game in 1995.  I nodded my head and laughed.  

Joe Miller.  

Later Saturday and again Sunday, I watched JP play baseball with his new travel team, Harris Baseball Club.  It's a good group of boys, I think, and I'm glad he's playing with them.  This fall, they're playing three tournaments as 15-16 year olds, combining rosters with the 15's and 16's because not all of the boys are playing baseball.  I've enjoyed watching Brian Harris interact with the boys and coach them during games.  

JP's HBC team rallied Saturday night at Mickey Hiter field in Shelby Park to win 6 - 5.  JP made the last out, playing shortstop, when he backhanded a sharply hit ball in the hole between shortstop and third base, then forced a runner at second.  It wasn't an easy play but JP made it look routine.  A solid play in a big moment.  I was proud of him.  

Sunday morning on the Old Timer's Field, the boys won again, easily, 5 - 2, before losing a heartbreaker, late, to Twitty City,  6 - 5. JP came in to pitch in a high leverage situation in the finale, giving up a 2-run double to a hitter with runners on second and third after Aidan P. struggled with is control and gave up two or three runs.  JP got out of the inning, then pitched the next inning, which is where he rally stood out.

JP struck out two batters - looking - with his curve ball and had all four hitters he faced off balance.  Aidan P. dropped a pop fly after JP fooled their second batter with a two strike - you guessed it - curve ball.  Suddenly, the curve ball is a real weapon for JP.  It's funny to watch batters walk bag to the dugout, muttering to themselves, after watching a curve ball for a third strike.  

JP has developed confidence in his curve ball this fall.  Such confidence, in fact, that he threw it a couple of times last weekend with a 3 - 2 count, which takes courage and, really, balls of brass, to throw it in that situation.  

It's almost a 12 o'clock to 6 o'clock curve.  Considerably slower than his fastball with a big sweeping break, or curve.  The ball starts out in a high plane, then the bottom falls out as it approaches the plate and curves into the strike zone.  Just like Dodgers' veteran and future Hall of Fame, Clayton Kershaw.

JP Kershaw.  

A weekend full of sports.  The boys went 6 - 1.  Joe won his baseball game and three soccer games (combines score of 26 - 0).  JP's baseball team was 2 - 1. 

Now, that's a full lid, to be sure.   

The Third Saturday in October

There was a time in my life - forever ago or so it seems - when fall weekends revolved around Tennessee football.  From late August to early December, on Friday nights or Saturday mornings, I drove to Knoxville to watch the Vols play in Neyland Stadium.  Many times, I drove with friends to Athens, GA; Auburn, AL, or Birmingham, AL, to watch the Vols on the road.  It was just what I did each and every fall.

I was a season ticket holder for 26 years.  For the majority of those years, I sat in the newest part of Neyland Stadium - the covered, chair backed seats in the upper deck off the north end zone, away from the river and directly across from the V - O - L - S sign at the top of the south side of the stadium.  Warren Sanger, Todd Blankenbecler, Mike Corley, and I had eight seats together.  Later, my law partner, Mark Puryear, bought seats two seats a row behind us.  

The five of us, often accompanied by girlfriends who became our wives, shared so many good times together.  Lunches at Old College Inn - owned by Warren's father-in-law, Chip Stanley.  Tailgates.  Beers together at the Kappa Sigma fraternity house.  All of this followed by a trek across campus to Neyland Stadium and the long walk up the steep, crisscrossing ramps to our seats high above in section YY7.  The view from the concourse was breathtaking, as I could see so much of the beloved college I called home for almost eight years between undergraduate and law school.  

In later years, when Warren's wife, Jennifer, was pregnant with one of her three boys, we all rode the elevator up to the concourse outside of our section.  Already, then, I could feel things changing a bit, as their were Saturdays when Jennifer didn't join us at the game or Warren sat with one of the boys in his father-in-law's seats.  

Still, most Saturdays, we were there together, through all of the wins and losses, including the last second, miracle comeback win against Arkansas - the hand of God game - when Bill Ratliffe miraculously caused Clint Stoerner (Arkansas' QB) to fumble late.  Phillip Fulmer wisely fed Travis Henry the football over and over again - Cheese! - on the final drive, as the Vols won in the mist in the waning seconds to keep their unbeaten season alive.  Ultimately, improbably, Tennessee won the National Championship in Tempe, AZ, by beating a highly touted Florida State team.  I was there, of course, to see it.  We all were.

Seasons pass, years go by, and priorities change.  That's simply the way of life.  Mike Corley moved to Sarasota and gave up his season tickets.  Sarge gave up his tickets when he began to sit in his father-in-law's seats every game.  After I had a run where I attended one home game in two years, I gave up my season tickets, too.  Todd followed suit and, suddenly, Mark Puryear was the only one of our group who still had his season tickets and went to almost every home football game. 

How did something so important in my life become an afterthought?  

It's simple, really.  Jude and I had JP and Joe and as they began playing sports - and I began coaching them - and there was a paradigm shift in what was important in my life.  Or, put another way, I grew up.  

I didn't want to miss coaching JP, or Joe, and their teammates in fall baseball games.  Later in the fall, I didn't want to miss watching them play basketball and, most games, working as the official scorer and assistant coach.  Things changed for the others in my group in a similar way, too.

It helped, I think, that Tennessee's fortunes took a turn for the worse.  After the Vols fired Phillip Fulmer in 2004, they wondered in the wilderness of mediocrity for more than 15 years.  Bad coaches, bad football teams, losing seasons.  

Then, this fall, something strange happened.  Hendon Hooker returned at quarterback and suddenly, unexpectedly, Tennessee started winning, kept winning, and I find myself sitting at Dose this morning, over coffee, smiling in anticipation of No. 3 Alabama playing No. 6 Tennessee today, in Neyland Stadium, in a matchup of two unbeaten teams.

It's the third Saturday in October, a day that for so many years, meant so much to Tennessee football fans like me.  

The buildup to today's games has brought back a lot of happy memories for me.  Memories of fall Saturdays in Neyland Stadium in years past.  Memories of times spend with my closest friends.  Memories of a simpler time, a more innocent time, before children, before I lost my mom.  Memories of Rocky Top, of a stadium full of orange clad fans - including me - cheering and cheering for the Vols as they ran out of the T formed by the band, directly below us, and John Ward, on the radio, his voice rising to a crescendo, yelled "It's football time in Tennessee!"

Well, today, on the third Saturday in October, it's football time in Tennessee.  Again.

Go Vols!

Joe the Runner

For a while, Joe has been asking to go for a run with me.  Looking back, I think it was around this time for JP - age 10 or 11 - when he first expressed an interest in going for an actual run with me.  

I think, with Joe, he's seen me running for years, JP running with me the last couple of year, and JP having such success with cross country that it's sparked a real interest in him to run.  I, of course, am more than fine with Joe starting to run.  It's important to me, though, just as it was with JP, for Joe to come to running on his own and for me not to try to take running to him.  That has been my approach with JP and  it's worked to date.

Two or three weeks ago, I took Joe with me to Team Nashville, the running store where I've been buying running shoes for almost three decades.  The owner, Terry Coker, is a longtime friend of mine and a big supporter of JP's, which is cool.  Terry ran track at Belmont U. back in the day, as they say.  He was really excited when I brought Joe in to get fitted for his first pair of running shoes.  Joe ended up with a pair of gray Brooks running shoes.  

Joe has been so busy with sports the last few weekends that we haven't able to find a time to squeeze in a run.  Until yesterday, that is.

At club soccer practice on Mondays and Wednesdays, Coach Caleb has had the boys running on the track quite a bit.  As a result, Joe's fitness level is an an all-time high.  He's slimmer than he's been, not that he's ever been heavy.  He seems to be growing into his body, though, a young man's body and losing some of the softness of a child's body.

At any rate, he asked me on Saturday about running with me on Sunday and after I thought about it, I realized it was the perfect day to begin Joe's journey as a recreational runner, hopefully one that will last a lifetime.  No baseball practice Sunday evening and beautiful weather all weekend long. 

And that's the thing, really.  JP's success as a runner - a competitive runner - kind of caught me off guard.  I don't know where running can take him.  I really don't, although I'm looking forward to finding out.  To success as a high school runner?  To a state championship?  To college.  Who knows?  What I do know and what I want, actually, is for JP to run, recreationally, for years to come as a way to maintain fitness, to give him confidence, and as an outlet when times are tough.

I want the same thing for Joe, too.  In other words, if can pass along one thing to my boys, I hope it's a love of running that lasts throughout their lives.  I think, and I hope, it's something that brings us closer together and keeps us there, as they grow older and I grow older.  Running together and talking about how they're running in general.  That's my hope, anyway.

Yesterday, as I used to do with JP, I left mid-afternoon and ran four miles in the neighborhood.  I chose one of my oldest routes by design because it holds a lot of memories for me and I knew I was about to make a memory with Joe that would last.  

The October weather was perfect for a Sunday afternoon.  Clear, deep blue sky with the temperature in the  mid-60's.  When I left, I told Joe to be waiting out front of the house 30 minutes after I left, knowing I'd be running around 8 minute miles.  Sure enough, as I ran up Belmont Boulevard, toward Belmont U., and turned right onto our street, Linden Avenue, there he was, in the front yard, waiting on me.

Joe was smiling that toothy smile of his, the kind of smile that fills my heart with joy and love and makes me feel happy to be alive and to be his dad.  All of those things at once.  That may be Joe's gift - to make others happy by smiling and shining his light - the one that burns so brightly - on them.

I picked him up at the house and we reversed course, running back down Linden Avenue, then left on Belmont Boulevard, the same direction from which I had come.  We ran at a conversational pace, talking quietly as we ran.  I checked in with him from time to time, asking about the pace and how he was feeling.  All good.

We turned left on to Cedar and ran down the sidewalk toward 12th Avenue.  I slowed the pace a bit after Joe told me he had a stitch in his side.

"Breathe in your nose and out your mouth," I said.  "Okay," he replied, and we ran along in a comfortable silence for a bit.  "Gone?  I asked.  "Yes," he said.  And on we ran, turning left onto 12th Avenue.  

As we ran by Sevier Park and approached Burger UP - an urban, neighborhood run, to be sure - I told him we had .2 of a mile or so to go.  We hit the one mile mark, as planned, in front of Edley's BBQ, where we slowed to a walk and began our cool down.  Joe and I walked around the block and into Portland Brew from the back parking lot.  The reward for our run was a cup of coffee for me and a hot chocolate for Joe.

We walked up 12th Avenue, toward home, drinks in hand.  We stopped beside Locust (restaurant) and sat down in the two chairs in the yard next door, as I often do after I run in the neighborhood.  We sipped our drinks and talked, about the run, about life.  Joe smiled the whole time.  

I could tell he was proud of himself, as he should have been.  I also could tell he knew I was proud of him.  It was a snapshot moment, for him and for me.  Our first run together and one of what I hope will many more to come in the future.  

At that moment - as we watched the world go by from our perch on 12th Avenue - I felt blessed to have the sons I have, the wife I have, and the life I have.  Truly blessed.  

Blessed to be a father and to be a runner.  And blessed for those two things to intersect on an exquisite Sunday afternoon in my neighborhood.

  Joe and me, after our first official run together.  Here's hoping there are many more to come.

The Boys of (Late) Summer

I love fall baseball.  In many ways, it feels like an extension of spring baseball, which ends in June.  No baseball in July, then back after it in August.  Fall baseball, really, is late summer baseball, I guess, at least according to the West Nashville Sports League calendar.  

So much of my baseball life with the Diamondbacks' family is almost identical to my baseball life, years ago, with our Dodgers' family.  It's strange, surreal even, but patterns repeat.  A Diamondbacks' player reminds me so much of one of my Dodgers' players.  A Diamondbacks' coach reminds me of one of my Dodgers' coaches.   

It's all a circle, really, for me.  A circle of love, of baseball, of boys, and of families.  The practices and the games run together over time.  It's hard to see where it starts and where it ends, in some ways.  I love all of it so much to the very core of my being.  I don't want it to end, although I know it will, someday, in the not too distant future.  I want to coach my sons playing youth baseball forever.  I want to coach youth baseball for all of eternity.

Late this afternoon and tonight, the the curtain closed on Diamondbacks' fall baseball season.  It's been a challenging but rewarding season.  We made a deliberate decision to move the boys up, early, to the 11 - 12 year old division, from minors to majors.  My fingerprints are all over that decision.  I knew the boys would struggle at times, individually and as a group, because I moved my Dodgers up early, too.  In other words, I've seen that movie and I know that it ends on a high note.  

In my view, it's better for the boys to struggle in fall baseball, playing against older players and learning the rules of real baseball, as opposed to drilling 9 - 10 year olds week in and week out.  The boys get batter by playing older and better players.  It's just that simple.  I lived it with my Dodgers, most of whom are playing middle school and high school baseball, and this fall, I lived it again with the Diamondbacks.

The first game was tough, as Diamondbacks I got pasted by the Nationals.   

The second game - the one that Joe played in with Diamondback II - was much better, as it ended in an 8 - 8 tie and a lot of drama.  Preston - Coach O's son - struck out the last batter on a 3 - 2 count with the bases loaded to end the game.  So much pressure not to walk the final batter and Preston came through in the clutch.  Simply amazing.  A snapshot moment, to be sure.

As Preston walked off the field, I hugged him.  He looked up at me, sighed, and said, "Coach Phil, that was almost my worst nightmare."  

Mine, too, I thought.  I didn't want Preston to wear a loss like that in the last game of the fall season.  That would have been a tough one, to be sure.  

I'm going to miss these boys, particularly the ones I coached for the first time.  Leo, Parkes, Henry S., Mikey, John, and Griffin ("the Captain"). 

After the end of the second game, we went to Pizza Perfect in Bellevue.  I think every boys came to the end of season party save one, which is pretty incredible.  The boys sat together, in a room in the back, while the parents clustered together at tables nearby.  

Oliver said a few nice words about the parents, the assistant coaches, and the boys.  Before the boys broke it down with a D-backs chant a final time, I stepped up and addressed the group for a minute or two, to who my appreciate for Oliver.  

It was a fitting ending to a great fall of baseball that went by far too quickly, and ended on a brisk fall night, with our game, an 8 - 8 tie, the last game of the night, and of the fall.

Boys being boys after I insisted on a team photo after Thursday night's practice, the last of the fall season.

Great photo by Matt Singleton after our last practice of the fall season on Thursday night.

Trey Glenn.  I've coached him since he was 5 years old, on my first Junior Dodgers' team.  One of my all time favorites.

The boys, celebrating the 8 - 8 nail biting tie vs. the Rockies.  

Grandpa, Joe, and Grandma after the season finale, Saturday night.

October Surprise

Ah, October.  My favorite month of the year.  I'm thinking about that this morning, as I contentedly sip my coffee at Dose and listen to Gillean Welch playing quietly in the background, having just dropped JP off at MBA.  My new morning spot before work.

Yesterday after work, for the first time in what seems like forever, I ran from my office in downtown Franklin to Harlinsdale Farm, ran the trails, then ran back to the office.  Six miles.  It's one of my favorite routes and this time of year, it's a beautiful run though not an easy one.  

Because it has been a while since I'd run to Harlinsdale Farm, I was a little concerned that I might tire and not be able to finish.  However, the stamina issues I had this summer during some of my runs appear to have been heat related and in the past and I no problem finishing the run and at a nice pace, too.  Late afternoon and early evening, in the fall, is such a beautiful time to run, especially in downtown Franklin.

I love running immediately after work.  I look forward to it all day at the office.  It always feels a bit different, a bit new, because I don't get to do it all the time.  Honestly, I think for some reason that the endorphins from my run yesterday are still floating around in my bloodstream because I woke up this morning in such a good mood.  I feel a real sense of contentment, although that may be due in part to the fact that I have a completely clear calendar at work, which is extremely rare.

Fall, of course, is my favorite season, and October is my favorite month.  The mornings - like this morning - are cool.  Summer is over, at last.  Winter is around the corner.  Football season, college and pro.  the Major League Baseball playoffs are here.  Halloween, with Thanksgiving and Christmas coming soon.  Bourbon, outside, contemplating life.

And, for me, it's the best time of the year to run, hands down.  

Joe Has Himself a Day

Early Saturday morning.  Run done, right at the sun was rising, because I couldn't sleep.  4 miles.  I dropped JP off at Rose Park so he could get some soccer work in before tryouts on Monday.  I'm comfortably ensconced at Barista Parlor Golden Sound.  Good coffee and mellow music on the turntable.  

Later today, we've got flag football (Joe), baseball double header (Joe), and basketball (JP).  I wouldn't have it any other way.

_____________________________________________

Last Sunday, Joe woke up with a terrible, hacking cough.  It was bad enough that I ran a Covid-19 test on him at home because, today, every cough, sore throat, or cold is Covid-19.  That's just the way it is.  The test was inconclusive but Jude thought he should skip his travel soccer games in Drake's Creek Park in Hendersonville and go to see the doctor.  

"This is travel soccer," I reminded her, laughing.  "Not rec league.  This is serious business."  

Our foray in to the travel soccer world with Joe, well, that's another story entirely.  It's one I'll tell, soon, but not this morning.  Another time.

The point, of course, was that Joe was playing soccer.  As the sports czar of the family, I had the power to make that decision, and I did.  Game on.  Games on, potentially, because Joe's travel soccer team, Armada, was set to play in the semifinals at 9:15 a.m., then again in the afternoon if they won the first game.

Saturday's games had been laughers.  I saw the first game, which the boys won 9-0 against a team from Chattanooga.  The boys won the second game, which Jude saw, 6-0.  

I had been impressed with Joe's team on Saturday, although the competition was not strong.  Our boys are in shape and they should be because Coach Caleb runs them - a lot - at practice.  Track work, in addition to running they do on the field at Harding Academy, where they practice on Mondays and Wednesdays.  Their skills - passing, in particular, has improved tremendously, too, which is good to see.  

Before I go further, let me be perfectly clear about something.  I know next to nothing about soccer.  I'm not really a soccer fan.  I don't enjoy watching soccer, in person or on television.  I think it's boring.  Very boring.  I appreciate the athleticism but it's just not my game.  I enjoy watching my boys play soccer because I like watching them compete.  I want them to be aggressive and play with confidence, regardless of the sport.

I saw Joe's team warming up and dropped him off as I pulled into Drake's Creek Park, which was a madhouse.  Parking was a nightmare, even that early, as there were soccer games preparing to start on what seemed like 25 or 30 different fields.  Finally, I found a spot, unpacked my truck, loaded my soccer dad wagon - tent, chairs, cooler, etc. - and made the long walk to the soccer field.

The game was a good one.  Entertaining, actually.  The other team - from Nolensville - was very physical, which is something that was good for our boys to see and experience.  Joe is good with playing physically but some of our boys weren't. Well, they need to be.  

Preston was in goal and Joe played center back, which I called fullback, during my two years of playing soccer in mid to late 1970's.  I wasn't very good, which should not come as a surprise.  Joe plays center back well, because he communicates with his teammates, leads the defense, and his physical and aggressive.  Not the greatest foot skills but not afraid to bang into another player fighting for a ball.

In the second half, for example, the boys were down 2-1, and Joe and another player chased a ball down he field toward our goal.  It looked it might be a breakaway for Nolensville but Joe and the other player arrived to the ball simultaneously and Joe kicked the ball out of the back of the field as he collided with the other player and they both fell in a heap.  It was a hustle play by Joe.  An aggressive and physical play, which I loved. 

With three or four minutes left in the game, it looked like the boys were going to lose.  Truthfully, I was okay with that because it had been a good game and we had two baseball games scheduled later in the day.  I was texting Jude just that, looking at my cell phone, when in my peripheral vision, I saw one of our players kick a rebound off a corner kick over the goalie's head for the tying score.  As I looked around, confused, everyone started yelling for Joe.

I missed it but Joe had scored the game tying goal.  That's Joe.

The game ended in a tie and much to my surprise, it went straight to penalty kicks.  Much to my bigger surprise, Coach Caleb pulled Preston and inserted Joe at goalie to defend the penalty kicks.  I was told, later, that it was because Joe is a little taller than Preston and has slightly better hands.  I thought it was a risky move but, again, I know nothing about soccer.  

Either way, it put Joe in a tough, pressure filled spot.  But, that's the thing about Joe - he usually thrives in spots like that.  The moment is never too big for him and it's not going to crush him if he fails.  JP is the sam way.

Joe allowed the first two Nolensville boys to score and didn't look very comfortable in goal, to me, anyway.  He dove to his right and stopped the third shooter, though, and our sideline erupted in cheers for him.  However, the referee claimed the boy shot before the whistle, which nullified the attempt, so he got to shoot again.  Our parents complained, loudly, as the boys lined up to shoot against Joe a second time.

He approached the ball and kicked it hard, high, and slightly to Joe's right.  Joe leaped and punched the ball over the crossbar.  No goal!  He has stopped the same shooter, twice, on a penalty kick.  Our sideline erupted as parents high fives each other and yelled Joe's name.  It was a moment, for sure. 

Joe stopped another kick and after a little back and forth, Rex Waddey hit the game winner for us.  

As Joe ran from the goal to join his teammates celebrating in the middle of the field, I ran down our sideline high fiving our parents, my heart filled with joy and, yes, pride.  

Joe had himself a day . . . on the soccer field of all things.  A day that I'll remember, for sure.

Joe.  Goal scorer.  Winning goalie in the shootout.  Unbelievable.

 

Basketball teammates.  Soccer teammates.  Cole, Preston, Pike, and Joe, with Coach Thomas.

Joe and Preston.