Saying Goodbye to University School Nashville

Thursday, Joe walked out of University School Nashville for the last time.  And just like that, our family's 11 year run there will come to an end.  

Bittersweet, to be sure.  There have been far, far more ups than downs at USN for both of our boys.  The  education JP and Joe received there has been top notch.  The boys have had outstanding teachers across the board.  Ms. Hagan, Ms. Roth, Mr. Kleiner, Ms. Dortch, Ms. Fields, Ms. Abington, and so many others.  Nonpareil educators each and every one of them.  

JP and Joe have been seen, nurtured, taught, and mentored at USN.  Honestly, if I could do it all over again, I would send both of them USN.  No doubt about it.  The school has shaped who my boys are and who they will become.  I'm grateful for that.

I remember the Friday morning when Jude and I sent the e-mail to Juliet Douglas, the Director of Admission, to tell her that we had decided JP would attend USN that fall rather than Oak Hill School.  Thinking about the e-mail she sent back to us in reply - all these years later - makes me smile and almost cry, too.  In that e-mail, Juliet wrote that she was, literally, dancing around her office in celebration of the fact that our JP, and our family, would be joining the USN family that fall.  And we did. remaining a part of the USN family for the next 11 years.  

Socially, the boys fit in well at USN.  JP and Joe found their people, so to speak.  For JP, it was Henry, Cecil, JD, Abe, Aidan, and a few others.  For Joe, it was Sam, Rory, Sawyer, Walker, Bennett, Jackson, and Max.  At USN, the boys were seen, nurtured, and generally enveloped in a cocoon of tolerance, love, and friendship.  In many ways, it was an idyllic time in their lives.  Learning.  Growing.  Maturing.  All of it under the watchful eyes of a caring faculty and administration.

At times, I've regretted that Jude and I didn't get more involved at USN.  We rarely socialized with parents other than those we already knew when the boys started to school there.  Certainly, we didn't make any new, close friends among the parents of USN children.  Sure, we donated to the Annual Fund every year and appeared at school for popsicle parties, field day, etc.  We went to all of the boys' parent-teacher conferences and the presentations they did in the classroom.  I guess we never were socially involved.  Neither of us served on the board of directors. 

I was so very involved at Children's House.  I served on the board of directors for seven years, in total, and served as board president.  I was consumed by Children's House.  It was an intensely beautiful time in our lives when the boys were in school there.  In a way, perhaps I felt like another school, even USN, couldn't match Children's House in terms of our level of commitment and engagement.  Maybe I felt like USN didn't need my involvement as much, because it's a much larger operation.  Or, maybe I was a little burned out.  

What always strikes me the most and causes a twinge of guilt, however, is that after 11 years of the boys at USN, if I walked in the school this morning, I still don't completely know my way around it.

For me, leaving USN marks the end of childhood for our boys.  That's a tough one for me to take, too.  The end of recess and P.E.  The end of birthday parties on weekends.  The end of parent-teacher conferences.  The end of pickups from After Care.  The end of little or no homework.  The end of no exams.  The end of innocence.  

When I'm running the neighborhood and I pass by Children's House, I feel a twinge of nostalgia.  Every time.  I miss "Joe Time," the 45 minutes or so he and I spent together every morning after Jude took JP to USN.  I miss doing the drop-off for Joe at Children's House every morning, often pushing him in the swings on the playground before school.  I can almost hear the children's voices as I run by Children's House.'

I'll probably feel the same way when I run through Music Row when my route takes me by USN.  Maybe more so, since the boys were there longer.  

As I close, I've got the Byrds' 1965 classic on my mind, "Turn, Turn, Turn."  It seems appropriate for a Sunday morning, Memorial Day Weekend, as I think about saying goodbye to USN.

Turn, Turn, Turn

  

State Champions!

For the first time since 2001, MBA's Track and Field team won the State Championship Wednesday night by three points over Memphis Christian Brothers.  Unbelievable!

I drove over to Murfreesboro on Wednesday morning to watch Jack Wallace run the 3200.  It was the first and only event of the morning, scheduled to allow those that were running multiple events to have time to recuperate before the meet started in earnest later in the afternoon.  It was a strong field with Jack Bowen (McCallie) and Zachary Youngblood (Chattanooga Christian) running.  

Jack Wallace ran damn near a perfect race, starting in the middle of the pack, then moving up to the top three about halfway through the race.  As his mom and I stood together along the rail and watched, he made his move with two laps left, which seemed a little early.  Not for Jack, though.  Not with the way he has been running lately.  He pulled away from Jack Bowen, particularly on the last lap, and comfortably won the state title in the 3200.

I returned home to do some work, then drove back to Murfreesboro early in the afternoon.  JP was running the first leg of the 4x800, which was set to go early in the meet, at 4:45 p.m.  I arrived early, as I often do, so parking wasn't a hassle.  I watched the pole vault, which is always fascinating to me.  Henry Ambrose for MBA won the state title at 16' 1" and broke the school record.

Strangely, I wasn't very nervous before the 4x800, although perhaps I should have been.  I walked over to the far side of the track, away from the stands, and ended up talking with several of the MBA coached and administrators who were there to support the boys.  This, of course, was after watching the Division I and II girls' 3200 and the Division I boys' 3200.

When the race began, JP quickly settled into second place behind a Christian Brothers runner, who was pushing the pace.  As they pulled away from the field, I was concerned that the pace was too fast.  JP stayed three or four yards behind him for the first lap and a half, then began to fade a bit.  By the time he hit the last turn, JP's tank was completely empty and he slowed considerably.  Two other runners passed him as he neared the exchange point, baton in hand.

My view of the exchange was blocked by a tent on the infield.  Suddenly, one of the coaches said, "they dropped the baton!"  My heart sank.  I though a disqualification was imminent, so it surprised me to see Charlie Wallace start running with the baton in hand apparently after he picked it up.  What I learned is that, apparently, if a team drops the baton but doesn't impede another team, it's not an automatic disqualification.  Still, as MBA's runner struggled to make up lost ground, I was devastated for JP.  

In the end, MBA finished 5th, picking up four important points.  More on that later. 

From talking to the coaches before and after JP's race, I gathered that MBA didn't have much of a chance overall, as Christian Brothers had picked up 30 + points in the throwing events (shot putt and discus).  MBA hadn't even scored in those events.  Jude and I made the fateful decision to leave the meet, which is what we did last year.  Big mistake, as it turned out.

A couple of hours later, as Jude and I were sitting outside on the back deck enjoying the spring evening, JP started texting us.  The score was close.  Jack Wallace had finished third in the 1600, then won the 800.  MBA was in a battle with Christian Brothers for the overall lead.  What in the damn hell?!?  Whey weren't we there?  Bad parenting, I guess.

JP texted us again.  MBA was up by one point over Christian Brothers.  One point!  The only remaining event was the 4x400, anchored by Jack Wallace.  It was simple.  If MBA beat Christian Brother, MBA won the state championship.  If MBA finished the race behind Christian Brothers, no state title.

My immediate fear - and it was paralyzing - was that MBA would a place behind Christian Brothers and, because JP dropped the baton, MBA would lose the state championship by one point.  The thought was terrifying because I knew if it worked out that way, JP would carry it around with him the rest of his life.  So would I.

Jude and I kept checking out cell phones for text messages from JP.  Finally, we got the one we wanted.  In the 4x400, CPA, MBA, Christian Brother went 1-2-3.  For the first time since 2001, MBA had won the state championship in track and field! 

Jack Wallace took the baton on the anchor leg about five yards behind the Christian Brothers' runner.  By the first turn, he was even with him, then he pulled away.  On Instagram, I saw a photograph of Jack crossing the finish line, baton raised high, eyes wide open.  He has a look of such intensify on his face.  It's a beautiful photograph that captured what undoubtedly will be one of the high points of Jack's life.  

When I finally talked to JP, he was celebrating on the field with his teammates, as excited as he has ever been, I guess.  Or at least as excited as he's been since our Dodgers won the 11U Cal Ripken state championship in Lawrenceburg.  How many times in your life can you walk off the field, or the track, as a champion?  Not many.

How did I feel?  Jubilant.  Proud.  Relieved.  Happy.  Blessed.  Did I mentioned I felt relieved?

The next morning, before school, JP was bouncing around the kitchen, almost dancing.  For JP, who always is even keeled, this was real emotion, real happiness.  He's understated from an emotional standpoint so to see him so happy meant everything to Jude and me.  Everything. 

MBA Track and Field.  State Champions.  

That has a nice ring to it, doesn't it.

Charlie Wallace, Jack Ferringer, Gabe Guillamondegui, JP.  the 4x800 team.

JP and Jack Wallace.

When the Light Bulb Goes On

It's been a transformative spring basketball season for Joe, or so it seems to me.  Thanks to the coaching he's received from Jered Street and, perhaps, playing with boys he doesn't know, Joe's game has improved in all aspects.  

He's scoring more, although that's not typically Joe's game.  He's stepped his intensity up a notch, which has improved his defense.  He's rebounding more which is tough, because he vertically challenged, so to speak.  Still, he's probably the only player on his team that boxes players out - actually puts his body on them - and consistently fights for rebounding position.  His ball handling has improved, although his left hand needs work.  He's turning the ball over a lot less.  Most importantly, he runs the offense with confidence and continues to be an excellent passer, which is helped by the fact that he sees the basketball court so well.

After last night's game at Murfreesboro Riverdale H.S. - a 10 point loss to bigger, more athletic team - I talked to Coach Street for a few minutes.  Laughing, he told me it was hard for him to take Joe out for the game, because Joe always makes the right basketball play.

Joe always makes the right basketball play.

As a father, as a coach, as a sports fan, there's probably nothing a coach could say that would make me prouder than that.  That's especially true because what Jude and I are trying to do is raise two boys who "always make the right play."  In basketball, in baseball, academically, but more importantly, in life.  What more can a parent want than a child that "always makes the right play."

Last night, off the opening tip, Joe drove the lane and got fouled on a lay up.  He hit both free throws, although the second was disallowed when a teammate hopped in the lane too soon.  A minute or to later, he hit a three pointer, which was big because Joe has struggling this season with his outside shooting.  He finished with seven points and should have had nine, after missing a chippy in the lane on a nifty drive in the second half.

What was most impressive, though, was all of other winning basketball plays Joe made throughout the game.  On offense, he penetrated into the lane several times, then kicked the ball out to a teammate for an open three.  He played unselfishly, because that's who Joe is on and off the basketball court.  He guarded one of the other teams big men with an unmatched intensity, bodying him so much when he was fronting him in the paint to deny him the ball that the boy shoved Joe.  This happens once a game, actually, because Joe is not afraid to be physical with a player bigger than him.  It gets Joe fired up.  It gets his teammates fired up.  It gets the parents fired upon.  Hell, it gets me fired up, to see Joe fight and battle, in the post, undersized every time.

After the game, one of his teammates' parents pulled me aside and complimented Joe on how hard he played on defense, particularly on how he defended bigger players in the post.  I beamed with pride.  Not because Joe's the most skilled, most talented, or most athletic player.  He's not.  But no one on this team works harder, plays with more intensity or with more confidence, at least not as of late.  

When you think about it, there's a life lesson in there, too.  Defense the post.  When you're outmanned, outgunned, out-talented, defend the post.  Inspire others with how hard you work, with how hard you defend the post.  

There was one play last night that, for me, encapsulates where Joe is a basketball player at this exact moment in time.  The pace had become a bit frenetic, up and down the court.  Our boys were pressing in the backcourt after a made basket, which resulted in the other team running a modified fast break.  As a guard passed a ball to the middle of the court, Joe, in a dead spring, got his hand on the ball as the player started to dribble and tipped it away from him for a steal.  The trailing referee called a foul, although he was out of position to do so.

As play stopped and our parents grumbled, Joe reacted with a concentrated fury, throwing his hands up in the air but walking away as he did so, careful not to show up the referee.  I loved the intensity.  That's Joe.   He didn't complain after his brief outburst.  He just walked down court and got ready to play defense.  He was so into the moment, the competition, and that's what I loved the most, I think.

I called my friend, Isaac Conner, on the way home.  Ike played basketball in college at UTC and is an outstanding basketball coach.  I've coached his boys, Cyrus and Elias, in baseball.  When JP was about the same age as Joe is not, he played a season for Ike.  Ike is intense and he coached JP hard, which I absolutely loved.  It completely changed the trajectory of JP's baseball career, such as it was.  He got more confident, played better defense, and rebounded better.  I think that season playing for Ike is why JP played, and stared, on the MBA basketball team in the seventh, eighth, and ninth grade.  

The spring basketball season has been a similar experience for Joe, I think.  Coach Street is a lot like Ike.  Intense.  Focused.  Demanding in a good way.  Joe has thrived in much the same way JP did at the same age.  

I'm just so damn proud of Joe.  It's not always easy, it seems to me, to be JP Newman's little brother.  Still, Joe is making his own way, carving out his own identity.  That's what I want and that's what he seems to be doing.  

Joe always makes the right basketball play.

Stars for a Saturday

Saturday afternoon, I watched Joe's Stars' team play a basketball tournament game at Legacy Courts in Franklin that I'll remember for a long time, maybe forever.

It was an up and down the court game unlike any basketball game I've ever seen 12 and 13 year olds play.  It wasn't that the defense on either team was necessarily poor.  Rather, the shot making for both teams, especially 3 pointers, was outstanding.  Joe's team was a bit overmatched size wise but they made up for it by hitting 3 pointer after 3 pointer.  They actually led 36-30 halftime, in large part because of how well Joe's second unit played, before falling in the end by a score of 79-67.

79-67!  Sixth grade basketball.  Incredible!  But for the other team adding "Johnny Rostercheck" - a player wearing a t-shirt with a taped on number - Joe's team might have won.  

It was the kind of game where, on multiple occasions, our team's parents looked at each other, shaking their heads.  A couple of times, I looked at Amy (Douglas's mom), sitting beside me, and said, incredulously, "What is happening!?!"  It was that kind of game for our boys.  

It was a game where everything seemed to come together.  The practices, the lessons, the discussions, the earlier games this season, several of which were blowout losses to bigger, older, more talented teams.  The boys shared the basketball, almost always making the extra pass to find an open man.  The boys trusted in each other and believed in each other, which was evident in the unselfish way they played.  They played as a TEAM, no easy task when they've only been together for the winter/spring season.

All of this, of course, is a tribute to their coach, Jered Street.  He's the head basketball coach at Page High School.  In a few short months, he's imparted more basketball knowledge in these boys than any of them have gotten their entire lives.  I know that's true for Joe and I suspect it's true for all of his teammates.  

I marvel at what Coach Street has accomplished with these boys.  He's taken an undersized, moderately talented, hustling group of sixth graders and turned them in to a basketball team in the truest sense of the term.  They believe in him wholeheartedly.  On multiple occasions after games, Joe has said to me, laughing and shaking his head, that in the huddle, "Coach Street drew up a play, told us where to be and where to go, and that we would get a wide open bucket, and that's exactly what happened!"  Off a diagram on his clipboard, no less.

At times this spring, especially early on, Jude and I wondered if we had inadvertently over scheduled Joe as it relates to sports.  Jude bore the brunt of having to pick up Joe from USN baseball practice at the River Campus, then drive him down to Page High School for practice.  On top of that, Joe missed some Stars' practices because of a conflict with Armada club soccer practices.  Still, the effort was worth it, because Joe has learned so much about basketball from Coach Street.  More importantly, playing for Coach Street has increased Joe's love of basketball exponentially.

Because it's almost a footnote to how much I enjoyed watching Joe's team play Saturday afternoon - play and compete - Joe played the best basketball game of his life.  He scored ten points, only turned the ball over once late win the game, defended, rebounded, and ran the offense with confidence and precision.  He handled the ball with a sense of purpose and always made the right pass.  His buckets were a result of him pump faking and driving into the paint or cutting to an open space on the baseline, receiving a pass, and hitting a jumper. 

In the second half, he got a bigger boy off his feet with a pump fake, drove the right baseline into the paint, and finger rolled a layup into the cup.  I was astonished because I had not idea that Joe had that movie in his bag.  Immediately, I texted JP, and said, "Joe be like Kyrie." 

And for one play on one Saturday afternoon, Joe was like Kyrie Irving.

What a basketball game.  What a spring basketball season for Joe.

  

A Matter of Seconds

Friday night, it was all happening.  The final day of the Regional Track and Field Meet.  The varsity baseball team played Memphis University School in the first game of a best of three series.  The lacrosse team played Memphis University School in the state semi-finals.  All on a beautiful, albeit slightly chilly, spring night.  I was up for all of it it, too, particularly since JP wasn't scheduled to run the 800 until 8:15 p.m. 

I cut out of work a little early and upon arrival, set top my camping chair in its usual place, off the track, just to the left of the scoreboard.  I watched a couple of races, then wondered over to the baseball game.  There, I ran into Alice and Jerry, who had come to watch the game, too.  I stood with Alice on the overlook beside the press box and watched the last few innings on an exciting MBA win, 1-0.  Connor Hamilton, MBA senior starting pitcher and Vanderbilt baseball signee, was as advertised as he threw a four hit, complete game.  Sadly, MBA lost a double header yesterday to MUS, which brought their season to an abrupt end.

The lacrosse team absolutely smoked MUS, 14-4, to set up a championship game against MBA's biggest rival, Chattanooga McCallie.  I have to think that MBA, led by JP's buddy, junior Cade Sturdivant (a West Point commitment), is the favorite to win their second state title in three years.  Certainly, that's what Knoxville Catholic thought when they forfeited, at the last minute, a quarter final match at MBA rather than face an inevitable drubbing at the hands of the Big Red.  If what I've heard is correct, Knoxville Catholic's forfeit resulted in the TSSAA banning from the lacrosse playoffs next season.  Just desserts, if you ask me.  

As I waited for JP to race, watched several races.  4 x 800, 4 x 100, 400, 110 hurdles, etc.  I've grown to enjoy wondering around the track at meets because there is always something going on.  On top of that, there's time to sit in my camping chair and read, usually the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal one my cell phone.  It is relaxing right up until the third call for JP's race.  At that point, the nerves kick in for me.

Friday night's 800 field was packed, again, with god top level runners.  Jack Wallace, Thomas Arender, and Ryder Ortner all are strong runners in the 800.  I was hoping JP would run well enough to compete with the big dogs, which would require him to run under his current PR in the 800, 158:80.  The fastest high school runners in the 800 typically run around 1:54.  Anything below 1:50 is smoking fast. 

At the start of the race, JP got boxed in just a bit from his starting position in lane 4.  However, as the boys rounded the second turn on the first of two laps, he followed right behind Thomas Arender and quickly moved into fourth place, behind Jack Wallace and Ryder Ortner.  As Jack and Ryder tried to pull away near the last run of the first lap, JP stayed with the group of four, running slightly behind them but maintaining contact.  

He continued to stay with the group of four through the first half of the second lap, too.  For a brief moment, I thought I might be about to witness an unexpected finish if managed to pull even with Jack Wallace, in the lead, or Ryder, in second place.  As the runners neared the final turn, however, JP tired and dropped slightly back.  Jack Wallace won and Thomas Arender finished strong to nip Ryder Ortner at the finish line for second place.  

JP finished fourth but ran hard until the end.  The biggest news, for him, was that he clocked in at 1:56:52, a PR for him by more than two seconds, which was absolutely huge.  A sophomore who has played baseball all spring, running track part time and training on his own, running a 1:56:52 is impressive.  Very impressive.  The best part, of course, is that he felt much better about his finish in the 800 than he did about his finish in 3200 on Tuesday night.

In the end, his time was the 10th fastest in the state for MBA's divisional.  He was two spots out of qualified for the state finals in the 800.  It was quite an accomplishment for JP and made me even more excited at what's ahead for him on the track, at the state meet and for the next two years as an upperclassman at MBA.

Mind Game

Exam season is upon JP, starting today at MBA.  It's a lot of pressure, for sure, but JP has put the work in, and he will keep putting the work in, to get to the finish line.  Still, I said a quick prayer for him this morning because I know it's a lot.  

Next year, in seventh grade, Joe will have his first exam season in December.  For now, though, Joe is living the life of Riley as a sixth grader at USN.  P.E.  Recess.  Lunch.  Field trips.  All of the fun stuff.  I've encouraged him to especially enjoy the end of the school year with his friends because this is the end of the line for his group.  I'll write more about his later, I know, but Joe's been with his group for seven years.  That will change next year, just as it did for JP's crew, when the boys split off to go to different schools.  

JP races tonight in the Region at MBA.  He's running the 800 in what I know will be a fast field.  I hope he runs his best race.

Tuesday, he ran the 3200 in the Region, also at MBA.  Jack Wallace ran away with the race, as he finished it in a blistering 9:05 +, .27 off the school record set last year by Samuel Trumble.  Thomas Arender finished a distant second, although he ran with Jack the first three laps or so.  

In reality, it was two races.  Jack and Thomas ran one race.  JP, Gabe, Clark Steffen, and a few others ran the second race.  JP led the second group from the inside lane the entire race, which was tough to do from a tactical standpoint.  In my mind, it's harder to lead a race of any distance wire to wire, particularly when your competition tucks in right behind you and runs on your hip the entire race, which is what Gabe did.  

At the halfway point of the eighth and final lap, Gabe pulled ahead of JP and out kicked him in the end to finish in third place.  JP finished fourth.  Gabe and JP ran PR's, which was impressive.  Although the official result haven't been posted yet for some reason, I believe JP finished slightly under 9:30, which was his goal.  

It's going be fun to watch JP and Gabe compete against each other the next two years.  As I've said since last fall, they're going to make each other better runners.

Missing the Vibe

For me, it's always been a bit sad when the Belmont U. students leave for the summer.  Yes, things are less congested in the neighborhood, parking is easier, and the pace seems to slow down a bit.  What's lost, though, is the synergy that exists between denizens off the neighborhood and Belmont students.  There's a youthful, infectious energy - something that's palpable - that's created by the students when they're in school, walking across campus or through the neighborhood, or having coffee and studying in Bongo Java.

What's got mean a little down this morning - other than the rain outside and the fact that it's Monday ("'Rainy days and Mondays always get me down . . . ") - is that as I sit here in Bongo Java, sipping my coffee, the vibe is totally different than it has been all spring.  It's subdued.  Quiet, even.  The music is different, too, not the seventies songs that Michelle (Herbes) was playing every morning.  A graduate assistant for the cross country and track team, she's finished her two year tenure at Belmont and is returning home to Oregon soon.  

From what I observed, she appeared to be the catalyst for the upbeat vibe in Bongo Java this spring.  A connector that bound together the disparate group of baristas.  Today, none of the baristas or other employees are talking to each other.  As of late, they stood behind the counter, smiling and laughing, clearly enjoying each other's company and making customers feel like this was a place where you can get your day off to a good start.  Today, Michelle is gone and it's silent as a tomb.

The list of baristas who have temporarily brightened my mornings over the years is extensive.  The tough thing, though, is that working as a barista is the most temporary of jobs.  All baristas are on their way to somewhere else, to another life.  That's understandable but for someone who thrives on routing, on a certain sameness, it's not always easy to adjust.  

Over the weekend at the end of my month off social media, I connected on Instagram with Rachel (late of the Frothy Monkey), who had posted about how much she and her husband, Josh, missed their days managing Frothy Monkey.  The two of them made magic at Frothy Monkey.  For a time, it was my port in the storm on Saturday mornings when I stopped their for coffee before driving to Franklin to visit my mom at NHC Place.  She loved Frothy Monkey's cookies.  Those were tough mornings, so it was nice to visit with Josh (or Grant) on Saturday mornings, talk music or a little baseball, as I gathered myself to go see my mom.

The baristas at Bongo Java that fell in love with my boys and or family is legion.  Almost too numerous to mention, really.  I keep up with a select few on Instagram (George Dorrance, Ayla, EJ Holmes), though I never see them. 

Recently, a couple of the mainstays have left Dose, too.  It's interesting how in a small coffee shop, just one or two departures can change the vibe.  

Time to venture off into a rainy Monday, to Lebanon, to see if I can find a way to get my Tennessee Real I.D., whatever that is.   

The Captain

For reasons I won't go into - at least not here and not today - Joe's 2012 Armada club soccer team appears to be splintering at the end of the spring season.  

Earlier this spring in Cleveland, Tennessee.

Some players already were going to stop playing club soccer as they enter middle school and the academic and athletic requirements become more rigorous.  That may well be the case with Joe, as he enters 7th grade at MBA this fall.  A few others are in the same boat as Joe.

On top of that, Armada's Director, Gabe, foolishly allowed a rift to develop with Mario, the coach of Joe's team, as result of which Mario is leaving for a job as Technical Director at a newly formed soccer club.  Unless I miss my guess, many of Joe's teammates will leave Armada and follow Mario to the new soccer club.  The best player is likely to join Nashville Soccer Club's Youth Academy, which is a huge loss.  

It's unfortunate to see Joe's team break up because it's such a good group of boys and families.  The team has grown up together, in a way, in the three years that the boys have been together.  Moreover, the team has improved tremendously the last two years under Mario's tutelage.  These things happen, of course, in club or travel sports but it's the first time the boys have experienced it.

Yesterday, Joe's Armada team played their first game of a weekend tournament in Franklin.  Late in the afternoon, it appeared highly unlikely the game would be played because it pouring rain.  I drove to Honest Coffee Roasters about 4 p.m. to get some work done, still dressed for work, waiting for the call that the game was off.  Sure enough, the rain stopped and just like that, the game was on.  I changed clothes and drove over to the soccer complex on Downs Boulevard.  

I missed most of the first half, which was fine because Joe and Liam split halves in goal.  Joe usually plays goalie the second half, as was the case yesterday.  It turned out to be a beautiful early May evening to watch soccer, although it was a little nippy.  When I arrived, Armada was winning 2 - 1.  Liam warmed up Joe in goal at halftime as I talked to Liam's dad, Adam, who has become one of my all time favorite soccer friends.

Unlike the first half, Armada's opponent dominated possession most of the beginning of the second half, and Joe had quite a bit of action in goal.  He played well.  Aggressive, communicative, vocal, and in control.  It was probably the most confident I have seen him in goal this season.  Thanks to Luke's artistry, Armada scored a couple of goals midway through the second half to lead 4 - 1.  Armada added a fifth goal on a nifty pass, almost an alley-oop, from Luke to Hamed that led to goal.  

Joe got caught out of position late, having moved up almost to midfield, only to have the other team send the ball upfield quickly to a player who got behind him.  The result was an easy goal but in the end, Armada own 5 - 2 in a bit of a laugher.

The best part of the game, for me, was what happened immediately after the referee blew his whistle three times to signal the end of the game.  Joe, in his light blue goalie's jersey, sprinted from the goal to our left to midfield, arriving before any of his teammates left the field.  Why?  So he could give every teammate a handshake as he arrived at Armada's sideline.  

That, in essence, is Joe in any sport, on any team, in any athletic contest.  A leader.  The heart and soul of any team he plays on.  A connector.  Always supportive of his teammates.  I'll say it again.  A leader.

The Captain.  

I still remember the telephone call I got from Caleb, his Armada soccer team's first coach.  Before a weekend tournament in Murfreesboro, he wanted me to know he had named Joe the captain and that he was going to announce it to the team on Saturday morning at the first game.  When I asked why, he told me that Joe ran the drills for half of the group at practice, was the most vocal player and the best communicator, and that his teammates respected him.  

I was one damn proud father during that telephone call.  I was one damn proud father last night, too, watching Joe set his defense on direct or corner kickers, shout encouragement to his teammates during the game, and handle the soccer ball with poise and confidence after making stops in goal.  And, of course, watching him congratulate every teammate as they walked off the field after a solid win.

Since Mario arrived and certainly, this season, I'm not sure Joe has officially been designated the captain, although Mario always has been complementary of his leadership skills on our conversations.  He doesn't wear the captain's sleeve like he did when he played for Caleb.  Actually, no one wears the captain's sleeve so, to me, Joe is still the captain.

I don't know where Joe will go in soccer from here or, for that matter, if he will continue playing.  That really hit me for the first time a week or so ago, as Jude and I made plans for the fall and discussed Joe's course load at MBA and the time constraints he will be operating under.  If this spring is it, for Joe and this  2012 Armada team, it's been a memorable run and won I am glad I had a front row seat to watch.

The Captain.