The Stoop

My nine year old daughter plays soccer.  To be specific, she plays travel soccer. (pause for collective gasp)  For the uninitiated, travel soccer is different than recreational soccer (rec. league).  Travel teams have a separate league that makes everything official and "ruley", and travel teams usually, but not always, have paid coaches in lieu of parent volunteers.  Travel teams are separated by gender (rec. is usually co-ed).  There are many clubs around town, mostly in suburbs.  Many have both travel and rec. teams in them and you generally have to try out for travel teams.  

I get different responses when people find out my daughter plays D-----  soccer.  "Oh, she must be really good."  "You must be crazy, I don't let Precious play on any travel teams."  "She should try out for C----- soccer, they are better."  One thing's for sure, if the person I'm talking to knows anything about soccer in this city, I will get a reaction.  

Last Fall was our first season in travel soccer.  We played a team called FC P-----.  They beat us 18-0.  How is that possible you ask?  I'll tell you.  Nine year olds play 6v6.  We had seven players total for that game.  The opponent had 11.  They had two girls who scored 16 of those goals.  Neither of those girls got subbed out once.  The coach yelled and barked orders the entire game, and the parents whooped and cheered all 18 goals like they were life or death.   And, Jesus help me, someone had a cowbell.   

This games served as an illustration of how bad parents (and coaches) can act.  It also brought out the worst in me.  I was so mad, I could only think of different places I wanted to shove that cowbell.  I also pondered how small that coach's dick must be that he has to compensate by leading a team of little girls into demoralizing other little girls.   So that was last season.  Our girls have come a long way since then, but I still felt a sense of dread when I saw FC P---- on the schedule for this weekend's tournament.  

I went to this game expecting the worst out of their parents.  They delivered.  No cowbell, but lots of shouting.   For the record, there were two fouls called against FC P----.  One of the fouls was committed against my daughter, Jane.  This is apparently my line.  The line which one doesn't cross unless one wants to rue the day.  I saw red.  I know soccer can be a rough sport, but still!  You can't fight instinct.  She got up, tough kid, and so I calmed down.   Then it happened.  Jane had the ball, she was rocking it, and the same kid was trying to tackle.  The opponent's Dad yelled, "Take her down!"  He was only five feet from me, mind you.  After a quick side-eye, I opened my mouth and said, "She can try..."  I'm pretty sure he heard it.  Jane didn't get taken down, she flew past that fouling little punk and when that other girl fell down with the effort, I smiled.   

I stooped.  I stooped so low that I was glad a little girl fell down.  I guess I have to rationalize it by remembering that this self same girl had just shoved my daughter to the ground and was trying to do it again.   I guess I can rationalize anything now.  It's good to be 40.

Oh yeah, our girls won 2-1.  It was sweet.  I'll go back to not caring who wins now, but only if they're not playing FC P----.  Or any other team with a cowbell.