Soccer Irony

From the moment I pulled into the massive parking lot -- teeming with minivans and SUVs -- I knew that participating in Addison's soccer league would be a great opportunity to sharpen my wit against the bland homogeneity of suburban life. I was confident that the acres and acres of neverending green fields, that the endlessly repeated combinations of short players in blue or yellow shirts, that the coiffed hair moms and the puma-wearing dads would provide a never ending store of punchlines for my self-deprecating rants.



How did I end up here? (I'd protest) How long til they lynch us for not sticking PLaysoCCER bumper stickers on our tailgate? (I'd grimace.)



So the irony is --

That this past week at Addison's first game --

Lynn and I were FAR AND AWAY the most enthusiastic parents. Screaming with joy or agony as goals were scored or missed. Jumping and writhing in delight on the sidelines. Coaching over Coach Vince whenever the cluster of players crowded around the ball shifted toward our sideline (despite his capable leadership).



Beforehand I teased Addison that if he didn't win, we would have to spank him. Or cut off his head.

But then once the game was going, I felt like calling out. "I wasn't kidding!"

"Seriously, Boy! Get your head in the game!"

Of course I didn't. At least not TOO often.



No -- I'm kidding! I didn't yell at all. Just encouraging growls of approval at BOTH of the goals that my four year old scored.



Seriously. Two goals!? First game ever!? I think we should maybe look into a travelling team or something. Maybe we could move him up to the first grade leagues. More of a challenge...