I love being a soccer mom. Love it.
I’m not a baseball mom. At all. Even without the nacho cheese, it’s just not my gig. We’re about to start basketball. I don’t really know what basketball moms are like. I know quite a bit about basketball dads, but that’s a story for basketball season. I was born to be a soccer mom.
Sadly, our soccer season came to an end two Saturday’s ago. Nate’s season ended the weekend before. The Awesome Panthers, under the tutelage of Coach Sarah, had gone undefeated until their last game. I’ll never forget the time Reese got the ball, made a move, took in all the sideline coaching being yelled at him, turned to us, gave a perfect thumbs-up, smiled, his eye sparkled, and then kicked it back into the fray. Oh that Reese.
Nate may have been the best player in Boys U8, though he met some stiff competition in the twin soccer sensations of our Y camp associates Merick and Herick. All in all, Nate had a terrific season and really basked in all the glory. It’s tough to bask in anything but inferiority when constantly faced with an older, bigger brother. The combo of Nate’s obsessive practicing plus World Cup infatuation plus the ability to google trick shots on YouTube resulted in an average of two hat tricks every week. It was good for him.
Meanwhile, the Gray Ghosts had a tough season. Coach Woodsie had his unfair share of newbies in Boys U10. But the Ghosts were finally firing on all cylinders as we entered the end of season tourney. Friday night we had our first game under the lights at Damon Garcia. We’re down 2 to 1. Time is running out. Jacob’s on the field. He’s our first string goalie and hasn’t been on the pitch much. Rudy crosses the ball in front of the goal. Jake’s there. He kicks it diagonally. And… it’s in! He grabs his head with two hands in total disbelief. His teammates run up and hug him. Infectious grins all around. Jake just keeps grabbing his head with two hands as he runs in a big circle. Whistle blows and it’s over.
Less than twelve hours later, we’re back on the same field. It’s 50 degrees warmer and we’re up against the Corcoran brothers– Jackson and Cruz. Two of our faves. The odds are not in our favor. We’re told we have to win 3-0 to get a shot at advancement. We haven’t won anything 3-0 except maybe in Theo Takedowns (Theo was a kid on our team… long story) or Gatorade glugging.
We play the game of our lives. We score three goals. We shut them out. It’s crazy exciting. I’m totally the loudest soccer mom. It’s one of the best tournament games the fields of Damon Garcia have ever known.
Unfortunately we needed some other team on a different field to lose in order for us to advance. That team with the forward and the goalie that are taller than me and weigh at least three Seans (another kid on our team– head and shoulders our most improved player). Our season is over. We played our best. Left it all on the field. A grand celebration of cupcakes, guess-the-player coach speeches, and Sinsheimer cardboard turf surfing were the perfect end to a climactic season.
That Friday night we’d met as a family at the Marigold Starbucks for a pre-game snack of prepackaged salami and cheese. I showed-up first and opened the rear hatch of the Rat Mobile. The tailgate opens part way, spits out a soccer ball, and closes. Not once, but twice. I kid you not.
I died laughing. I’m such a soccer mom.